This post isn't going to be easy. This post is going to take courage to write. No doubt you will learn a side of me through this post you have not seen before because I am going to be vulnerable, in writing my thoughts.
You may remember that I had an incident with a client back in March 2013. As I stated then, this rocked my world in a way I never dreamed possible. I dealt with it and did my best to move forward through the emotional mess it created in me, through the nightmares that followed, through the feelings of being back in my childhood with no way out, through the memories I wished I could forget, through the heartache and pain that the situation brought. I continued to persevere. Until I realized, I needed help to work through this. I needed healing. This began my search for a counselor. I found one and then it got put on hold because she went into the hospital for pregnancy complications. I began the process of professional therapy June 3rd.
I shared why I wanted counseling and what I wanted to get out of counseling and what I didn't want counseling to be. I am not doing counseling for a venting session or to hear myself talk. I am not doing counseling to be told it is okay to feel the way I feel or that my feelings are justified or that what I experienced was horrible or any other common comment. I am definitely not doing counseling to prove a point. I am doing counseling because I have been told by many people over the last 16 years that I should do it and that I would find it helpful, but the only thing that launched me truly doing this was something I never expected to experience with a client who paid for my services. This was a stark shock of reality to me and I wasn't prepared to have to deal with feelings, memories or nightmares from events in my childhood. I thought I had worked through things, I thought I had "moved on" if you will. But the realization came clearly that I hadn't to the degree I needed to. I now want to move past this as much as I can to let the things I have experienced be used in my life as God wants them to be and not hold me back from growing and blossoming more into the woman God has called me to be!
I get asked, "How long will you do counseling?" The answer is, "I don't know." And if you want to know, I am not trying to figure that out either. When its been enough, I will know.
I get told, "I bet is helpful to tell your story." The truthful and honest answer is, "I don't feel that it has helped anything yet."
I get told, "I am sure with time it gets easier." The answer is, "In reality, each session has gotten harder, not easier, though some sessions have been harder than others."
I get told, "I bet it is comforting to know that what you went through in your counselor's eyes is awful." The answer is, "No, that truly is not comforting. I know it was awful, you don't have to tell me it was, I remember very vividly how awful! If you only know how much I want to forget."
Each week I have things to think about following my session. Each week I have homework to complete, sometimes more than one assignment, but I always have the ongoing assignment of writing out my story. As I prepare for each session I have to wade through the memories that flood my mind and heart as I write out my story. It is a process to do this. I then have to face the reality of the situation, seeing the words that have been written out, in plain black and white ink. I have to face the truth told right before my eyes, I can't pretend its a dream. I can't ignore it, it stares right back at me. Each session I then have to face sitting down and presenting my homework to my counselor in which she then reads my story to me, sometimes she asks questions, sometimes we discuss a point further, sometimes she tries to get me to talk more about my story then I have written. As I hear her read my story, it is very hard to believe sometimes that all this was my life. Its hard to swallow the details. Its hard to believe this isn't someone else's nightmare.
Who would want to read this story? Who would care the results of this story? Who would believe this story?
Each week I have to face my fears and continue on my mission to tell my story. The more I continue on this mission, the more I find and feel that fear is increased, more fear than I anticipated having. How can this be? What can I be afraid of? Why does fear take over the feelings I have of wanting to be healed? Why does the reality of my situation create such fear in me? The details haven't changed. The facts remain. The truth is now being told. How can I dispel the fear? What can I do to make it go away?
If I only knew.
