oh I wonder how much I have spent in therapy over the years...
It started when I was just 17. Moving farther south with my family from our home in South Carolina we passed through Macon, GA - where we decided to stop and revisit a former home. Seeing Macon again was not something I cared about, but my parents wanted to stop. They thought it would be "fun" to see where my sister and I had grown up...but I was surprised at how little I actually remembered from that time. My childhood home brought back few memories, a small brick house that looked just like the other boring houses on the block.
A neighbor walked across the street to say hello, and when I saw him I was instantly sick to my stomach. This young man (now 24 or so) had been the neighborhood bully, and had inflicted years of abuse on me. He had hit me, taunted me, and heartlessly explored my body while his fellow thugs held me down. I had completely blocked him and his cohorts from my mind for years and years, until seeing his cold, dark eyes brought it all crashing back. I ran across the yard, much like I was still 9 years old, and locked myself in the car while my parents made harmless small-talk.
I didn't tell my family why I ran to the car, and they had long grown tired of my moodiness and were happy not to ask what was the matter. Weeks later, when we arrived at our new home and were settled, I asked to see a therapist.
Of course my parent refused. Duh. But I persisted and finally they demanded to know what could be so wrong that required they "waste money for me to talk to someone". I told them I had been sexually abused by that neighborhood monster back in Macon...I had come to the conclusion that maybe that was the root of why I could never bring myself date. To a 17-year-old high school girl, not being interested in dating was a HUGE deal. I figured that bully had broken a part of me and I wanted it FIXED. But they still refused. They told me to just "get over it".
I ignored them and found a therapist on my own. She agreed to reduce her rate and I worked my butt off to scrape together my pennies to pay for it. She was an amazing help to me, and I am smiling just thinking of my time with her. It was hard work, and I left most sessions feeling exhausted and nearly hopeless. Nearly hopeless, but determined to get better.
I have always turned to a good therapist since then.
My therapist these days has her work cut out for her. Some days I feel just that same kind of hopelessness. Bless her heart though, my therapist is trying her best to get me through this heartbreak. This week, though, I cancelled my appointment after having a bit of an epiphany. A few days prior to cancelling I was putting on one of my cute new outfits and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror...I realized that
maybe it's time to shift gears. Maybe rather than sitting on a couch crying about something I can't change, I should try to focus on what I
could change. Putting on my awesome jeans made me feel special just for a moment...and maybe there is a time for talking and a time for shopping ;) No one ever says you have a cute ass after weeks of therapy. But they say it for the right pair of jeans!
So I made a list of what I would do if I weren't worried about money...and the top of the list was (wait for it, cause it seems nutty...) LASER HAIR REMOVAL!
I hate hate hate shaving, you see.
So I traded my therapy appointment for some very painful but much needed grooming. Let me tell ya, for that hour I certainly forgot all about my broken heart and focused instead on my tortured skin.
Next week I may get a pedicure. Or a massage.
Because getting OUT of my head might be a better plan than going deeper inside.
Just saying...
