Happy 6 month thera-versary to me!
This week marks six months since I have been in therapy. And last night’s was one of my hardest sessions to date.
It really is difficult for me to both identify and admit to feelings, and even digging slightly below the surface left me incredibly emotional and inevitably crying in my car for the whole journey home. But now I feel better. I don’t feel great, as I am apprehensive in knowing there is much more of the same to come, but even starting to chip away at the tar-like blockage made up of all the ‘pending’ feelings is light relief. I know I’ve got a shit storm brewing inside me, and backdated traumas to deal with and the thought of that fucking terrifies me. But sessions like these make me feel that bit better.Babes, we are all human. We all have shit going on and pain and secrets.
And that pain, those secrets and the shit we’ve been burying for however long is valid. As are our thoughts, feelings and emotions. They are valid and worthy of respect. And even when it feels like we totally, totally don’t – we’ve got this. It’s hard to believe I’ve been seeing a therapist on a pretty much weekly basis for twice as long as was originally agreed.
I definitely recommend therapy. I think, like anal play, it’s something absolutely everyone should try once. And also something that probably everyone needs. At some point in their lives, anyway. But I am also a firm believer that it will only work right for you when it’s your right time. I’ve tried it before and it was the flop of the century. Not because I didn’t need it, but because I simply wasn’t ready. And now I guess I am. I also think that you’ve gotta remember that therapy is a work in progress. Like I said, I’ve already been going for twice as long as we originally agreed and I’m nowhere near where I thought I would be. These things take time, so please don’t try and rush them. It’s highly unlikely that you’ll chat about your life for 50 minutes and be a different person when you leave.
Good things take time, you know?
And there ain’t no shame in committing to the long run. I am shooting the cover of my book tomorrow. I am half buzzing my tits off, and half absolutely kacking it. The past few months have been fuckin’ emotional turmoil thanks to this bloody book (another shout out due to my therapist). It’s so much harder than I thought it would be to let go and release it for publishing. Partly because I am self-publishing, and therefore without consistent ‘professional’ guidance, and partly because it’s my story. It’s my life and the events that shaped me and it’s a tiny bit frightening to push that out into the wider world for public consumption. I’ve been umm-ing and aah-ing about whether or not I should, actually, be publishing it at all for a few weeks now. And then last night, the best revelation hit me. It’s my story, and that’s what makes it so unique. I’m not trying to write another one of Caitlin’s memoirs or copy the style of Dolly’s best-sellers.
I have written MY book and the fact that it’s unlike all the others out there is a damn good thing. So, whilst the terror still runs through me on the reg, I hope to have my book ready to purchase just before Christmas. Please be nice (always, but especially to me when my book comes out).