Therapy Thursdays

Every Thursday morning for the last 3 months, I’ve had an hour-long therapy session. 

I was supposed to have therapy today, but something came up, not for me, for her. 

That’s okay… Maybe... This is a test. 

Maybe this is a test of how much or how little I really need therapy. 

But, if it is a test then I feel like I am failing today. I really needed therapy today. 

I feel useless, and in need of my routine. 

This afternoon, I observed that if my session is pushed by a day or an hour then I am not okay. 

Was I ever okay? 

Am I even healing? 

Is it possible to become dependent on therapy?

Have I become addicted or too dependent on another thing in my life? 

I fear becoming dependent on anything because I feel like I become dependent on everything. 

My fear of becoming dependent on AA is one of the main reasons why I stopped going to AA, along with my desire to be ‘normal’ and drink again. I was so afraid that the collective community was going to be the only thing keeping me from drinking and I was determined to see if I could do it on my own. LOL. 

This is probably what every alcoholic thinks. Once we think we can do it on our own, that is exactly when we start drinking again. 

But, I feel justified in my fears of being dependent on a program like AA. 

I watched my Grandpa go from one addiction to another. Alcohol to AA. Once he gave up drinking, he filled his void with meetings, coffee, and cigarettes.

I’m not sure which addiction is better. Maybe AA since he is still alive. Although, he used to gift me more Twinkies when he was a "drunk".

I’m more like my Grandpa than I realized. He would probably feel the same way I feel if he missed his therapy appointment too. 

i don’t believe in “loving yourself first”

I have always been a hopeless romantic, a lover of love. 

Maybe, that is, because I did not get the love I so desperately desired as a child after my parents divorce... or maybe it’s because I grew up obsessively watching soap operas with my grandma during our two weeks together during summer vacation. 

Either way, I have always longed to be desired, to be wanted, to be enough. 

Since I was 15-years-old, I was in back-to-back long term relationships with very little downtime between boyfriends. I thought my first boyfriend was the one, I thought my second boyfriend was the one, I thought my third boyfriend was the one, and so on... 

I was wrong many, many times about who would ultimately become my life partner, but I am okay with that. 

Looking back, I am proud of the strength I had to trust again and to love fiercely after experiencing the depths of heartache that one can only experience when a relationship ends. 

Sure, maybe if I had a better understanding of “self-love” in my younger years, I would have left some relationships sooner or handled some situations differently, but each partner was a mirror reflecting life’s most important lessons. 

It was through partnership that I learned what I did and did not want from a partnership and from myself.

It was through partnership that I felt safe to express myself honestly.

It was through partnership that I learned how to remove my mask and to be authentic.

It was through partnership that I learned how to tear down the walls I built up and how to break the cyclical patterns that relationships can bring to an individual soul.

It was through partnership that I leaned into true vulnerability. 

It was through partnership that I learned....

how to love myself. 

being naked is an act of self-love

When I was a little girl, pre-parents divorce, my family had a membership at the Birchwood Athletic Club. It felt exclusive having a membership there, like we were truly a nuclear family with enough money to afford the luxury of focusing on our fitness.

I remember going to the club significantly more during the winter and seeing steam evaporate off the pool area glass. I was excited to walk through the doors, so that the chlorine could smack me in the face the moment I entered. The entrance had a tall staircase that felt like we were at the airport, which also made entering feel like a destination vacation.

The club had a childcare section, but for some reason my parents rarely made me go to it. They let me do my own thing most of the time. Not sure if it was a combination of how ‘well behaved’ I was or if my parents just did not give a fuck what I did during their ‘me time’, but either way I preferred to be able to explore the building. Every visit felt like an eternity, but I found enough to keep me busy.

My mom and I would always join again near the end of the day. My parents were nervous about me being in the hot tub by myself because they thought that I may not listen to my little body and would stay in too long. I loved dunking my head into the hot water just to see how long I could I hold my breath, but this made my mom nervous. She told me that having my heart in the hot water for too long was dangerous and she would require me to sit on the edge every few minutes. Although, I believed my mom was honest, I was also certain this was faulty information. Either way, I appreciated that she was looking out for me.

The sauna was the last stop. Typically, I was the youngest and the most clothed. All the women in there were completely nude and owning it. Seeing women sitting in their own skin was comforting, but even at that age I was aware that I would not be comfortable entering the sweat lodge without wearing my bathing suit. I felt like if I had taken my bathing suit off that all eyes would be on me. So, I kept it on in hopes to camouflage my insecurities of being naked around strangers. The shame around my body only grew louder since then.

This year, I made a pact with myself that I would run toward all the things that scare the shit out of me. One of the things on my list was being nude in front of other women. After having two children and generally not loving my body, the thought of being nude in front of other women gave me an anxiety attack. During those previous invitations I knew I wasn’t brave enough yet.

I recently got invited by a few friends to join them at The Schvitz. I immediately went into panic mode trying to figure out what excuse I could dish out, so that I would not have to put myself in such a vulnerable state, but I knew that I could not keep making excuses if I really wanted to get over my fear, so I said, “FUCK YES!”

This was my first time at The Schvitz, I did not know what to expect, except there would be women there, including my close friends, naked.

I headed straight back to the women’s locker room and I began to undress like I had done this a million times before. It’s kind of like jumping into a pool, if you dip your toe in, then you might not want to jump in anymore. So, I figured I should just strip immediately; otherwise I might convince myself to keep all my clothes on or even more embarrassing I might just walk out.

One of the women in the locker room complimented me on my pastel pink silk robe. This gave me great relief since I felt like my silk robe might not be up to par. An other woman wore a floor length robe open with her bra and panties showing. She walked around like she owned the place and carried a confidence that I could only admire to have one day. There were women giving massages and facials and I thought, “Damn, this is what self care looks like…” I was sold.

The true test still lied ahead of me, but as I descended into the bathhouse there were women of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages standing around chatting and laughing completely nude. Seeing other women comfortable in their skin gave me the boost of confidence I needed to take my robe off and enter the dry sauna. As I sat there for a moment, I felt myself judging my body, but especially my breasts. They are flatter and smaller than I would prefer. My nipples have felt too big, since having Rory. I saw a couple of other women walk in with smaller nipples. I thought surely all of my anxieties and fears are true, I have bigger nipples than most women.

I felt sorry for myself for a couple minutes, until I reminded myself that this experience was not about judging, it was about embracing. As I sat their telling myself positive affirmations, I was reminded of my childhood memories of being in the sauna at the Birchwood. As a kid, I had no idea that I was going to turn out to be one of those women who sat in a sauna naked, but I was proud I finally got there.

Being naked is an act of self-love.

sadness is my best friend

Sadness is my best friend. All of my favorite and worst memories are soaked in sadness. It's as if I’ve been standing in a torrential downpour of rain my entire life; yet somehow to everyone else I look dry.

I used to be ashamed of my best friend (sadness). I used to want to hide her because the world didn’t think she was very cool and I knew that if I was seen with her then, by association, I wouldn’t be very cool either. So, like any people-pleaser would do - I shoved her far back in the closet. I only let her come out to play with those I trust most. My husband has hung out with her more than anyone else - something I've felt shame around. The one person in the world who should get the best of me has been stuck in my sadness.

But, something my husband said to me on my 31st birthday celebration, after eating a handful of magic mushrooms, gave me the compassion I had been searching for.

My husband grew up with a Type-1 diabetic mother. When he was 19-years-old she passed away from cancer. I never met her, but I feel like I know her through my husband's grief. We talk about her when we see rainbows after the rain, when a cardinal appears in our backyard with divine timing, when we look into our daughter’s eyes, and when we take mushrooms together.

In our Airbnb, we had been lying nestled together with our bodies tangled in the sheets of our top bunk's cozy bed listening to Fred Again's piano set as the sun went from blasting through the round porthole window to setting and casting a shimmery glow of fiery orange and desaturated blue hues on the vaulted ceiling. The perfect combination of the overlapping low and high notes on the piano were allowing our emotions to bubble up with wonder and awe for life, our life. Suddenly, my husband mentioned that he resented his grandfather for saying that his dad was only with his mother for financial gain and wealth. He recalled the times that his dad would have to rush his mom to the hospital, or the times her blood sugar would spike and she would become uncontrollable with emotion, or the times when her insulin dropped so low she lay sprawled across the floor completely paralyzed, immobile.

I could tell witnessing this as a kid was more traumatizing than he had ever let on prior.

Then, he said one simple thing, “My Dad loved my Mom beyond her illness.”

And, it was in those words that I realized my husband also loved me beyond my illness. The love story he witnessed as a child was unconsciously playing out in the depth of love he shows me. My heart burst open with unimaginable gratitude as we both welcomed the tears that flowed down our cheeks and seeped into the wrinkles of our lips when they touched as we kissed. The taste of sweetness. We soaked in each other's warmth.

In his words, I found the inner strength I needed to love myself within and beyond my sadness. If I didn’t love my sadness... Then, how could I possibly love myself? Sadness is my best friend, but I don’t want to hide her anymore. I want to embrace her with the same tenderness my husband embraces me with when he wipes away my tears. I want to embrace her with the same safety my husband gives me when he blankets me in his arms, so that I know I am never going to fall too far down. I want to embrace her with gentleness and the soothing nature of a whisper...

It’s okay to be you because I just want to be me.