My beloved therapist, who walked me through my parent’s divorce, quitting drinking, and becoming a mother: she moved.
(I’m totally shaking my fist in the air, but you can’t see.)
So, I have needed a new therapist, possibly for quite some time (my poor husband). I recently went back to acupuncture, and my acupuncturist recommended two people, who do both talk therapy and other modalities. I called one of them, and she called back, but there was this wacky thing with my voicemail where I didn’t get it until the week after.
Phone tag ensued.
I finally got to see her the other day, and I was twitchy and nervous and anxious, and I kept apologizing about everything (like I do when I’m twitchy and nervous etc).
New therapists, like shoes, almost – you have to sort of break them in. See was lovely, and generous, and welcoming.
She works out of her home. I was on time for once (moved heaven and earth to get the cherubs to childcare etc).
Looking back on our session, I feel like I finally understand why someone would want to avoid therapy. In all my years of therapy, I’ve never felt reluctant to share my story, or parts of it – so I could be better! But this time, there’s so much going on, and so much of it is out of my control, and there’s so much water under the bridge of past trauma: getting it all straight was exhausting and flummoxing.
It’s not that I don’t advocate therapy: I absolutely do. I finally understand why it would be hard for someone to lay their cards on the table.
But now, as in the past, I need help confronting some of the issues that are defining my moments, and the need for help outweighs the discomfort of sharing (this has been happening a lot lately).
To name a few things:
Nunkie G smokes pot. I’m an alcoholic, so this impacts me as follows: pot was really never my thing – whiskey was more my thing – more whiskey, please. I don’t want my kids to be around somebody who is fucked up all the time. He smokes cigarettes, which I also don’t want my kids to be around, but I can’t change that.
We have asked him not to smoke up when the kids are home, and he agreed. Then he didn’t agree, and this happened again two days ago. I was really upset; the Hubs yelled at him when he got home from work. MIL came over and talked with him about it. I sent both MIL and the Hubs an email with a pic of Nunks holding the bowl on the front porch. With prejudice and rage and WTFs and such.
We may have to move over this. We live in the house that the Hubs grew up in, so he likes it quite a bit.
Trauma layered on trauma is still trauma.
There’s a lot going on in my life. She kept saying that, and I finally let it sink in today.
More later, I think.