After spending a couple of weeks in absentia from the art world, I decided to start stepping back into the arena. I was at a dinner in someone's home where I encountered a mid-career male artist who has been part of the scene for years, and whom I've mostly always met at openings.

He asked how I was, given that he was seeing me after a long time. I said I was doing fine, that I had begun therapy recently and was beginning to enjoy it, that it was becoming a transformative experience for me. His first response was, "Why, Rosalyn?" putting me in a position of having to justify why I felt I needed to talk to someone, making a decision that should have been my prerogative, suddenly seem abnormal.