therapy

I’m sitting here in my cave of an office…not really hiding, but glad to be alone just the same. I can hear in the distance my daughters, my dogs and my husband…the sound of the sprinklers and the fans cooling our house and the muted noise of the tv as well. It is peaceful and my favorite way to wind down for the night. I love knowing they are here and love knowing, as well, that they will leave me alone for a bit.

Tuesdays are my therapy night. Yes, I have a standing appointment at 6:30 every Tuesday with Sarah…the therapist sent from heaven for this time in my life. My first therapist was perfect for the traumatic time in my life when I was seeing him. I am sure now that he would not be perfect for this time in my life and isn’t it interesting how we get what we need even if we don’t realize it at the time. Chris was there for the dramatic and traumatic memory work I needed to do. It was painful and scary and necessary. He was a rock, a savior, a friend when I most needed one. He held me up when I was in so much pain emotionally that it was reflected in my body with pain so severe I couldn’t sleep or move much some days. As the pain I had held inside me and blocked for so long finally found it’s outlet, he was the perfect soul to hold my hand as I found my way through. It ended up that Chris gave too much of himself and needed to stop working for awhile. He took all the pain of others so well and helped them so much, he forgot to take care of himself. He is better now and I love him dearly. I am also grateful not to be working with him now.

Sarah arrived at a time of great change. I was done with the memories for the most part. The physical pain had subsided mostly. I was newly single and newly alone in the world save for my three daughters and a few friends. I had a new apartment and a new tatoo that symbolized my metamorphisis. Ugly caterpillar to lovely butterfly. I was finding my way and taking care of my children and Sarah worked at their school. It has taken me a long time to trust her. She is a special soul. She now has her own private practice and my space on the couch is mine for an hour on Tuesday nights. Sometimes I don’t want to go…at all…ever again. Most times I go anyway. I tell her it’s hard for me and she asks “Then why are you here?” I reply the same way I always do “Because I know I need to be here.”

I want to feel normal some day. I rant about how long I’ve been in therapy. I cry and bitch and piss and moan and always she reminds me of how long I lived in horror and abuse. “It took you 28 years to say Enough, is it any surprise it’s taking a long time to get through it all?” It’s like being born again and I don’t mean as a christian either. It’s like starting from the beginning again and having to relearn it the way I should have been able to learn it the first time. It’s about learning that all the programs and input were wrong information and not really understanding what to do about it. I asked tonight “Do you think it’s possible that all the fear and anxiety are really a part of me that I will never get rid of? Were they made part of me physically because the abuse started so early?”

I wonder sometimes what the lesson is in all this. Why did I end up in a family like mine? What did I do in a previous life and why did I have to learn whatever it is that I’m not learning? One of my daughters asked me what I thought my purpose in life was recently. The answer is “I have no idea.”

Sarah asked “Why do you come here Traci? What is it you hope to get out of all this work?” My answer tonight: “I want to feel lovable. I want to feel safe. I want to feel ‘normal’. I want to have someone say to me “You suck!” and be able to reply “You have no idea how wonderful I am” and mean it. I want to feel… something besides numb. I want to believe.”

Therapy is hell. There is no way out but through. Onward…and upward… please god. Peace.