For those of you who actually keep track of the things I mention, I wanted to let you now I DID make it to my therapy session on Nov. 3rd. I didn't know if I was going to or not...it was the scariest thing I have ever done. But I made it. The jury is still out on whether I am glad I did or not.
The whole thing keeping me out of therapy was the knowledge that I would have to sit down and tell someone my life story. Sure, I do it here all the time for the 200 or so strangers who are interested in my quirks. But to sit down and talk about all the things that have happened to me to someone whose job it it to work through that quagmire? Well, it was overwhelming. And I was afraid of the therapist's response. I knew what it would be. Sure enough, she said exactly, verbatim, what I was most afraid of. She said "You sure have been through a lot of trauma in your life." And that was just the session where she took some personal history. There were things we didn't have time to touch on. What's she going to say when she knows I found a dead body? Or my best friend died in childbirth?
But the fact that my worst fear came true and I didn't shrivel up and blow away means that I am strong enough to do this. It's going to be a painful, take no prisoners, gut-wrenching experience, but I can do this.
I will say it has made me very lonely. I have superficial friends here in CountryTime, but no one I can rush to and lean on to help me through this. Something very devastating and mortifying happened to my daughter yesterday and there was no one I could share it with. The open wound left behind by taking off the band-aid just made it all that much more glaring. But I know that will come with time.
I doubt I will be talking much about my therapy. I'd rather rant and rave and share the ups and downs of the pastoral world...I did just want you to know, though.