I have been really focused on this notion of owning what we want to work on. Being honest on a level that is difficult for most. We are too concerned with what people will think of us, what that looks like, and the work involved after we utter the words.
I know that this is going to be a bold statement that I’m going to make. I recognize that it is going to ruffle some feathers or upset some and I acknowledge that. I respect the fact that you might have a differing opinion. I’ve actually argued (if you might call it that) with a friend of mine about this very sentiment. I understand where she was coming from, but I also feel so sure about this concept that I’m undeterred. My stick-to-itiveness is not indicative of a lack of regard of a differing point of view, but rather an acknowledgment that I feel so strongly about this that others have not swayed me from my stance. I’ve apologized because it has never been my intention to cause harm, but I don’t feel sorry for my belief. At all.
I think the reason that we struggle, as a society, with therapy (individual therapies, group therapy, etc.) or medication or other treatment options for the various and sundry issues we contend with is because we aren’t honest and we aren’t ready to do the work. I know I’ve said this before and it might seem tired but I think that this concept is expressed in so many ways that we have to keep going back to the drawing board.
Since I am sharing something that might be deeply offensive for some, I think it makes sense that I make it deeply personal. Perhaps if I explain where I derived this point of view, it will help you see things a little more clearly. I’m not looking to gravitate you to my way of thinking, but if that so happens, fine. If not, perhaps it will just allow you to create a little space for someone else who feels otherwise.
I’ve been in therapy off and on throughout my life. I am an event driven therapy kind of gal. Meaning, shit hits the fan and something happens and that motivates me to get help. When the triage is no longer needed and I have returned back to what I think is even keel, I stop therapy.
On its face, that isn’t a terrible notion. Most of us don’t necessarily need to be in therapy for life. Though some of us do, and that’s okay too. Many of us need to find our way through and over the shit that life tosses our way. Break-ups, birth, divorce, deaths, job loss, the end of friendships, eating disorders, weight gain, weight loss, illness, and the list goes on. So, we consult with a professional. Our directive is simple. Please help me manage my feelings related to this event and please help me emerge from said event as unscathed as possible. That’s usually the way that it works. And like I said, nothing wrong with that.
There is a missing piece though that we fail to recognize, that I failed to acknowledge for so many years. An event can be precipitated by nothing at all. It can be the universe taking a giant shit on our life. It’s possible that we participated in the evolution or creation of that event, but it’s also possible that we literally had nothing to do with it. However, we always have something to do with our response to that event. Always. When we are struggling and in dire need of healing or respite or both, we tend to focus on that thing that will make us feel better. It is a very short-term approach.
I want to draw this back to me so I am making sense for you. Ready?
When my ex left me in the way that he did and got married to someone else in such short order, I was devastated. I felt lied to, fooled, rejected, confused, angry, and sad. I contacted a therapist and explained that I needed to find a way to feel better about this shocking end. I was fairly up front in that I suggested that I was afraid I would continue to care about him, despite his vile behavior. Of course, part of that is that he continued to see me periodically and talk to me, and entertain fantastical notions about vacations and the like. I knew it was all bullshit, but I was inclined to believe him because that felt easier. Even though it was insane, I felt like subscribing to his narrative would allow me to feel like eventually I would return to what had been my normal. His perspective on things would make the horror show I was bearing witness to, just a temporary bump in the road. Formidable but manageable. I knew that I somehow needed to extract myself from this intense manipulation and gaslighting.
I also knew that I was at a loss to do this on my own. I knew that I would continue to see him and listen to him and believe him, while working very hard to move away from seeing him, listening to him, and believing him. And yes, if I was being 100% honest, there was a part of me that desired to get there before he did. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for from me. On some level, I felt like he recognized his departure as abrupt (motivated by his fully blossoming relationship, no doubt) and was looking to appease some of the very minor guilt that he felt. Or perhaps he was looking to find reasons to taint me or spin another tale about who I was or what we were. At the time, I could actually picture him telling people that we had been friends. I don’t think I need to tell you that we were never friends. Never. Not at the beginning, not in the middle, and certainly not in the end.
So, when my new therapist asked me why I was there and what I was seeking through her guidance and tutelage, I explained that I had been badly damaged by a relationship that I was in and I was looking to feel better. FEEL better. Not do better. Not be better. Not avoid repeating this pattern again. Not exploring what I did to contribute to this clusterfuck. Nope. Just: please help me feel better.
That’s where it began and I’m sorry to say, that’s where it ended. Well, sort of. More on that tomorrow.
L.
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