For a long while, I was feeling depressed. Or perhaps a better word is depressed. I was deeply sad, and I didn’t know what the cause was, but I wanted to fix it, and I thought therapy was the only solution.
I sought out a therapist in a city nearby where I lived and would go to see my therapist once a week.
My parents weren’t too enthusiastic about it. My mother seemed to think she has failed as a parent, my father asked if it was ‘normal’ for a young person such as myself, being 19 at the time to want to see a therapist.
Every Wednesday I’d make the journey by train and then the bus journeys or walks, depending on where the session was to be held that week to see her.
She was nice, middle-aged but young-looking, plump, warm. She didn’t ask too much at first, from what I remember so I went into my childhood experiences, assuming that’s how it worked.
I think I was expecting her to be able to give me some insight into why I was feeling what I was feeling, what decisions I’d made based on my previous experiences, or what wounds had been made by what experiences. I really just wanted her to make me feel better.
We established that I needed to have a different sort of relationship with my parents, one where we were all adults, and that were based around our common interests. Well that would have been the case with my mother anyway; the solution to the relationship with my father was more of a ‘time heals’ type deal.
Being a student who went home for the Easter holiday, I didn’t see the therapist for a good few weeks. When I came back for what would turn out to be my final session, she said she had noticed a vast improvement in my demeanour and that I was more proactive. I was surprised, both pleasantly and not so. I was obviously happy to have improved, but on the other hand, I knew I wasn’t fully healed. I felt that she had only given me strategies and that there were still insights that I had not received. But I came to understand that she obviously felt that she had done all she could for me. And I came to understand that at the end of the day, it is up to me to heal any wounds I feel I have received in the past. And that this in fact is the journey of living, to find oneself underneath all the baggage we carry round with us, to continually release any pain, and even the happiness of the past, that may be holding us back from a bigger and better future.
And in that journey, in mine particularly, I have to let go of the old teachers, and become my own.
Aurora Rose Truth considers herself a modern-day Renaissance woman, a dreamer, a poet, and eternal student of books and life. She writes songs, creates stories, and is currently in the process of rewriting her own. You can find her online home here at roriescove.co.uk
- Depression, dreams and the creative life (jenalexanderbooks.wordpress.com)
- PTSD Self-help: Choosing a massage therapist, part I (aehuppert.wordpress.com)
- The Worst Book I Ever Read or Sorry, Kurt… I Miss You (justinbelmondo.typepad.com)
- Can People Change? I mean, Really Change? (secretsofafatbulimic.wordpress.com)
- Demystifying the Path of Depression (bestisyettocome.wordpress.com)
- A Dose of Pure Honesty: Treatment and Challenges (iseekpeace83.wordpress.com)
- The Intervention Approach: Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT) (thinkingbookworm.typepad.com)
- Bad Experience With Therapy (radicalhope.wordpress.com)
- The Health Benefits of Writing (healingminds.wordpress.com)
- Interactions with Mental Health Professionals (acanvasoftheminds.wordpress.com)
- The Common Risk Factors Associated With Depression (sympathygiftsformen.wordpress.com)
- Depression/ Bipolar Help and cure (adifferenceforyourlovedones.wordpress.com)