Apparently, I’m here for healing — for you to teach me that I have a place in the world. That there are actually people who have my back.
But I’m not really learning that in my relationship with you.
I see caring. I see you seeing me. I see you trying to understand the depths of my soul. I see you holding space for what I bring to you. I see no judgment. I see sincere appreciation for the human condition.
But you don’t have my back. You thrust me out into the world at the end of each session and do not give a hoot until I return to your door again.
You wish me a smooth week and then move on, revisiting my file when you prepare to see me again.
How is this healing?
How is this not retraumatizing?
Sometimes it feels that being in therapy just reinforces the beliefs that hurt until the core of my being.
Nobody has my back.
No one really cares what happens to me.
No one cares to be there for me.
I’m alone in this world.
There’s no place where I am protected.
There’s no one looking out for me.
My needs are not important enough for anyone to go out of their way for them.
I am not important enough to anyone in this world.
Isn’t this relationship, my showing you all my vulnerability, my telling you about the anguish deep in my soul — isn’t the purpose of it for you to take some of it and soothe it with caring?
Is it just for you to hand it back to me and say: Take it. Take it all, and I will help you with it next week again…?
It sometimes feels so callous. It feels the opposite of caring when I share with you what’s in store, and you turn the page of my book as soon as I close the door.
Sometimes it feels even lonelier than I’d ever before felt.
It feels so heavy to get piled on by so much with no one to help me carry it. And to walk in, huffing and puffing, with all of my baggage to your office where you let me put it down for a bit is not helping me day by draining day, week by endless week.
I know I gain skills by having you in my life. I know I’ve changed in many ways.
But this bone-weary tiredness of being a woman alone in this world? Knowing you has only made it worse.
Because worse than no one knowing about my pain, is someone knowing about my pain and not caring enough to do something about it.
