“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you really are clever. You do these really good things, but then you always find a way to put yourself down… How about you instead use your cleverness to find humor in how your brain twists the good you’ve done.” – Doc
This past Tuesday I had another therapy session. As per normal, it did not go as I envisioned in my head. Don’t get me wrong, it was still great though. Without fail each time I walk out of Doc’s office I feel a million times better than when I walked in.
For this past session, we touched on a few topics. The first, which I found surprising, was the idea of therapy as work.
Doc wanted to dissuade me from viewing the homework he gave me, the tools he’s imparted, and the ideas I have swimming through my head as work. To do so he felt was a trap, setting myself up to fail.
This was all in response to my non-meditation. I’m suppose to meditate fifteen minutes a day using a musical track he gave me. While listening to the song, I am to repeat a mantra, the lines focusing on parts of my life I wish to change.
can you buy Lyrica over the counter I am open to love in all its possibilities. I see the beauty others see in me. I will love others for who they are, not for who I want them to be. I am good enough to accept and receive love from others.
The closest I’ve come to meditating was listening to the song a few times before I drifted off to sleep, recalling two of the lines as I slipped into rest. I promised Doc I would do better.
Second, we talked about my cleverness. I spoke to Doc about a good conversation I had recently, but I prefaced it with the fact I used baby steps to ease my way through the talk.
Doc immediately jumped on my downplay of my accomplishment. He wanted me to be proud of myself for even having the conversation. And he pointed out that “baby steps” was not a bad thing. In fact, it was what I needed to do to get myself through the conversation. It was what I was suppose to do.
Doc feels I don’t give myself credit. I always qualify the emotional weightlifting I’ve done. I find ways to not acknowledge my work.
As a deterrent, or at least to shake up my head a bit, Doc suggested I use my cleverness to laugh at myself. Each time I put myself down, or find one small thing to harp on, he wants me laugh at how my brain works.
Laugh at how, even though I had this great conversation, I chastised my method. Laugh at how, after having an awesome time with a friend, I harped on myself for the lilt in my voice at our parting. Laugh at the ridiculousness that is, ostensibly, my Little Hater.
The last thing we touched on was The Gent.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’m going to tell you what to do.”
You won’t be reading much, if any, about The Gent anymore. We’re done.
Somehow I found myself in a situation similar to my parents; big shocker there.
I explained to Doc how frustrated I am. How much I don’t understand what’s going on. How I wondered if The Gent even knew what he was doing was shitty.
I also talked about why the situation was so hard, why it is so hard to let him go.
The Gent is the stereotypical guy I should want, the guy I should bring home, marry, have kids with. He is handsome, successful, charming, intelligent, an excellent fuck.
“Emotionally distant and absent.”
“Like your Dad.”
Doc hit the nail on the head.
In wanting to make things right with The Gent, in wanting to tell him how shitty he made me feel in hopes that he would do better, be better, I was seeking love from a person who was not giving it back. I was sinking energy into a person who did not reciprocate my efforts. I was repeating the pattern I learned from my parents.
So now the hard part is not calling him. Not texting him. Not contacting him. The hard part is going against my nature to forgive, to give the second, third and twenty-sixth chance.
The hard part is being strong by not giving in. The hard part is putting me first.
So, yeah, good session with Doc this week.
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