Therapy, Session 5: Mapping the Pieces

I had therapy yesterday, and we started mapping.

I wasn't really sure what to expect when she said we were going to start mapping for EMDR. I thought maybe it would just be putting memories in order. But it already feels like it is becoming something much deeper than that.

She asked me about some of the things I believe about myself.

I know I can't stand up for myself.I don't value myself.I feel inadequate.And I can't share my emotions until I snap.

That last one really hit me.

I don't always feel my emotions as they are happening. It's almost like they get buried somewhere inside me. I keep going. I take care of things. I tell myself I'm fine. I push it down and move on.

Until suddenly I'm not fine.

I snap.

And by then, the emotions are so powerful that I can't overcome them.

We talked about how these feelings show up in my life now, too. Even in my photography business.

I will set my prices,

I'll decide what my work is worth, and then someone questions the price, and suddenly I start dropping my value. I find myself wanting to make things cheaper, add more, give more, or make exceptions because I don't want someone to be unhappy with me.

I know how much time, work, education, equipment, and heart I put into what I do. I know I have worked hard to build my business.

But standing behind my own value is really hard for me.

It's almost like I need someone else to tell me that I'm worth what I'm charging before I can believe it myself.

Then she had me go back to my very first memory.

I told her about being four years old and waking up in the hospital after having my tonsils taken out. The doctor said that only one person could stay with me.

I chose Grandma.

And my mom's first response was, “I didn't want to spend the night here anyways.”

I remember feeling guilty.

I had let my mom down.

But yesterday, my therapist made me look at that memory a little differently.

Maybe it wasn't just guilt.

Maybe my choice had been used against me.

I was four years old. I was in the hospital, just waking up from surgery, and I made a choice about who I wanted beside me. I chose the person who made me feel safe.

And somehow, I walked away from that moment feeling like I had done something wrong.

That made me think about something much bigger.

Maybe somewhere along the way, I learned that sharing what I wanted wasn't safe.

Maybe having a preference could hurt someone.

Maybe choosing what I needed could make someone angry or disappointed.

So instead of learning, “It's okay to say what I want,” I learned to question myself.

To stay quiet.

To keep the peace.

To take care of everyone else's feelings before my own.

We also talked about times when I was accused of doing things I hadn't done.

I remember knowing I hadn't done whatever I was being accused of, but not knowing how to find the words to explain myself. I couldn't stand up for myself. I couldn't defend myself.

And when you are a child who doesn't have the words, what happens?

Sometimes you just accept the blame.

Sometimes you stop trying to explain.

Sometimes you start wondering if maybe there really is something wrong with you.

We talked about my father, too.

I found him. I reached out to him.

And he couldn't even pick up the phone.

Instead, he had his brother call me and tell me what a horrible person my mother was.

I was trying to understand my own history. I was trying to reach out to my father. And instead of hearing from him, I got a message through someone else about how terrible my mother was.

But the part that really stands out to me is that I couldn't stand up to him.

Not until he started talking badly about my grandparents.

Then something in me changed.

But how dare he.

How dare he talk badly about the people who raised me?

They were the ones who stepped in and took responsibility when he didn't.

His own parents disowned me.

So what kind of grandparents were they?

My grandparents were the ones who were there.

They were the ones raising his responsibility.

They were the ones who showed up.

And apparently, that was the line I could finally defend.

I couldn't stand up for myself.

But I could stand up for them.

And that says something to me now.

I could fight for the people I loved. I could protect someone else. I could defend someone else's worth.

But when it came to me?

I couldn't do it.

Maybe that's part of the map, too.

Maybe I learned that my own feelings weren't important enough to defend.

But someone else's were.

And then we talked about something I don't talk about very easily.

The really deep-down parts of my depression.

I told her I don't feel safe sharing those parts of myself.

I don't want to be the victim.

I don't want my story to become an excuse for who I am or how I react.

I just want to be happy.

I want to be healthier.

I want to be healthier for my children.

I want to understand myself instead of constantly fighting myself.

I want to be able to feel something before it becomes so big that it takes over.

I want to be able to say what I need without feeling guilty.

I want to stand up for myself.

I want to believe that my work has value without needing someone else to validate it.

And maybe most importantly, I want to learn that acknowledging what happened to me doesn't mean I have to become a victim.

Maybe I can tell the truth about where I've been without staying there.

At the end of the session, she had me go to my happy place.

The beach.

A cotton-candy-colored sky above me. My kids playing in the sand. Watching them discover little sea creatures, running through the sand, laughing and smiling.

And then I pictured them little.

Really little.

And the tears just started flowing.

I wasn't expecting that.

Maybe because those memories are so full of everything I want to hold onto.

We had so many happy days at the beach with my teacher friends. Days when my kids were little and life felt different. Days filled with sand, sunshine, laughter, exploring, and watching my children simply be children.

As I pictured them, I realized something.

These are the things I am fighting for.

Not to erase my past.

Not to pretend it didn't happen.

Not to become a victim of it.

I want to heal enough that I can fully experience the life that is still in front of me.

I want to be happy.

I want to be healthier.

I want to be present.

I want to be able to feel the good things as deeply as I have felt the hard things.

And maybe those tears weren't a bad thing.

Maybe they were proof that underneath all the anger, guilt, fear, and years of shutting things away, there is still so much love.

So much love for my children.

So much love for those memories.

And maybe, somewhere along this map, I'm going to find my way back to myself.

Not just the little girl who learned to survive.

But the woman who gets to live.