A Seat on the Couch

I started therapy four years ago, and it was the best thing I've ever done for myself. I didn't realize that I had suppressed the pain of my broken heart trying to cope with my mother's sudden death at age 15. I was angry. Bitter. Upset. Confused. However, it was all shielded by accolades and smiles. Just when I thought I was stable, the onset of father's mental illness crippled me even more. I had no idea how to navigate my feelings and digest the new version of him. The absolute worst part- I didn't know how to help him. He needed so much and I felt incapable. I cried frequently. I felt like I was failing him, my family, and myself. Then, I thought a fresh start would renew my spirit, but relocating to Dallas only made me feel more alone. Sadder. Empty. Money wasn't the solution. The distance made matters worse. My biggest mistake? I had created such a "strong woman" facade that no one sought to check on me. If they did, I deflected because vulnerability scared me. Not to mention, sometimes talks with friends and family only infuriated me more. I had the audacity to expect them to know what to say or how to respond about situations they had never endured. This was my spiritual warfare, not theirs.

December 2016, I made an appointment with my therapist. 2017 was a compilation of several, emotional (ugly cry) sessions. They were difficult, overwhelming, emotional whirlwinds...yet needed. Despite the gruesome process, EVERY session led to more healing and uncovering of true self. I realized I was grieving for both parents. I pinpointed my toxic traits and how to rid myself of them. Established boundaries. I refrained from dimming my light for the sake of others. I gained peace. Extended myself the same grace and mercy that I gave so freely to others. I stopped hiding and even shared a talent or two with the world (📚).

Notice I didn't profess to be perfect or "fixed". This is an on-going process and I will continue it for the rest of my days. However, this is my story (a small portion at that). My truth. I'm not ashamed. My therapist is a godsend and taught me to embrace the good, bad, and terribly ugly. I couldn't imagine a world without her. To those I forced or inadvertently asked to play this role, I humbly apologize for putting you in this position. It wasn't fair to you. I also apologize to those I've hurt or wronged. My refusal to accept my brokenness lead to behavior I still regret, and there's no plausible excuse for any of it. I refuse to dwell on a past mistakes, though. I promised myself to be intentional with changed behavior in the future.

For anyone doubting therapy because of its "negative label", I implore you to unlearn everything about the stigma. We were never meant to battle our problems or issues alone. Don't feel ashamed. Make that call. Talk to someone. Join that support group. Your heart and mind need it, and to be honest, your purpose may require it.