In the dim-lit room of whispered thoughts, I tread
A sanctuary where my deepest fears are read
For years, whispers haunted every waking move
“Amend your ways, there’s much you need to prove.”
Thus, to the counselor’s hearth, I took my heart
Tattered from the strain of every familial part
With hesitant voice and weary, drooping frame
I spoke of guilt, its familiar, burning flame
“My mother’s silence weighs like winter snow
What fault is mine that makes her love not show?"
The question hung, a fragile, trembling air
Behind the walls that barely seemed to care
The therapist, with eyes both keen and kind
Brows furrowed deep, an intrigue in his mind
Found this puzzle, this intricate gnarled know
Perplexing, as if a truth I had forgot
Three decades-long, I wore the cloak of blame
A mantle heavy with another’s shame
My soul’s cartographer, lost in maps not mine
Charting courses through family design
In clarity that shattered guarded glass
He posed a thought that gently came to pass:
“Why carry burdens that are not to claim
Nor etch your spirit with another’s name?”
Through sessions steeped in introspective brew
I sipped on truths, each sip both harsh and new
The dawning light through long-locked gates did creep
Illuminating the canyon gaps so deep
Not I, the flawed, but perhaps we all share cracks-
Lines that form from life’s inevitable tax
And in this light, I started to perceive
A love for self that I could now achieve
I walked into the tempest of my past
Where judgment rained and shadows were cast
But understanding, like a sturdy ship
Navigated me through this peculiar trip
To face my mother, once a daunting task-
Armed with new insights, unmasked and unflasked
Whether she speaks or keeps her silence tight
I know now that I will be alright
For in that chamber, where secrets unfold
A life was saved – a story retold
The truth lay bare, profoundly simple, and free:
I may not be the problem I was taught to see
Thus, with each step on this uncharted way
The mending pieces of my life shall I lay
With a grateful heart, each day anew, I see-
He saved my lie, by teaching me to be me
I’ve spent most of my life in therapy. Starting when I was five years old, or maybe even younger. Not because my mother was concerned, but because something was “wrong” with me. While deep down she knew what was wrong, it would not be revealed to me the extent of my trauma, until I was in my thirties.
There are only a few, less than five therapists I was able to connect with. The majority of them were when I was younger, and the second my mother’s behavior was questioned, I’d be yanked out of that person’s care and I’d never see them again. My mother was always able to talk about them in a way to make sure my opinion of them was also negative. While there were therapists who tried and cared, they were legally not allowed to do anything about it. I just remember in sessions with my mother, many therapists asked me how I felt. I would look at my mother and say, "how do I feel?" My mother would then tell the therapist how I feel. Knowing what I know now, like, come on, aren't yawl professionals? I literally had to ask my mother how I felt. SHE told you how I felt. Does no one see that red flag?
Fresh out of a suicide attempt, a two-day stay at an adult disability home, I met this one therapist. My hair was long, down to my butt, and I had pink highlights. Immediately, I knew that I would be comfortable and able to connect. I can see myself sitting in that corner; broken, still quite suicidal, and he asked me, “What brings you to therapy today?” I told him that there was something wrong with me. That my mother won’t talk to me, and that I need to figure out what’s wrong so she will love me again. I’ll never forget the smirk on his face. It’s as if he already knew the problem. Much like I do now when I see my clients. He said to me, “What makes you think there’s something wrong with you?” I started listing off every reason in my brain I could think of, as to what could be wrong with me, mostly what my mother had been telling me since I was 5, or younger. I remember saying things like, “I talk too much, I’m a difficult person, I ruined my mother’s life, she’s done everything for me, I can’t live without her, I need her,” etc.
I was seeing this therapist twice a week for about six months. Most of my care was simply keeping me alive. As I am able to currently feel the same emotions, although much less intense, I remember arguing with him a lot. Defending my mother and her actions, and trying to prove she’s right and he’s wrong. He was kind and patient with me, although also authoritative when he needed to be.
Outside of those two appointments a week, he sat on the phone with me many nights, outside of sessions. While he was on call those times, he went above and beyond to help me through my suicidal tendencies. I didn’t have anyone supportive in my life at the time. We would sometimes be on the phone for hours. He told me a little about his life, which helped me to feel more comfortable, and it was distracting from the intense feelings of not wanting to be alive. While I know this is unethical, and the biggest reason I will never speak his name, he’s also helped me to realize that sometimes you need to go above and beyond for some people. He saw the value in life, versus the bureaucracy of his profession. If he didn’t make it feel somewhat like a friendship and go above and beyond during this time, I one hundred percent know, that I would not be alive today. I wouldn’t have made it through those tough emotions, and there would be several people who felt the same about me. Because I’ve learned, from this therapist, that every life is worth saving, and I’ve taken that perspective and volunteered my time over the past five years, to be that person for other people. To be the person they needed, even if they weren’t good for me. I’ve kept many people alive because this therapist kept me alive.
I think about this therapist often. Not in any weird way, just in a, “he saved my life way.” I don’t get too emotional nowadays, but I am right now while typing this. Someone saw my worth when I had none. Someone cared enough, to go above and beyond, because they believed in me.
I used to chit-chat a lot with him about how I wanted to be a therapist since my early twenties, but that I wasn’t capable of it. That I didn’t have time for school, that I wasn’t smart enough, and I’m sure there was more. He told me that I could. He encouraged me to follow my dreams and to go for it. I don’t remember his exact words, but I remember his facial expressions and the immense faith he had in my capability of turning my life around. My own mother never did, and that’s where these current tears come from. When I enrolled in my MSW program, it was because he encouraged me to go this route for various reasons, rather than a psychology degree. That’s exactly what I did, after my bachelor's degree in behavioral health, (trauma emphasis) of course.
He left the practice and I sought new care. Through further struggles in my life, I ended up in a new city living in a long-term shelter facility for women. (For another post) I was not looking for a new therapist. The ironic thing is that I was only looking up clinics in my area for a school project, and that’s how I found him.
Life happened, he left that practice as well, and I moved again several more times. I reach out to him occasionally and he responds. I know this is a man who genuinely cares for people and is excited to hear about the challenges his clients have overcome. I hope that I am the same. That I make the time to return emails from clients, no matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. This therapist was the first healthy role model I ever had in a professional setting. I was about thirty-one years old when I met him. I can never, and will never forget him. 😊 I do actually have one other therapist that I am in touch with. We are friends on Facebook. This was a man that I connected with in my teens, and he too, gets his own post someday. 😊He’s also one of my biggest supporters and encouragers. Another man who truly cares about other humans and wants what’s best for them. These are my people.
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