Rather than accept and absorb the transition, I have questioned the process and even doubted my worthiness. ‘Surely it can’t be’, I thought, ‘I haven’t worked long enough… hard enough… allowed myself to FEEL enough…’
Days have slipped by in a daze, trying to understand exactly what is changing. (Sorry to all those blogs I’ve been missing). The memories are the same, the trauma evident in life today, but there is a subtle – yet enormous – shift in perspective about childhood. While being careful not to give the impression of sudden healing or recovery, neither is it right to undermine the positive influence this will have on my therapeutic journey.
Of course, there are still many areas of the past that need looked at, but the standpoint is somewhat different. Therapy isn’t easy, but it evidently helps to dilute the guilt and self-blame, it soothes the hurt, and slowly admonishes the anger.
It’s unclear why I was locked in childhood trauma for so many years. The focus was more about forgiving the abusers, rather than finding inner peace. I remember one therapy session with Paul. I began questioning why it was so important to forgive ‘them’.
It felt like I was listening to someone else speak, “… because, if I forgive the abuse, maybe I might want to spend time with them… I might come to like them… maybe even want to help them in their old age…” My healing seemed to focus too much on their benefits, to the extent where my own problems in the present moment became distant and blurry.
About a year ago, I wrote a post, “The Therapist that Bugged Me.” It was about the assessment I had for this current therapy programme. I explained to the miserable woman assessor how past trauma is always the first issue to come up in therapy. “It consumes me on a regular basis, sometimes for weeks and months.” In response, she asked me to think about what I’m avoiding in the present moment. Tut…
Today, I’ve been thinking about what prompted me to seek help in the first place. I had been suffering badly for many years from depression and PTSD. I almost crawled to the Psychiatrist, Dr Potty. “I don’t want to get any better…” I confessed, “…not if it means reconnecting with life… with people… family… … relationships… I really don’t want any of that…”
Dr Potty looked over the top of his designer specks and then typed an entry onto his computer. “Sometimes it’s easier and safer to sit with the familiar”
I didn’t understand what he meant, until today. I wouldn’t like to say I’m stuck in limbo because that implies… well, being stuck! I like to think I’m somewhere between the past and the present, casually drawing breath and gathering momentum for the next leg of my journey.
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river
And he’s not the same man”