Session drama

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.)

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2 responses to “Session drama

  1. Fabulous Mommy

    Call it a stream of consciousness. That is usually a good way of getting around the jumbled uneditedness of a post.

    Therapy sucks, but it’ll all work out for the best. I’m one of those people who, when cornered by an aggresive person trying to make a point, I get defendive, rebellious and uncooperative. Any therapist who works with me needs to be gentle and subtle. Lol!

    Hope you find benefit to seeing your therapist.

  2. Yea, I usually don’t fare well with people who aggressively question me and my actions, but I’m trying to work with this since the gentle, tactful approach hasn’t really been showing any kind of results. Sometimes I just wish I could make it through an entire 50-minute hour without shedding tears… crying is tiring!

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