I Did It!

I originally wrote this post on July 7, 2017, but I realized that I never published it. So I'm doing it now! It's actually perfect. I just started seeing a new therapist a few months ago. I'll write about that soon--"Therapy: Round 2." Full circle. Kind of. Take a gander. 

No Beat of the Moment. Sorry. 

I did it. After thinking about it for the past ten years or so, I made the decision to go to therapy. Whew! Saying that "aloud" and for the "world" to hear feels a bit refreshing. We all have issues. Face it. Some more than others. LOL. I have said before that I regret not going to therapy as a teenager (after losing my mother). Then again, after losing my grandmother. Sheesh. Sometimes I can't quite put my hands on how I have managed to make it this far. (Other than by God's Grace of course. No strength of my own. Alone, I am not strong enough.) 

I am (I think) going to share some of my experience with therapy later. Promise it will not be a whole year later. I actually have a lot to share. However, this bit I have to get out now. After a few months of therapy (definitely noticing growth), I decided to take a tiny break. Minor Reason: I quit my job. Ha. Ha. Gosh, it felt great saying that aloud too. Extremely liberating. (I will also share more about that in a later post. I have A LOT of catching up to do.) But seriously, I "resigned" from my job. I am going back to teaching high school (even though the grade level wasn't the sole source of my unhappiness). YES, we have so much catching up to do. But, I am extremely excited about my new job.  Back to the minor reason. I quit my job. No insurance for one month. Darn.  Paying for therapy out of pocket was not really in the plan. 

Okay, but back to it. I DID IT. I was extremely nervous about going to therapy. A friend recommended her therapist to me (over two years ago) and she had nothing but great things to say about her. Black woman. That kind of created a safe space that was a little more comfortable. I found out on the first visit that she also lost her mother (not as a teenager), but still, we shared that unfortunate experience. I also found out she worked as a therapist during the day at a high school. Okay. Similar career experience working with the student population. This was going to be great. So many shared experiences. 

It was great. I was opening up. I SAT on her couch. Refused to stretch out or lay down. Away with the stereotypes. LOL. She did a lot of the talking at first. She asked a lot of questions. She easily identified my triggers. She was not judgmental. It was great. Then I lied. I lied to my therapist. What? Why was I even there if I was not going to be honest? Waste of money. Waste of time. Yup. I convinced myself (every other week) that I was going to tell her the truth at the next session. Andrea, what are you really doing with yourself? No truth. Nope. Continued with the lie. She would ask for updates and I would make things up. As I am typing this, I am realizing again how ridiculous this was. So I told myself I would definitely stop going until I really gained the courage to tell her the truth. Sad thing is: this truth is not even MY truth. It pertains to someone else, but of course, it is an extension of me.

In some ways, this was/is the best personal experience. Talking about grief and loss has been so helpful. Tackled my anxiety issues in a major way. Still working on them, but I have noticed major growth in that area. Except now, I have anxiety about coming clean. Also, I worked (kind of) with my therapist this summer. This summer, I am teaching at the school where she does counseling. It was not planned either. Complete coincidence. My life is so funny. I see her a few times a week in passing.

Even though I did not "come clean" (because I didn't reveal my little white lie, haha), I feel a little better. Writing is always so therapeutic. I have to deal with this mess. Because I did it. After all of those years, I made that leap. But did I really do it? Not if I can't be honest! I am going back (last week of August). I have to build up the courage or whatever it is that is keeping me from opening up completely.