I consider this man, my therapist, a friend and wish him all the best in his life. He played a critical role in the process of my healing. He created a safe place for me to express myself, and as we discussed today, a place where he could witness my healing. One powerful thing he said was, "being connected to another person is what helps you find strength; it is being connected to yourself that helps keep strength."
In a previous session, we decided that this session should mean something, and take on a somewhat ceremonious feel to it, this was done for my sake. I have a hard time with goodbyes. For me, without a goodbye, the meaning of the interaction loses some of its meaning. And I didn't want this experience to lose any meaning. So as part of our goodbyes we both wrote letters about this experience, and today we shared them.
Here is mine:
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One year ago I was broken. Like a large window pane, I felt as if everyone could see right through me. And yet, that task must have been difficult, as that glass was shattered, from top to bottom.
Walking into therapy was my last hope. But a hope I didn't believe in at the time. I'd done this so many times before, why would it work this time? But I went, exerting my last ounce of hope I carried.
For the short time I attended before the summer, my hope was boosted. It was lifted enough to carry me through the summer. It could have been, because I finally was able to speak. The silence of my sorrow was broken, even if just slightly. I spoke the truth that I had promised never to speak.
I continued to speak, through the letters to Teresa over the summer, which kept my hope bolstered some. And then came fall, and therapy began again. And then I was fully rescued. Or rather, I was given the power to rescue myself.
Being completely honest with myself, about my situation saved me. I was no longer hiding behind the excuses I had been making for years. I spoke the truth. I told it like it was. And just speaking the truth gave me power. It left me even more exposed, however, than ever before.
As much as the pain of the situation ate at me, a new hunger filled me. The hunger to be free from the pain, and even more, the hunger to stop hiding. I wanted to be the great person that I knew I could be, no longer using my pain as a crutch for failure.
And I began to achieve. I dreamt, I spoke and I achieved. No more hiding. I took responsibility for my life.
And in that process, I found myself. The hard shell of self-pity, anguish and self-loathing began to shed itself away from me. Each time I spoke, released, it shed away more.
I began to emerge. The me that had always been there, but was buried so deep, through years of hiding and lying to myself. And it was all my doing. I covered myself, I buried myself alive. Because I wouldn't be honest, I wasn't true to myself. I had abandoned myself, and become a cruel, estranged friend.
But that is no more. Each week I opened up, each week I was honest with myself, the friendship repaired, the trust regained. I learned again, or perhaps for the first time, to trust myself. And, I learned to care for myself.
Therapy taught me how to heal myself. And I have come to realize my healing and growing will be a journey I embark on for the rest of my life, but I now have the confidence necessary to trust myself, to make decisions, to fall and to get back up, to heal, to live, to fly!
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Maybe therapy isn't for you, but it was for me. Because for me, healing was necessary, as I think it is for all of us. Whatever your path to healing takes, I hope that you can find your way. And I hope that you have someone who can witness your struggle, and ultimately, your growth.
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