I will probably blog a lot about my therapy, it’s a huge part of my life right now. Warning, there are some things in here that may not be all that easy to read (I’m particularly aware family may be reading).
I like my T a lot, he’s helped me considerably over the last year, though he tells me it’s all me, it really isn’t (if it were just me I wouldn’t be in therapy). I love that he’s a pastor, it was the main reason that I chose him over others. I also love that we have therapy in a Church, it’s soothing somehow, I feel calm and comforted there.
When I began therapy, I had this idea that he would tell me what to do, give me advice and I would have to follow it. It’s so not that at all. He’s a person centred T, he believes our relationship (mine and his) is crucial in my therapy. I feel support, compassion and empathy from him at all times. It is not clinical in any way at all. I’ve seen him get angry on my behalf, he swears when he talks about the people who hurt me,he gasps as I tell him details of my past. I feel he is completely with me. It’s not like he is there at the end goal issuing instructions for me to reach that goal to meet him. No, he’s there right with me, at every step, witnessing my pain. I feel it as more of a gentle push to each step rather than him pulling me there. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It took 6 months or so until the trust grew enough for me to start really letting go when I’m with him, I’ve since told him things I never could imagine telling anyone, things I couldn’t even bring myself to write in my journal. Each time I tell him something new, the trust grows a little more. I used to think he’d reject me.. who wants to hear this stuff? I mean really hear, listen to every single sordid detail. But he’s been there, he hasn’t budged, he’s not ran screaming from the room in horror, he’s not recoiled in shock. He has been constant.
As you can tell I really like the guy.. I doubt he gets the impact he has had on helping me turn my life around, he doesn’t let me praise him, he just deflects it back on to me.
There are times I get angry at my T. He tells it like it is, he challenges me if he thinks I’m lying to myself, he points out when I’m suppressing, he calls me out when he thinks I’m avoiding. Sometimes what he says is hard to hear, perhaps because he’s right and I don’t always want to hear it or because it’s just simply too painful. It’s very hard to hear to these things said by someone else, it seems to hit me so much harder when the words I use are said back to me. He sits across from me using my words, then adding his own, telling me things I need to hear, but sometimes would rather not.
I can’t tell you how incredibly hard it was at first to listen to him say those terrifying words “sexual abuse” and “rape”. I can’t tell you how shocked I have felt in recent weeks when he’s been a little braver and pushed harder. I can’t even begin to explain how much it hurts, physically hurts- as he looks into my eyes and uses the words “torture” “depravity” “brutal”. I can’t tell you how badly I want to look anywhere else than at him, but he holds my gaze as the truth sinks in, he reassures me, he tells me it’s going to be ok, he tells me he’s there and I’m safe with him. Then it’s out, there’s no denying and oh how it hurts, but it is the truth I seek. I admire and respect him for telling me the truth.
I am glad to have my T on this journey with me.