Category: Therapy

Never meet your heroes..?

EmileeLeave a comment

They say never meet your heroes; you’re sure to be disappointed.

What about when your hero is your therapist?

“Hero” feels like a funny word to use to describe it, even as I just typed those two sentences, but it’s no secret that she’s the most important person in my life, so I’d say the moniker fits.
(Please note: anytime I read the word “moniker” my brain says “monkier” every. damn. time.)
(I digress.)

This thought was in the back of my head from the time I decided I was going to schedule an in person session, told her, made the plans, and drove up to where her office is, a little more than 3 hours from my house. I found myself mulling all of my past experiences over and over, comparing and contrasting it to the internal sense I had, and hoping against all hope that the sense was the correct player in this game.

I don’t “know” my therapist; one of her best qualities is the strength of her boundaries—I’ve learned so much from her about many things, but this is one of the best. There are few details I have gleaned over our two years working together, little things she’s shared here and there; nuances she’s given me that I collect like treasured gems, holding them tenderly as if they hold the secrets of the universe. What they really do is make me feel less alone, or give me permission to do/feel/think the same.

Even though I don’t “know” her, I have felt that I know her; that her character is clear to me and it gives me this sense I struggle to explain. She feels safe—a notion that scares me a little if I’m being honest. Not because of anything she’s done, but because of what has been done to me by other people throughout the course of my life. I feel like a scared puppy that’s out there living off the land, doing what I can to survive. She has approached me with gentleness, on my level, no sudden movements so as not to scare me off. She waits for me to feel safe enough to come any closer, steady with her presence. As I have tested my trust with her over the course of our time together, I have yet to scare her away; nothing has been too much for her to help me carry, too bad for her to chastise me, too terrifying to make her bolt. I have bared my teeth and instead of saving her own skin, she stays.

Slowly, I’ve allowed my fears to ease, begun to trust in her consistency, and been able to assume her intentions based off past experiences with her. Even this has lead me to fear she’ll somehow leave me—not at any fault of her own, but because that’s just what happens in my life. If I see there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I cautiously approach, and when I nearly arrive and have begun to allow myself to hope I’ll actually reach it, the light goes out and I’m left fumbling around in the dark. I make it out every time, but that deferred hope sure does make one heart-sick; especially when it seems to occur frequently. I’ve had friends I’ve trusted who have told me they’re not going anywhere, “we’re planting our roots here”, and as fate would have it circumstances change and they move, which doesn’t end the friendship, but certainly shifts it, leaving me alone in the seeming wasteland that is my hometown. I’m left to risk it all again in hopes of finding community that is in my own backyard instead of solely on a screen, and if I manage to find it, there’s the risk the story will all play out again.

And yes, my therapist is one I meet with virtually, so technically she’s not in my backyard either, but this has—unexpectedly—not been a bother to me. It’s as though there is a safety to having the screen between us, giving me a bit of distance that feels like an anonymity even though she can fully see my face as I speak. Still, I could be anyone to her; people lie to their therapists all the time, how does she know I won’t do the same?

Because, like me, she knows. It seems to me she has that similar sense of people and that in and of itself gives me a bit of hope that maybe what I sense might actually truly be what is real, past experiences be damned.

Still, it feels too good to be true. Surely the way it’s always been is the way it will always be—right?

Regardless, there is something drawing me to this in person meeting: it’s an innate drive or knowing that has been with me for as long as I can remember, and I’ve found that when it shows up, it’s something I cannot ignore and when I follow it, I’m met with the things that feel the most right in my life. I book the hotel room months in advance, distract myself over the coming weeks so I don’t let my anxiety get the best of me, and when the weekend arrives I drive my happy ass up for the weekend. This in and of itself was a test, as I hadn’t been able to drive more than 2 hours straight in a day before due to all my health issues over the past decade. This drive was 3 hours, and the day I went up was one where I made plans to meet up with a friend I hadn’t seen in 16 years who lived nearby. We went all over town, spending a solid 6 hours together, and at the end of it I felt no differently than I would on a normal work day. There’s much to be said about the peace of her presence, as the next day I drove five minutes from my hotel to go to IKEA and the outlet mall, a four hour event in total with minimal driving, and that was enough to keep me in bed for the rest of the day. Still, my health held up better than I was expecting. This was a thrilling discovery that taught me many things about where my limits are these days, as well as what may make them better or worse in a given situation. The last day, I checked out of my hotel early, visited a quilt shop nearby, then planned to go to a park as the weather was absolutely glorious but instead found a cemetery.

Honestly, I couldn’t have planned for a better use of my time before to keep my nerves in check. Cemeteries are such centering places for me, and this one was packed with history. I found myself so moved that I couldn’t help but sit on a nearby bench and write three poems. The draw was so heavy that I had to pull myself away from it to make sure I wasn’t late for my appointment. I arrived a little early—as is my norm—and sat in the waiting room, journal in hand. Even then, it all felt too sacred to fit into words, but I tried anyway. No sooner I completed the thought, I hear the door open and my therapist’s footsteps on the tile floor.

And here we were—a week shy of two years worth of work, all coming together into this moment. The seven steps she took held the weight of the world as I knew when she arrived it would be made clear if she would be like the others or if everything I sensed was correct. Maybe she’d take one look at me and decide it was all too much, or maybe I’d see her and feel a wall was actually up between us and everything I thought I sensed was nothing more than wishful thinking. Maybe we’d get into her office and she’d tell me, “this has been great, but you seem to be doing really well and I don’t think you need me anymore” like the therapist before her. I waited to look up until I heard her voice, the actual words lost on me now, but when I did, I knew:

All of it was real, all of it was true—everything I sensed and what she’s shown me, all of her patience and kindness, every word she spoke and everything I’d inferred—every last bit of it was dripping in genuineness and authenticity. I hadn’t scared her away, and I wouldn’t. If she wasn’t bolting out the door right now I knew she was here to stay. Her patience with me had paid off; I was here, in the flesh, teeth no longer bared, body no longer tensed. Slowly, she’d managed to wear down my defenses with her safety and consistency and all of the effort on both of our parts lead us to this moment. Now, when she approached, I didn’t keep my distance—not for long anyway—for I found myself in her arms as soon as the question left her mouth of, “is it okay if I hug you?”

There’s a magic in moments such as these; a divinity, something so sacred that words fail no matter how hard you try. It’s the ultimate, “You had to be there” moment, one that no one besides the two of us will ever fully understand, the only people who can hope to come close are ones who may have had similar experiences of their own. As I drove away 50 minutes later, tears escaped my eyes, which if you know me you know is not something I’m prone to experiencing. And yet, I cried, but not a cry of grief or heaviness. No, these were the type of tears that defy explanation, ones that accompany an immense sense of peace, a divine “rightness” that soaked into my bones. When I was a kid and I’d get picked up from summer camp, I’d often cry and go quiet, not ready to go back to my reality and the experiences I’d just had too sacred to share with someone who seemed relieved to drop me off and a little put out to pick me back up again. This was similar in the sense of its sacredness, but without the weight that inevitably followed and lingered. This, this, was made entirely of light; this was finally getting to the end of that tunnel and being met with a light that warmed my cold hard and took the chill from my bones. This was hope personified, every shred of doubt melted away; a tangible knowing that made its home in my heart and to this day pulses its reminders of what is possible, of what’s to come, of what I deserve. It’s as though the tunnel was actually a pit and the light was a hole at the top that kept getting covered just as I reached the top, causing me to lose my grip and fall back to the bottom; but this time, when I climbed up I wasn’t met with darkness, I didn’t lose my grip, instead I found a hand reaching out to pull me up and over that last ledge. And now, I stand in the sun. Now, I can look back down into that pit and instead of feeling remorse for having existed in it so long, I can see that being there wasn’t my fault, that I did the best I could to crawl out of it all these years. I can think back on my past selves and am filled with empathy towards her, knowing she did everything, everything she could to survive.

And she did. She survived it. Once you get out of the pit, you can’t go back—it’s impossible.

And here I am; I’ve leveled up, and now that I’m here, my therapist is beside me, and even though I’m no longer in the darkness, she’s not going anywhere—just like she said.

Because who she is is who she said she was, who I sensed her to be;

And she’s right here,

and I’ll never stop being grateful.

The weirdest thing my therapist has said to me

EmileeLeave a comment

15 May 2025

I’ve been in therapy for a little over a year now and today’s session included me admitting that I realize I have abandonment issues. So original.

If you knew me in real life, that’s not something you would expect to be my reality, and if you knew me in real life you might be tempted to mansplain my own experiences to me. If you did either of these things you’d be shit and I’d either not have spoken to you in enough years that you don’t *actually* know me anymore and/or are family and I can’t write you off. (I can, technically, but it’s not something I know I can do without having regrets. Damn my bleeding heart.)

One of the places I’ve known abandonment is through previous therapists who somehow heard what I told them and thought, actually you’re doing just fine. What she told me was, “You have really good instincts. I don’t think you need me anymore.” When I heard that I just said, “okay, thank you” because I’m not one for challenging authority. I’m more of the working-really-hard-to-make-sure-you-like-me-and-don’t-dread-when-you-see-my-name-come-up-on-your-calender type. What I was thinking was, “you just diagnosed me with OCD during a global pandemic two sessions ago and also, is there any hope if you’re saying I have good instincts and no longer need therapy after three months while I’m also still trying to convince myself life is worth living?”

Ironically, what got me to give therapy another try was a guy. It’s ironic because if you knew me, truly or not, you’d know I’ve never had a boyfriend. *gasp* So when there was this perfectly lovely guy who was interested in me and vetted by a dear friend, I didn’t feel I really had any reason not to date him except that my scalp felt tingly? I don’t know how else to explain it. Anyway, I found my current therapist based off vibes and its seemed to work out. I’m still low key afraid she’ll decide I’m fine and we’re finished, even though the last time I expressed this she said, “Well, you are fine, and we’re not finished.” Bless her.

There’s been less than a handful of sessions that have caused her to make a comment in the realm of, “I’ve never seen you like this before” which I take to mean she’s worried about me in that moment and can tell I am in the thick of the darkness. Today’s choice of words was, “I don’t often see you like this”, because we have been here before, but it is indeed a rare state of being. I tend to err on the side of optimism, yet if you know me you know I’m a walking oxymoron and my life is full of juxtapositions. 

Today, I started the session convinced this would be the time I signed off and felt no better than when we began. I knew there would be nothing she would be able to do for me—there’s nothing anyone can do for me and that’s pretty much the whole reason I’m in this mess—and I was certain I would feel nothing but defeated. I’d been working for an entire week to try and find any sort of optimism, a sliver of hope to hold onto and time and time again my hands came up empty. 

At one point, I equated my experience to toilet paper, because if you’re not laughing you’re crying, right? And she saw right through my facade and made the most incredible comment that I swear will be the title of my memoir if I were ever interesting enough to actually write a memoir people would read. At the end as we recapped, and I joked that she won’t be able to look at toilet paper without thinking of me now and she’s welcome and also I’m sorry, she said, “That [the potential memoir name] is definitely the weirdest thing I’ve ever said in a session.”

Reader, this felt like a badge of honor.

I don’t know if she had any clue what she was getting herself into when she took me on as a client 16 months ago, she certainly had no way of knowing it would go to the depths it has in that time frame though she’s so good at her job I wouldn’t be surprised if she expected more than meets the eye to a degree most may not. I’ve made every therapist I’ve worked with cry, and it took her a while to join that club (a testament to her wonderful boundaries and also her way of knowing what is appropriate when) but one of my favorite moments was making her laugh out loud in such an unexpected way that she immediately covered her mouth. My other favorite is knowing the weirdest thing she’s ever said in a session was in my session. Heck yes. Welcome to my weird little brain, make yourself comfortable, it’s bound to get weirder.

Truly, every time we meet I’m amazed at how good she is at her job. She seems to know exactly what to say or not say or do or whatever at the perfect time. There are little specific moments that are ones I reflect back on to remind myself of reality when my brain gets all doubt-y about things. I don’t know that I have ever felt so seen or heard or known by any one person before, and even as a self proclaimed “open book”, that’s a rare feat indeed. It’s not often I feel safe enough to truly be seen, but she manages to create that space and hold it for me, no matter how much I try to sabotage my progress.

What’s the point of this post? Not much, really, other than to say that a good therapist is worth more than anything else I can conjure. I don’t know what I did to deserve finding such a wonderful one, but I’m forever grateful.

I hope if you find yourself in need of help, you’re brave enough to seek it out. And that if the first time isn’t a good fit, that you’re bold enough to try again. And I hope that you find in someone the safety it takes to truly be able to show up authentically and work through the darker parts of yourself. We all have dark and light inside of us. It’s up to us to take responsibility to learn how to manage them in productive ways for ourselves. Some of us have more privilege in the resources to cultivate this management and balance between the two, as well as the grey area in between, and we won’t all have it figured out and perfect no matter what we do. But we can start where we are, with what we have, and we can begin to see life open up for us. 

I truly believe what’s meant for me will find me, and the same for you, if we’re brave enough to live authentically. It’s difficult and ugly and painful sometimes, but it’s also beautiful and peaceful and safe. Both can be true.

(I learned that from my therapist)

If I ever do end up physically publishing anything, a lifelong dream of mine, you can bet your buttons she’ll have a dedication at the front of the book. Its the least I can do.

I’m back, here.

EmileeLeave a comment

For a moment, I had entertained the idea of moving over to Substack from WordPress. It seemed the thing everyone else was doing, so maybe I should see what all the fuss is about, right? And then someone I follow pointed out how Substack allows Nazi’s to post on their platform, so I’ve decided that’s not for me, and I’m going to bring back here what I had taken there.

There are a few posts I made that I will post in order, then post new ones from there. I debated deleting my old posts and “starting fresh”, but I don’t really think that’s necessary. I’ve lived a lot of life since my last post on this blog almost 2 years ago, but a simple post can help catch everyone up, and then we can move forward.

The end of 2023/beginning of 2024 really felt like (another) turning point. There was so much I was feeling and couldn’t quite explain. I’d survived my first season working for the Ballet, which was intense to say the least, and I was finding new layers of myself I hadn’t known before and trying to sort out where everything belongs in the grand scheme of things.

In January 2024, I started therapy.
My insurance through work covers therapy, but you have to choose from their list of approved people for them to cover it. I was apprehensive, to say the least, given the town I live in. I’m born and raised here. I don’t know everyone, but everyone seems to know someone I know and word gets around fast. What’s more, the people who knew be in my “great before” seem to have missed the memo of who I am now, whether that be intentional omission, not paying attention, or the people in my life now having more discretion, I’m not sure, but I don’t mind it. It can just get a little awkward when people expect a certain version of me to be met with someone who is staunchly Not That. Not one to rock the boat, I don’t make a big song and pony show about it all, so it can be easy to miss if you’re not looking for more than what I can add to your life (versus actually knowing me as a person) and if you’re not safe I’m not about to go into any sort of detail of “How are you? How’s life?” more than I’d give to anyone else. Ironic for someone with a blog, but still. If you’re reading this, you’re either open minded or genuinely curious, and the nature of your curiosity is none of my business. No one’s forcing you to read this. You can click away and carry on with your life at any time. All this to say, I didn’t want a therapist that would either know the players in my story, nor would bring a certain religious opinion in to the session.

What I have found is the most perfect therapist for me. I didn’t really know going into it, based on some past experiences, that therapy was supposed to feel this safe. I knew it was supposed to be where you could say the things and receive the help or whatever. I have had one counselor before, ironically attached to a religious organization, who was the first to really make me feel like I wasn’t some hopeless lost cause that couldn’t amount to anything more than I was. She was wonderful, and I’m grateful for the work we did. Still, it wasn’t what I have found therapy to be this time. The person that I had seen (unintentionally) during Covid lockdown meant well, but wasn’t good for me. She brought in a lot of her own stuff and me, being an empathetic person who wants to make sure everyone is taken care of, ended up holding space for her as much as she for me. It wasn’t any big unloading on her part, but I can feel everything she was carrying, and that made it difficult for me to feel safe to give her my burden as well, even if it was her job. After three months she told me, “you have really good instincts, I don’t think there’s anything else I can do for you.” and what I wanted to reply with was, “okay, but I still want to die more often than I think a person should” but what I said was, “Okay, thank you.”

My therapist now is the boundary poster child, while still managing to be relatable. She is the safest person I’ve ever been around and is so damn good at her job I make sure to tell her as often as I can because I’m sure not everyone feels that way. People are people, after all. She’ll reassure me if and when I need it, but also won’t hesitate to call me out on my bullshit when necessary. I’ve seen exactly one tear fall from her eye, and that was the session after Honey died. Her expression of emotion and the radiating empathy showed me that I’m actually allowed to feel this loss. That dogs matter, sometimes more than people, and this wasn’t any small matter to be facing. After seeing that one tear, I went into, “oh gosh, are you okay?” mode and she promptly shut that down with, “This isn’t about me” and we carried on. I did ask the next session if she was okay, or if that was for me because I didn’t want to be presumptuous. She thanked me for asking, and said it was for me, and I told her how that made me realize all the things I’d realized about being allowed to feel because if my loss was enough to make my therapist cry, surely I was allowed to as well. Another layer peeled back on myself, revealing more things I didn’t know were there the whole time.

Recently, I’ve found myself keeping to myself more, which would have felt counterintuitive or even illegal to the me who was last writing here. Instead, I’m learning it’s not only allowed but encouraged. It’s a good thing to me to feel safe enough to keep to myself and know my world isn’t going to fall apart with my sadness. Emotions happen, and they’re allowed to, I’m going to be okay. I don’t have to tell other people about it to be safe. I’m safe with myself. I’m not a danger.

I, of course, am also not an island, and this doesn’t mean I don’t need people, on the contrary. We are such social beings we’re hardwired to need others. I still vent to friends or whatever, keeping them in the loop of the things that matter. It just means I don’t have to look to them to carry everything. I have my own two shoulders, and they’re strong, and some of this is stuff only I can carry. This is all done, thankfully, under the guise of my therapist and I am grateful every day for the privilege of knowing and working with her. How did I get so lucky to find her, first try even? All I did was look on our list of approved providers, paid attention to how each name made me feel, looked up websites, and called (after hours so I wouldn’t get an actual person, that’s too much). She actually lives about 4 hours from me, though she has an office here locally, but all the clients local to me are virtual. The best of both worlds–not here, but from here enough to know the places I’m talking about but not enough to know everyone I’m talking about. And even if she did know everyone I’m talking about she’s so good with boundaries that she won’t let on one bit. I’m learning this is how it’s supposed to be; who knew?

Now that it’s been a year and a half, I feel like I’m finally in a place where I can start writing again. I mean, I’ve never stopped. I journal and slap together stanzas I call “poetry” and what have you, but now I feel I’m in a place where I can write here again, in a more public setting and in a way that’s authentic without worrying about saying too much, or whatever. I don’t need this to be what holds the space for me; I’ve learned how to hold space for myself.

The next few posts will be from my Substack. I’ll put the publish date on them, so you can keep up with the timeline or whatever.

Thanks for coming along for the ride, I’m glad you’re here.