It has been just over two months since my last therapy session… (Well, what ended up being my last therapy session because I didn’t think it was going to be my last session.) Even though that is hard, in some way it is better because otherwise that memory would be even more painful.
Three and half years of talking to someone once, twice, or even three times a week forms a bond that is hard to describe. I’m sure we will be in touch at some point in the future. I know she told me that when the time is right, she will look forward to hearing how I am doing. But the time isn’t right.
Today I miss her. Maybe because last week was a long week… Maybe because I miss having someone to talk to like that… Maybe because there are some new things going on in my life that I’m having to handle on my own that are making miss the safety net of therapy.
It reminds me of [one of] the greatest lessons I learned in therapy. Coincidentally it was probably one of the most difficult sessions I had. I had hit a wall. I didn’t know how to move forward. We had worked to find my motivations and I was learned to hold on to them. But I was stuck – unable to propel myself forward – upset, afraid, and not in a great place. Every day was a challenge and I felt like I didn’t know how long I could handle it. I cried constantly. I could see where I wanted to be but I couldn’t get there.
My therapist had me draw “a person in the rain.” (How I hated those drawings!) I drew the first thing that popped into my head which was a story of a very close friend about how she would get out of work and have to sit on the curb sometimes for hours until it was convenient for her father to pick her up. My therapist took one look at the drawing and asked me, “who are you waiting for to rescue you?” I got super angry – spitting out words about how the drawing had nothing to do with me, etc, etc, etc.
The next session wasn’t much better. I was angry, irritable, and frustrated. I knew something had to change but I was terrified to change anything, but I was slowly drowning where I was. I tried to describe how difficult daily life was at that point and my therapist responded, “If you really feel that way, we are going to have to look into some other options.” I don’t honestly remember what she said if she talked about taking medications or what… but that is what I understood. It was a hard night. I left and I cried for a long time. I went to pray at a chapel nearby.
As I calmed I started writing. I had formed the habit through some of the exercises my therapist would have me do of writing to myself. I was learning to find my voice and to see myself… What I ended up writing was this: “you aren’t on your own. I am here and I will fight with you. I love you.”
That was the first time I had ever told myself, “I love you.” It was a before and after moment in my process.
And so today as I start to miss my therapist and I want her to be here through these new challenges in my life, I am reminded once again that the only person who can rescue me is myself.
You got this.