If how I see something does not make sense to me, I discard it, no matter how I feel about it. You gave her a really good out and she did not take it. The only logical conclusion I can make from that is that she did not want you out.

If I think about other people and cannot see good reason for them to be unkind to me, my feeling they are being unkind is suspect to me because it does not make sense. It's like meeting people for the first time and thinking they are thinking bad things about you when they probably are not because they don't know you well enough yet.

We can think stuff in our head but that does not make it true. We tell ourselves stories and that's what we're trying to help ourselves with; learning to get better information by talking to the other people around us, "Hey, here's what I think, does this sound right to you?" That is what anger is for, to say, "Hey, that music is so loud I can't hear myself think!" and the other person, apologizes and turns it down/off, saying, "Oh! I'm sorry, I find it relaxing and was hoping you would enjoy it too but if it bothers you I'll turn it off".

I did not understand about anger until a boss was angry and blaming me for something I knew was not true. I kept telling him my truth and eventually he listened, checked his facts, and found I was correct and apologized profusely. Looking back at how scared I was and what I'd done and that I had survived :-) I realized that yeah, it was scary but look how it turned out. Even if he had never listened and had fired me, I knew my truth and was faithful to it. That's my real job, being true to my truth and letting those around me know what that truth is so they can know "Me".

With my T I was scared and really sarcastic whenever I had to speak up. I would have hedged my bets and said, "Can I move this chair into the room or are you punishing me for something I don't know about?" That probably would have embarrassed my T (or I would have felt it would) because I'd be thinking like you that she should have noticed and moved it back. But that's not her job, to put my chair where I like it. I got so I just moved the chair when I came in the room (My therapy chair was a big La-z-boy and it would get in the corner and you couldn't lean back and I hated that).

I still remember the day when she called down the hall from the room for me to come down for my session, instead of coming out to the waiting room to get me. I made a snide remark about that and then was horrified; her foot was up on the footrest and bandaged; she'd sprained her ankle a day or two earlier. Here I'd thought she was being high and mighty and was ordering me about (like my stepmother), oops. . .