Yesterday's visit was both harder and easier. I am getting a little more used to Jordan and his way of talking, his mannerisms. He laughs readily and I like that about him. Its too easy to talk about this stuff and get very morose within myself. He gets my sense of humor.
Last night wasn't "therapy" per se I guess. He had me do a written outline of my life from 1992 to the present. It was awfully long and convoluted. Typing it out was hard. Watching him read it and listening to him ask for clarification on certain punctuation points of my past was interesting. And when he got to Joseph and began to read, he fell silent, stopped asking many questions and just read it. And I found out of nowhere suddenly, just knowing this stranger is reading Joseph's story, I have tears falling down my face.
So of course, I lose everything I have been practicing. I didn't reach inside and let myself feel the emotion. Oh hell no. I started scanning his eyes as I made my throat close shut, willing the welling wetness to knock it off. When it became obvious THAT was not going to work, I let a few fall but turned my head away and oh-so-slowly wiped my face on my shirt, thinking if I just took the edge off it would ease up. Nothing doing. So I sat there in a quandry, a box of Kleenex conveniently on the table beside my chair, my eyes on it as the heat stung my cheeks, feeling a feverish burning. Here is an example of my warped and embarassed thought process when it comes to being vulnerable: "If I take a Kleenex, he will see me. He will know I am crying. But if I DON'T wipe my face and the crying happens to stop in time he will see my tears...and know I have been crying. And if the tears don't stop and I take a Kleenex and they still do not stop he will see me not only crying but doing the unfeminine task of blowing my nose. But if I don't blow my nose I will have snot running onto my lips and he will see that I am crying. Help!" *panic*
"Ok. Wait a minute Sheri. This is a therapist's office. And you are sitting here watching him read Joseph's story, your son, who DIED. And he told you emotions are not bad and to be accepting of them. So okay. Accept."
So I sat there and let the tears run down my face, feeling so so so exposed and vulnerable. I HATE crying and really really hate anyone to see me cry. Really really really hate that. But I did take a tissue and he did look up when I did. And just said "Heavy isn't it?"
And I nodded mutely. And he continued to read. He was very gentle, accepting, NOT patronizing, which is SO important to me. He saw it. Spoke it. Acknowledged it. And then let it go. I was grateful for that much at least.
Did I mention how much I hate to cry?
So we didn't really DO anything but yet we did. The next session will be my childhood timeline. Then we start the EMDR. We'll see how it goes. I do think this is going to help. A lot.
Last night wasn't "therapy" per se I guess. He had me do a written outline of my life from 1992 to the present. It was awfully long and convoluted. Typing it out was hard. Watching him read it and listening to him ask for clarification on certain punctuation points of my past was interesting. And when he got to Joseph and began to read, he fell silent, stopped asking many questions and just read it. And I found out of nowhere suddenly, just knowing this stranger is reading Joseph's story, I have tears falling down my face.
So of course, I lose everything I have been practicing. I didn't reach inside and let myself feel the emotion. Oh hell no. I started scanning his eyes as I made my throat close shut, willing the welling wetness to knock it off. When it became obvious THAT was not going to work, I let a few fall but turned my head away and oh-so-slowly wiped my face on my shirt, thinking if I just took the edge off it would ease up. Nothing doing. So I sat there in a quandry, a box of Kleenex conveniently on the table beside my chair, my eyes on it as the heat stung my cheeks, feeling a feverish burning. Here is an example of my warped and embarassed thought process when it comes to being vulnerable: "If I take a Kleenex, he will see me. He will know I am crying. But if I DON'T wipe my face and the crying happens to stop in time he will see my tears...and know I have been crying. And if the tears don't stop and I take a Kleenex and they still do not stop he will see me not only crying but doing the unfeminine task of blowing my nose. But if I don't blow my nose I will have snot running onto my lips and he will see that I am crying. Help!" *panic*
"Ok. Wait a minute Sheri. This is a therapist's office. And you are sitting here watching him read Joseph's story, your son, who DIED. And he told you emotions are not bad and to be accepting of them. So okay. Accept."
So I sat there and let the tears run down my face, feeling so so so exposed and vulnerable. I HATE crying and really really hate anyone to see me cry. Really really really hate that. But I did take a tissue and he did look up when I did. And just said "Heavy isn't it?"
And I nodded mutely. And he continued to read. He was very gentle, accepting, NOT patronizing, which is SO important to me. He saw it. Spoke it. Acknowledged it. And then let it go. I was grateful for that much at least.
Did I mention how much I hate to cry?
So we didn't really DO anything but yet we did. The next session will be my childhood timeline. Then we start the EMDR. We'll see how it goes. I do think this is going to help. A lot.
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