Journey

I was feeling positive the morning of my third trauma-focused therapy session. I went to the gym that morning, bought myself a coffee, and sat down to read a book. I was calm. I was not thinking about what was to come. My therapist bought a weighted blanket around the time I first started seeing her. It helps keep me grounded. I always sit down on the couch and put it on my legs. The pressure helps me feel calm and present. As soon as I was situated I grabbed my stuck points log and started reading each point. One, two, three...eleven, twelve, thirteen...and fourteen. "Say more about that. How is that different from a similar stuck point?" "I don't know." "Was there something specific you were thinking about when you wrote that?" "I don't know." "To your best recollection, what can you think of that makes that statement seem true?" "I don't know." Avoidance. I could not provide details about that st

Avoidance. That was the theme for session two. I completed my impact statement declaring all of the reasons I felt I am to blame for what happened. I sent the statement to my therapist, by accident. I was supposed to send it when I finished it, but when I went to hit send I could not do it. I sat there with my finger on the send button for about five minutes. Then, I accidentally tapped "enter." I spent the rest of my weekend feeling dysregulated. I sat down on the couch at 1:00pm on Tuesday the 15th. My therapist asked if I was ready to read my impact statement. I said, "no." I sat there for a long time. She asked me to take it out, hold the impact statement, and take some deep breaths; I refused. She told me to trust the process; I sat there in silence. She told me she had already read my statement. Me reading it to her would not be new information for her. I sat in silence. Silence was not exactly what was going on inside of my head. Things were actually

I have explained before that when I run a particularly difficult course outside I tend to set small goals for myself. I run from one telephone pole to the next. "This hill is too steep and too long, only 50 more meters to go. Made it." "I am sucking wind, and my legs are burning, 50 more meters." "It is so hot out here, and I am so thirsty; 50 more meters." When a run goes by 50 meters at a time, it becomes doable. It is one small piece at a time until the whole run is finished. I have used that analogy many times when speaking with my therapist about my progress and goals. She turned it on me one day. In May, she asked me about taking the next step toward the upcoming telephone pole. She was referring to trauma-focused therapy. I kind of panicked, fell of the wagon, buried myself in a deep hole, and self-sabotaged for several months. I don't think it was intentional so much as protective. Trauma-focused therapy would require that I actually look