Talked to my therapist today about that cement-block of fear that I drag around.
I left feeling like it was changing shape. It’s been moving around in my gut all day. Growing rounder, then more angular and squishing into new shapes between the folds of my guts, and then once in a while, dissolving a tiny bit around the edges, becoming a new form of matter entirely. One that I don’t even recognize yet. But that’s okay. That’s what therapy does – it gives me things to think about. Things that don’t always reveal themselves with verbal signs and lettery language. Feelings often speak languages of their own. You either have to learn a new language to crack the code – or you wait until it translates itself into a form that is more recognizable to the limited human understanding.
An odd bit of timing, this.
When I went a couple of months ago to talk to my therapist, after a nearly three year break, we had a good session. Then life got in the way and I wasn’t able to get back in to see her for a couple of months. I was a bit frustrated. But when I arrived at today’s session I realized that it was perfect. I wasn’t totally ready to talk about “it” at that first catch-up session. I wasn’t even totally clear that “it” was probably THE crux of every problem I’m having right now. I knew it was there. But…I wasn’t ready.
Today I was ready.