Today, I had a talk with my therapist. It's the usual Tuesday thing and has been for a while. We haven't spoken in person in months and I will admit that the phone thing is getting old. She has this way of picking up on subtle vocal inflection, though. No one I've ever talked to in a professional capacity has been able to read me quite this well. It helps, I'm sure, that I'm not guarded while speaking with her. Then again, she's got this way of getting me to let go of my defenses. I'm paradoxically an oversharing type and an extremely reserved type. I'll ride the too much information express but only with certain things. Of course, my art just hangs out and is open to interpretation. There are things, though, that I never discuss.
With my therapist, nothing is off the table. I mentioned today that a lot of my problem is that I carry a lot of tension in my brain. Imagine the tension in your shoulders after a stressful time. Now imagine that feeling in your brain. Not your head like a headache, but deep down in the folds of your brain. Talking with her eases the tension just a little bit. It's a sweet sweet taste of relief. I get this relief from some drugs too but it's always accompanied by confusion and I never can really work through anything. It's just the sugary rush of release without any nutritional value. Of course there's nothing wrong with liking candy, you just can't live on it.
My therapist is incredibly good at her job. She's perceptive in an amazing way. She's also good at making me feel valid. This is something that I struggle with. It doesn't help that I've been invalidated quite a bit. It also doesn't help that I'm really great at invalidating myself. I confessed that I'm honestly not sure why people like me. I intellectually accept that people do, as there is overwhelming evidence supporting the assertion. I still don't understand why. I'm likely my own worst critic. I've been told I'm my own worst critic.
More than anything else though, what is helping me is hearing a professional of the mind tell me that I'm making progress. That there is a genuine emergence of confidence and healing in my voice. That I matter and that my life has meaning and value. I've been superficially shined on before by therapists and counselors, which isn't helpful. How are you supposed to believe in yourself when people are just blowing smoke? I've also been reduced to a diagnosis and told that I had to "cure" this, that or thereother.
When it comes right down to it, I'm not seeking treatment for a disorder. My fundamental perception of the universe isn't a disease. What I am seeking, finally, is healing. I'm seeking identity. I'm seeking love and acceptance from myself. I'm seeking a relief from trauma and the formation of new nural pathways. I can't do this alone. I'm beyond grateful that I've found someone who knows what's up and has my back.
When shit approaches something closer to normalcy, I'm giving the woman a sincere hug.
