So, I’m going to be graduating my group therapy in a
couple weeks, which basically means that I have reached a point where I have
worked through enough of my process that I can function in the world without
the containment of the therapy group (aka I’m healed… mostly…). This weekend was my final therapy intensive
and, boy, was it intense!! It feels like
in order to graduate, the universe needs to administer a final exam to see if I
pass.
Over the nearly two years I have been in group therapy
(and nearly four years in individual therapy), I have tackled some pretty heavy
topics: abuse, neglect, bullying, conditional parental love, death of the absent
father, and sexuality, just to name a few.
One major issue that has plagued me is seeking affection from the
unavailable man. That stuck around the
longest. Seeking love where it was
unavailable has pretty much been my M.O. for my entire life. I’m still working it out, but in the past
year (minus a few months), I’ve been pretty good at putting myself first (or at
least stopping myself early in the chase stages). I have never felt more powerful or in control
of my own life. Every day is brimming
with excitement and opportunity. I have
said “fuck it” to “chasing” after a mate.
My theme song of the weekend was “Holding Out for a Hero” by Bonnie
Tyler. Either a man meets me or I’m not
interested. I’ve had this conversation
with many people and the common opinion is that I’m searching for a unicorn,
and guess what, I am.
Then comes my final exam…
The unavailable male met me – BIG TIME!
World shattered.
What the hell do I do with that??!!!
Now I’m forced to be exposed and vulnerable. It was all well and good to challenge a man
to meet me when I knew he wouldn’t, but now that he has, it’s like I have to
make that challenge while naked. It
hurts. It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s overwhelming. It’s my final test.
This whole self-healing thing is a shit ton of work. Just when you think you’re good, you catch a
right hook to the jaw and are knocked over again. The sign of healing is how hard you let the
blow land and how well you recover. This
weekend I took a serious blow. It feels
like it totally exploded my insides to smithereens. What do you do when what you’ve been asking for
finally appears? When a person calls
your bluff and says all in, do you take the bet? Do you risk it all? Trust that you still have an ace in your back
pocket and even if you lose, you win because no one is ever going to have the
power to take all you’ve got again? Can
you take the hit? You know how to lean
into the punch now, but will you be able to get back up if this punch lands? Sorry about the mixed metaphors, but my brain
has erupted into chaos.
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this anymore, except to
let it all out. At the heart of the
matter, I’m being called to sit back and continue to trust the universe, even
when my heart is on the line and I’m having a really hard time with that. It’s all well and good when I’m in my therapy
group, surrounded by people I love, but after, when I’m sitting with myself in
my apartment alone, I can hear all the voices in my head panicking, screaming “Mayday,
Mayday” over and over again. I keep
trying to figure out what is going to happen next. I try to plan ways to keep myself protected,
when the real horror of it all is that if I want to be met, wholly and truly, I
need to stand naked (emotionally, but let’s not fully rule out the possibility of
physically at some point) just as firmly as ever. I need to listen to what I need and speak it
clearly. I need to trust that anything
worth keeping will hear me and honour those needs. I also need to be ready to do the same.
There is no easy way to pass this final test (I don’t
know why I assumed there would be as if anything else during this process had
been a happy fun-time cakewalk). I’m
sitting in it. I’m breathing through
it. I’m letting it pulse through
me. I’m crying when I need to. I’m speaking when I need to. And I’m writing so that others can bear
witness to my exposure. It would be
easier to actually be naked bleeding on the computer screen. Fuck, therapy sucks!!!
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