So, I’m in therapy. It hasn’t been long — about a month or so — but this has been a struggle since day 1 and continues as such.
By the time I get back home after a session, know what I most want to do? Curl up into the fetal position and rock. Nice, eh?
Therapy hasn’t been much of a feel-good, esteem-building exercise (though I’m not sure why I thought it might be that way) and rather, it’s an hour of crying and being pushed to acknowledge that at every turn I try to sabotage myself.
And yea, yea… I know… it’s good for me. The tears and the trauma and the drama all point to her pushing me into facing some truths about myself that I’ve conveniently opted to ignore. A lot of the therapy centers about the fact that most of my relationships have been ones of unrequited love — you know, the typical story: girl becomes friends with Chick, girl falls in love with Chick, girl doesn’t make feelings known to Chick, Chick is oblivious (or straight or married or in a relationship), girl tortures herself for months or years on end until she finally lets go. Whew.
But really – that’s how my life goes. I could easily name half a dozen of my friendships that have followed that scenario — pretty much every girl that’s been a best friend. And in every case, Chick hasn’t had any idea (other than perhaps the feeling that I was a bit of a stalker-type and too attached).
My therapist aptly noted: “You never choose someone who will return your feelings.” Um, yea. No idea. Just happens that way.
Or something like that.
Another gem from my therapist: “You’ve got a million excuses why you can’t change your life.” Not quite a million, I replied. Sure, probably in the hundred thousands, but not a million.
(And yes, I make lame jokes when cornered.)
Of course, to me, they aren’t excuses, but reasons.
A concrete example of my “reasons”: the apartment in the city. My reason for not having one yet? My oh-so-lovable pit bull … apartments have breed/size restrictions, as it turns out. My therapist pointedly questioned: why not pay more for a place that will accept the dog? I can’t afford it. Why not recruit the help of friends and family to watch Belle while I’m in the city and get a pet-free apartment? Well, because I couldn’t do that. Why not? Because why should someone else take care of my dog? (see how good I am at this game?)
And on and on …until I end up in tears because I can plainly see how stubborn I’m being while trying to find a solution.
I’m not sure where the resistance comes from. The apartment was *my* idea, and I felt like it was something that I really wanted to see happen. But as my search got more difficult instead of being creative in finding solutions, I kind of just gave up. “It’s fate”, I thought.
All this to say that I still need some work. Until I can sit through a therapy session, confident in the direction I’m headed and the decisions I’m making, I likely still need to be there. Even though the sessions turn me into Humpty Dumpty who breaks apart and can’t quite get put back together again.
(An aside: this post has spewed out of me, all jumbled and feeling a little random and unorganized. I’m usually all about the editing, but this time around? I like the idea of the post reflecting my own chaotic and slightly dramatic feelings about this.)