How Does That Make You Feel?

I would like to address something. This blog is written from a considerably privileged perspective. I am a white, (mostly) able-bodied, cis-gendered, queer/straight-passing woman from a two-parent household. (She/her). Got it? Good. I also have enough ability to hold a job that pays me to live, and enjoy some finer things in life. One of those finer things is therapy.

I may come from a loving family, but I also come from some intense physical and emotional trauma. In my early thirties, I was finally able to seek (and afford) professional help. I worked hard, did my exercises, and for the most part was able to overcome many obstacles that had stood in my way in life due to the past I was carrying in my heart, body and bones. I was able to perform many activities and adopt a diet that helped me stay off pharmaceutical medication.  It’s only been recently that I have returned to therapy and also considered the fact that perhaps I could benefit from some of those much-maligned drugs.

For the most part, it’s mostly a security blanket for me. So I know that even if I am completely daft, that someone has their professional eye on me. This is my self care. All the bubble baths and yoga classes in the world can’t replace someone who’s job it is to truly listen to you (and take notes) and ask you tough questions. You might be lucky enough to have a hard-ass bestie or a domineering parent that will do that, but it’s also highly problematic and if you have the resources, I suggest you get yourself your own personal Doc.

My Doc is pretty chill. I am pretty sure she’s a little younger than me but in spite of that she has an acceptable mix of earnest concern and keen critical thinking that soothes and appeals to my cynical view of the world. I’m just getting to know her (or rather her, me). There will be time to assess my progress as the sessions grow in number.

So, I am back in therapy. After almost 8 years since Therapy: Episode 1, I’m willing to admit, I don’t have it all figured out. All the tools I kept from the last time are still handy and usable but back then, regardless of what felt like insurmountable pain at the time, I had an identity. I had a purpose in the world. I was a performer. I had endless, nightly validation. I had a community. Therapy: Episode Deux is more about regaining my identity than healing from trauma. What is my purpose? Server/Dog Mum/Friend/Partner…? Why does that feel like I fall short?  Where is my community?

I’m at this weird point in my crisis where I have that feeling where I’ve stopped  sobbing and I’m in this calm, sedated almost numb state where nothing feels terrible but nothing feels incredible. I don’t feel panicked but I also don’t have a direction.

Is it as random and frivolous as just opening a numbered door and seeing what lies behind it? Is Bob Barker going to appear with his skinny microphone and ask me to choose? Is it as simple as one door revealing a BRAND NEW CAR  and door numero two a food processor?

*cue disappointed trombone*

Thanks for playing and tune in next week where I….well you know.