Had my first appointment with the therapist today. I’m not sure how many of my future posts will be about our visits together since many of my friends read my blog AND I gave him the link (I mean seriously…what better way to get inside my head than to read what’s I’ve removed) but I’m going to go through a little bit of my first visit because I think it’s important and I just plain want to do it. So there!
First of all, I like him. From the moment he said hello I liked his energy. He’s young and interested and seems open. All therapists listen but he seemed to be listening “more” somehow. He made and maintained direct eye contact – I freaking love that. He said things like “core work” which I took to mean he wasn’t treating me like a transaction. He was willing to put in the effort it will take to make me okay.
And I have a feeling it might take quite a bit of work.
I told him at first that my primary goal was to learn to love myself. Later I said I’d settle for like. Then it dawned on me that I’d just like to be introduced to myself and maybe start up a relationship. Like any good relationship I want to take this slow and really get to know myself. Then I can decide whether I’m the kind of person I like and maybe one day even love.
That last paragraph sounds a little wacky but I suspect some of you know what I mean.
The funny thing was I could actually feel and identify some of the emotions I was having while speaking with him. That’s new. I mean that’s really new. Like the last couple of months new. So it was good that I could share it with him in the moment and get some positive reinforcement that it was normal to feel things and be able to identify them.
Okay…that paragraph might be even weirder than the first. Sigh…
Anyway, I have homework and I’m excited about it.
There…that was a normal paragraph. Well…except for the fact that I have never, in my whole entire life, been excited about homework. But I digress…
I told him about my other therapy experiences. About the woman who asked me what I thought I did to deserve my husband. (Really? WTF?) And about how I just stuffed down the feeling I had when she said that, smiled sweetly, left her office and never returned.
Or the guy who saw me for a few weeks, pronounced me cured and sent me home. He did teach me that I should cry more often but cured? Uh…no.
Or the addiction specialist who, when he got too close or touched a nerve, I bolted and never returned. Oh…and then I relapsed but you all know about that already.
What’s different about this experience? It’s really very simple.
This time I’M ready. I’m ready to listen and put in the work and figure out why I can’t like me just the way I am. To pick at scabs until the wounds heal properly. To uncover rocks, scrape all the goo away, hose it down and really look at the potential gem that lies beneath.
They say when the student is ready, the teacher appears. Maybe this is it maybe it’s not. But I’m not giving up this time.