It’s been several months since I’ve been to therapy. I’m starting back again this week and I’m really looking forward to it. I really started missing therapy about a month ago. I thought that I was doing okay, good even some of the time. But I missed going and missed having somewhere to go where I could talk about all my stuff. And I missed my therapist, missed the way that she listens to me, and her kind kind voice.
I like my therapist. I like her a lot. I respect her a lot. I enjoy being in her energy field. A therapist’s energy has never felt so good and safe and kindness seems to be everywhere around her.
Some time ago I told her that I could never do that attachment thing that people do with therapists, that bonding thing. I just don’t have that level of trust to give a therapist and I’m not sure if I ever could.
I’ve had trouble listening and reading when other survivors have a parenting attachment to their therapist and are working through that process. I can’t imagine in my wildest dreams being able to trust a therapist like that. It’s something that is way way way beyond me. I guess that shows how much other therapists have damaged me, especially in my ability to trust another therapist. I can’t imagine that area of my life healing.
On the other hand I did bond hugely with my advocate at the women’s shelter. Almost 18 months later and I still get overwhelmed with terror and horror when I think and feel about her and that I love her. I’m crying right now. I didn’t have any say in this. I didn’t get to decide intellectually about this.
It just happened. It just happened, and I get the shakes when I think of her. I don’t want to.
I want to just be able to love her and talk to her once in a while and to feel happy, because she always gives me good advice, gives me good support, and makes me feel happy, about myself and in my life. That would be nice. That would be swell.
I get that, but I also get the shaking and terror and horror, because my mother was a monster, and a child beater, and a child rapist and loving someone like a mother is more than my courageous heart can bear. My advocate is so many things that my female parent never was.
So instead I wish she were my mommy. I never had a mommy and I wish she were my mommy with all of my little baby girl heart. I can’t control it, stop it, modify it, make it better, make it easier, make it go away. And that makes me feel terrorrized, horrified, and my body shaking. This fucking sucks so bad.