Numero 100-o
This is post number 100, so really it should be especially profound. So not going to happen. I really did mean to go to bed early, also not going to happen. Is it strange that on therapy days I spend the entire rest of the day wallowing in unhappiness? Maybe that is normal, being that the unspeakable is expected to be spoken.......which of course it wasn't.
I am so frustrated with myself. There has got to be some way to switch me on, some way to make all that is stored up suddenly flow out. There has to be a way to make the terror subside enough to allow my mouth to open and realness to come out. Has to be a way. She tried to get me talking about one of the big ones, and it took one question from her for me to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Of course she didn't know that, but I did quickly, and I do mean quickly, make it known that I couldn't even attempt to approach that. No wonder I never get anywhere.
So, she had us both get a piece of construction paper and tear out our own bodies. You know, like a stick figure type thing, but no scissors. Well, I like symmetry, I like things to be neat and straight, so I did the best I could. It was actually pretty good, though one arm was longer than the other. I trimmed it, don't worry. Anyway, by mine, she said it looked really restricted, then asked if I felt stuck, like I can't move. Hmmm, ya think. Then, about hers, she said it was different than when she had done it before. Typically one arm is angled upward more, like she is leading. She said she wondered if maybe that was because she wasn't sure what to do to help me, to make me trust her, is she failing me. Not a good thing to say to me. I have a habit of feeling guilty for everything. When someone cries for my pain, I feel guilty, when someone says they are sorry for hurting me, I feel guilty, when my therapist feels insecure about her inability to get me to open up, I feel guilty.
I told her that I really was trying and about all that I had done in the past two weeks, just to show her that I really was trying and I did want to move...do want to. She said she was proud of me, and though I dismissed that as though I hadn't even heard her while there, I won't lie that that was my goal, to make her proud since she thought I wasn't making any effort. I did say that perhaps we could start with one of the less traumatic traumas, maybe that would help and than we could move on to the harder ones as things progressed. She said, ok, make me a list. Ha. I asked if she was planning on retiring any time soon, but apparently I have at least five years with her, so maybe we can get through them all. So, that is my homework, a chronological list of any traumas I have experienced. What exactly constitutes a trauma? Can I include the ones that aren't really that traumatic to me, though they should be. Maybe we could start there.
Anyway, point to the story, I wasn't very happy with myself today. Granted, during the last five minutes I was a bit more open than I had been, but geez, you'd think I could just open my mouth and talk. You know, like a grown up. Thoughts are formed, mouth opens, words come out. Can't be that complicated, can it?
I am so frustrated with myself. There has got to be some way to switch me on, some way to make all that is stored up suddenly flow out. There has to be a way to make the terror subside enough to allow my mouth to open and realness to come out. Has to be a way. She tried to get me talking about one of the big ones, and it took one question from her for me to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Of course she didn't know that, but I did quickly, and I do mean quickly, make it known that I couldn't even attempt to approach that. No wonder I never get anywhere.
So, she had us both get a piece of construction paper and tear out our own bodies. You know, like a stick figure type thing, but no scissors. Well, I like symmetry, I like things to be neat and straight, so I did the best I could. It was actually pretty good, though one arm was longer than the other. I trimmed it, don't worry. Anyway, by mine, she said it looked really restricted, then asked if I felt stuck, like I can't move. Hmmm, ya think. Then, about hers, she said it was different than when she had done it before. Typically one arm is angled upward more, like she is leading. She said she wondered if maybe that was because she wasn't sure what to do to help me, to make me trust her, is she failing me. Not a good thing to say to me. I have a habit of feeling guilty for everything. When someone cries for my pain, I feel guilty, when someone says they are sorry for hurting me, I feel guilty, when my therapist feels insecure about her inability to get me to open up, I feel guilty.
I told her that I really was trying and about all that I had done in the past two weeks, just to show her that I really was trying and I did want to move...do want to. She said she was proud of me, and though I dismissed that as though I hadn't even heard her while there, I won't lie that that was my goal, to make her proud since she thought I wasn't making any effort. I did say that perhaps we could start with one of the less traumatic traumas, maybe that would help and than we could move on to the harder ones as things progressed. She said, ok, make me a list. Ha. I asked if she was planning on retiring any time soon, but apparently I have at least five years with her, so maybe we can get through them all. So, that is my homework, a chronological list of any traumas I have experienced. What exactly constitutes a trauma? Can I include the ones that aren't really that traumatic to me, though they should be. Maybe we could start there.
Anyway, point to the story, I wasn't very happy with myself today. Granted, during the last five minutes I was a bit more open than I had been, but geez, you'd think I could just open my mouth and talk. You know, like a grown up. Thoughts are formed, mouth opens, words come out. Can't be that complicated, can it?
posted by Bttrfly1976 at 11:45 PM
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8 Comments:
Hello Friend,
Unfortunately it is difficult talking about trauma. We have been so conditioned as victims to repress and not trust.
Then when we do want to take that chance because we want to be healthy we have to learn how to do so, knowing we have to function amidst the healing.
Just the fact you go back and are trying say's so much about your desire to want to make a change. You have to cut yourself some slack and be proud of the accomplishments you are making.
I know my therapist made the same remark to me one time, I dont know if I am helping you, when in fact she really was. keep going...
I am proud of you.
Blessings, to you.
I've been reading a book called Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers...at least I think that's her name...anyway, it's a retelling of the story of Hosea and Gomer.
All the old pain came up. I cried right along with the girl in the story because I KNOW that pain. I wanted to scream and scream and scream. I wanted to rake my fingernails across my face and tear all the skin off. Anything to get my mind off of the pain inside me.
I know the pain of being alone and I know the pain of healing. You think you can't take anymore and just when you thought you were done...here comes another wave. How fun.
I remember the first time I told a therapist the actual names of my family. We hadn't even gone into what happened. I think it was session #1. Just revealing their names was so painful that I cried. Just out of nowhere. BAM!!! I hadn't cried about it in years. I cried so hard, and the therapist thought it was because she was writing their names down. It wasn't that...I felt that I was betraying them. Needless to say I didn't go back after that visit.
It took years for me to work up the gumption to go back to counseling. It's been 6 months and I'm still there. All I can say is, cough it up. It still hurts but, once it's on the outside, someone can see it and help share the burden until you're strong enough to stand on your own.
There is something about saying the names, isn't there? I thought it was just me. I have read Redeeming Love three times now, and yes it is Francince Rivers- all her books are wonderful, actually. I cry like a baby every time I read that book. It is that good.
Names call to mind an actual identity. It's one thing to say, "My father did this to me." Or, "My mother called me such and such."
But to say their names is to give them a face, an identity. It's not an easy thing to do.
No you're not the only one.
A wonderful program worth considering, I know because I go to one in Arlington myself. Celebrate Recovery.....go onling and check it out.....sonja brooks http;/healing-hooves.blogspot.com
Hello,How is your weekend going? I hope you are having a good one. I am just hanging at home this weekend instead of going to the lake.
Caleb and I are doing a movie tonight.
Talk to you soon!!
My dearest friend in the whole world said something to me the other day when shame crept back into my day. (It does that from time to time.) She said, "Face it. Head on. Meet it. Experience the emotions. Move past it." My gosh that is so hard. Especially when it HURTS SO BAD to face it. I sometimes feel choked with I have to re-face the things that paralyze me with shame, grief, and sadness. But I'm not alone when I face it. And neither are you.
As always....you are heaven lifted.
Hey Paulette! Hope the movie was good. I went to the Rangers game, as I'm sure you read. I have my neices for the weekend and we will mostly just be hanging at the casa. Church tomorrow is the extent of our plans thus far!
Beth, I love your comments! It is hard, perhaps even a little more so since I haven't even figured out how to do that much yet. I mean if you never experience what you feel, it is hard to know how to start doing so once you are actually supposed to. Your prayers are always appreciated!
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