I'm sitting at my local women's resource center waiting for my therapy appointment. I've arrived early so thought I would use this extra time to begin a new post.
This isn't my first time in therapy- but this time I'm not here in utter desperation. Well- sort of, but it isn't like the other times.
I grew up believing that "Counselling" was something you got from your pastor, depression was spiritual, modern psychology was an invention of Satan, and prayer solved all mental health issues.
Then in 2009 as a brand new mother suffering from postpartum depression I experienced heart break, betrayal, and an escalation in physical abuse towards me.
I remember sitting in the counselors office: he seemed confused that we were there because neither of us had much to say other than "we fight sometimes". So he vaguely went over some communication techniques for relationships and we went from there.
Finally in the third session I was brave enough to speak up about the suspicious sexual behavior my husband had been exhibiting with other women. He had denied anything physical ("just" romantic/digital) despite evidence to the contrary, told me I was psycho and crazy - paranoid and jealous and that he never wanted to discuss the topic again. So needless to say his reaction when I brought it up in therapy was unpleasant to say the least. He snapped off at the therapist- then stood up demanding that we leave. So we did.
A few years later, after my husband had returned from deployment, I was threatened with divorce (a common occurrence during arguments) if I didn't "get us help"
Once again I found a therapist. Like the first one, she was very vague.
I kept trying to speak up- I kept trying to explain the mood swings, the violence inflicted on me and around me, the shaming, swearing, belittling, and name calling... All which coexisted with professions of undying love, seduction, unending compliments of my beauty and character... I didn't know which version was truth and what was reality.
I struggled to explain what I was experiencing and she simply gave vague statements about people "feeling different" when they're angry. About the only good she did is when she told my husband that his telling me I was "just like" my crazy grandfather who was been in the psych ward repeatedly, attempted suicide, struggles with debilitating depression and various personality disorders so on and so forth- was "below the belt" and that he shouldn't have said it.
I became so frustrated with her complacency that I refused to return and never did.
Despite these terrible experiences, in 2013 another terrible bought of postpartum depression had been triggered shortly after the birth of my second child. I had done all I could to prevent it, talked to my doctor, exercised daily... But what I wasn't expecting was my husband to suddenly confess to his "indiscretions" from 2009. I was horrified. Who was this person? How could he lie to me for so many years? Wait! So I was right all along?
I felt manipulated. I felt trapped. I had wasted years on this person, was tricked into having another children with him- further cementing my ties to him. I had been suspicious, but was convinced that I was the crazy one. Now I found out that not only was I right, but he was capable of keeping dark secrets for
years.
No amount of exercise could fight the wave of depression that hit me. I could hardly get out of bed to go to work. I felt dead inside.
My OBs office prescribed me a mild anti depressant and sent me to a therapist. Because I was suffering postpartum, the county had a program that allowed me access to pro bono individual and group therapy.
That therapist saved my life. Not right then, but later on.
Talking to her was like talking to a friend. Finally I felt comfortable enough to tell someone everything. Well, almost everything. It wasn't until months later that I would finally reveal my deepest secrets to her. In the meantime, I met with her weekly and learned to think differently. I made new memories and pathways in my brain to coexist alongside the painful ones- the memories of processing through my difficult emotions with the help of a trained professional, who cared and genuinely wanted to help me.
She taught me that I didn't need to decide the rest of my life right then and there. It was OK to not know exactly what I wanted. If I wanted to stay married or not. That I could commit to each day and trust my inner self. She taught me to trust me gut (which had been right all along). She taught me to accept and love myself as I was.
Because of the marital issues, she even did a few sessions with my husband and I- which was extremely helpful. She explained to him that he needed to come clean and not "confess" any more atrocities because of it's detrimental impact on myself and the marriage. He agreed, he swore that there were no more "confessions" lurking.
Part of me regrets the fact that things got better with the help of that therapist- because of it I re committed to the marriage and made further financial entanglements with him- buying our first home. The 50 foot yacht named "Destiny".
But then I think of all the good that came of that. The experience of living on the yacht, moving to southern California- none of that would have been possible if things hadn't gotten better. And although there were about to get much- MUCH worse- perhaps there was a purpose in the timing. My heart wasn't ready. My mind wasn't ready. But things were starting to shift, largely due in part to have a truly helpful therapist who helped me think differently.
A few weeks after we started life on our new home, I got another "confession". The traumatic but disguised as "heroic" story I had been told before about what happened in 2009 (and doubted) came crumbling to pieces. I'll have to write more on that later, but suffice to say my ability to trust and believe ANYTHING this man had to say was forever destroyed. My brain could not comprehend the information it was processing. There was simply no way the love of my life, my dear sweet husband, was capable of such atrocities- blaming me for them, lying to me for years, and then lying to the therapist who tried to help us overcome it. Who was he? How could he? HOW COULD HE DO THIS
TWICE?!
It was then I contacted my former therapist who had helped me through postpartum depression. It was then I finally admitted what was going on. I admitted the violence I was enduring. I tried to rationalize it, I tried to downplay my fears. But she knew exactly what to say. She didn't push me to leave, but she helped me create a safety plan and encouraged me to continue therapy with a local provider and armed me with resources. It was that same safety plan which I executed the day I left and filed a restraining order, which is why I credit her with saving my life. She knew that telling me to leave wouldn't get me to do it. She knew my safety and my children's safety was the highest priority and that by focusing on that, and continuing to build my inner strength, that I would leave if I needed to. And I did.
From there we continued to work on our relationship with local programs and therapists through various military resources. Learned some amazing skills and again- things got better. But worse at the same time.
My husbands instability continued spiraling out of control. He was hospitalized but I had the best attitude I could- I really thought this was a huge breakthrough. He would finally get better- and that meant that the kids and I could be safe.
I got myself a penthouse suite in the hope hotel. I really thought we could make it. But you see I had made a promise to myself- that if he became violent again that
I would leave. I kept that promise, but that's another post for another day.
So today, I sat in the waiting room at my local women's resource center waiting to meet my new therapist. Excited and relieved.
The session went well. She basically just listened to me tell the short version of my story- complete with an abundance of rabbit trails. But she said something that seems so simple yet made a huge impact on me. . .
What you are experiencing and feeling is a normal reaction to what you have been through.
It seems silly- that something so simple and so obvious could be so powerful. Why bother going to therapy to hear the obvious?
Well, because it makes a difference. It's a specific time for me to talk about whatever I need to, to receive feedback- no matter how obvious- and work on building those new memories and pathways. To process through my own mind and thoughts as I accept my experiences and move forward.
So here's a few key lessons when it comes to therapy:
Finding the right therapist is a MUST. If you aren't comfortable, it's not "therapy isn't working for me." It's the therapist- find a new one. Keep trying until you feel comfortable. It's absolutely KEY that you feel like you can talk about whatever you need to and that you feel like it's going to work. Because if your attitude isn't supporting you and you aren't getting what you need from your therapist, it's not going to get you the results you want or need.
Be consistent! So many people give up after a few sessions- like I did at first. After finding a good match and sticking with it, I made huge progress in my personal growth and life. I cannot tell you how glad I am that I committed to 12 sessions with my postpartum therapist and that I continued to reach out to her as needed. Although you could say it "didn't work" I am also grateful for the programs I completed with my husband to work on communication in our relationship, for the painful sessions we sat through together. Because they did amazing things for my emotional skill set and my relationship skills in general. I learned things that you simply cannot learn unless you are fighting desperately to fix a very broken relationship. In the end the "fixing" may not have happened, but the skills are something I will take with me FOREVER. In my job, in my friendships, and future intimate relationships.
Don't wait until you're desperate. This is exactly why I went back to therapy today. I'm not broken down into nothing, a pathetic pool of tears and pain. Consider it preventative maintenance. Whatever the case, I want to make sure I stay as strong as I can. For myself, for my children. I want to move past this horrific situation I am in- move past it and move on. I don't want it invading my thoughts anymore. I'm ready to work though it and move forward. Maybe if I had followed these pieces of advice earlier in my life, I might have prevented further suffering and pain- I would have broken free sooner. I can't go back and change it, but I can apply these lessons I've learned to my future and perhaps sharing them with you will give you the insight you need in your life.
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