According to Jordan, because the thumbs-down behavior happened earlier in the day, we didn't "need to talk about it now". It's interesting that even before she was four years old, she didn't want to talk about the times in her life that were uncomfortable or difficult.
Many times throughout the years she has said to me "Why would I want to talk about, and remember the terrible times? Then I have to relive them over again, and I want to block them out." Now that's honesty.
This is why Jordan won't journal, and why she hated going to therapists. After all, therapists help you talk about your issues, so you can hopefully come up with ways to overcome them. Not pleasant, but usually beneficial, and (I think) at times, necessary.
At this point you're probably blatantly well aware, that I have absolutely no problem rehashing all of the crap and messes of life. It actually helps me to come to terms with it. Without writing or talking about something, I can't move on. I guess it doesn't work that way for everyone. Although I was nervous and uncomfortable knowing that I would probably cry in front of a stranger, overall, I didn't mind seeing a therapist. I actually found it to be validating and calming.
I'm not going to lie. Watching people refuse help, or not take the steps needed to attempt to move forward, frustrates the poop out of me. Wallowing in self pity seems self defeating, and only prolongs the misery.
But then again, I was a depressed, anxious mess for a while. It's not like on day-one of feeling this way, I woke up, scheduled a therapy appointment and began popping Zoloft pills. I do realize that it's a journey. A torturous, confusing, scary journey. And it's different for everyone.
Which is exactly why it's so difficult to watch a loved one refuse to help themselves.
I get it, but that doesn't mean I like it.