I gave therapy a second chance.
Or rather, I gave myself a second chance?
The moment I stepped into this woman’s office I knew I was welcomed. I spilled everything to this woman– my dad’s death, my past abusive relationships, every time I had ever been sexually assaulted. Nothing was off limits. Everything that has ever plagued my drained soul came to light in her office. Much to my surprise, she understood me.
“You don’t breathe. I’m looking at you and I can see you holding your breath in. You’re not breathing properly.”
“These experiences you’re having– they’re post traumatic stress related. It’s not just anxiety.”
“What you’ve gone through is traumatic. You never healed.”
She validated me, understood me, empathized with me– but wasn’t afraid to call me out.
That’s what I need.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what to do with this information yet. I don’t know if this will “heal” me. I don’t know if I’ll be a new person in the upcoming weeks, but I’m willing to give it my best effort.
I don’t know. Do any of us really know?
I’ve worked way too hard to let myself fall down the black hole again. I owe it to myself to brush the bullshit off and begin again. I have a lot to offer the world. Imagine the hell I could raise if I had my mental health in check…
That’s what life is all about, right? The opportunity to begin again after heartbreak. After tragedy. After you’ve fallen.
I fall often.
But I’ll come back twice as strong and twice as willing to become a better person.
Here’s to endless opportunities.