My hands are shaking as I write this. Anxiety. Panic. Depression. All of which have been consuming my emotions this last month. All it took was one moment to trigger my downward spiral. It was this moment that I realized that I needed help. I started with medication, and then did the hard part. I signed up for therapy. I love the idea of therapy, I encourage people to take part in it. But I have my own hesitations and preconceptions when it comes to therapists. I realized that I don’t trust them, because I don’t trust that they are actually there to listen to me and to help me.

This of course stems from my childhood history with therapists. I was an angry and emotional child growing up. I was screaming for help, but also for survival. And I had a therapist. But I remember my dad and step-mom meeting with my therapist without me in the room, and the stories that they shared were twisted versions of their own, that silenced my own experience and voice. So by the time I entered the room, I felt like my therapist was there to “handle me” according to the stories she was presented with, and not actually support me with what I was experiencing. If I am completely honest, I don’t remember a lot of those sessions – most of those sessions. But I do remember the feeling of not trusting her. Not trusting that I was safe. Not believing that I was supported. Not believing that someone cared.

So, meeting with a therapist, in a foreign country of all things is a big step for me. I worried about the cultural differences and understandings. But so far, I think she is reshaping my experience with therapy. For the first time I feel like I am being heard. What’s more important is that I am listening to myself.

What people don’t tell you about the healing journey is the pain that you will experience. And how just because you talked about it in a session, doesn’t mean your body is going to ignore it until the next time you are sitting with your therapist. Oh no, you’re going to start feeling panic attacks, bursts of emotions and tears that you can’t explain, exhaustion.

You are going to experience the pain that you shoved away for so long, in my case – for over 20 years.

So that’s where I am at in this journey. I am in the midst of tears and chest pains. I am recognizing how my pain and trauma is manifesting in me physically, and how even though I told myself I moved passed all of this ages ago, I never fully healed.

A lot of the work I am doing is focused on inner child healing. And I am learning to build a relationship with the little girl that is crying for help. I am learning to talk to her, soothe her, and create a safe space for healing.

Because for me, that’s what my little me needed. A place to be soothed, seen, and safe.

I don’t have the answers, I am still figuring myself out. Still learning what I need and trying to unearth all the pain I stored away. Because I want to be a full person. I want to be happy. I want to love and let others love me. But the truth is, I don’t know how to do any of those things. I have worn a mask of what I believed others wanted to be for so long, I don’t know how to be the person the little girl in me always wanted to be.

What I do know is that writing for me has always been an outlet, be that poetry, short stories, letters, or these little mini reflection essays I seem to write. I process through writing.

So word by word, and tear by tear, that is what I am healing for. This space is about vulnerability, and for a long time I have tried to be vulnerable here. And I will continue to do so. I hope that through these words I can find connection with myself, that little girl in me, and with others that surround me.

To quote Taylor Swift: “This is me trying”

Amber