Therapy was so intense today. I was forced to confront some very uncomfortable truths about myself. I feel a bit battered right now.
We spoke about my childhood. Trying to work out when my feelings of anxiety may have begun. I spoke about my parents split which is something I have always dismissed as a non-event. Something many children experience and therefore not something I have allowed myself to feel any pain about. The led on to how harshly I treat myself.
‘You are a vulnerable child but treat yourself as a putative parent’, he said.
I came to a realisation that I am desperately trying to hide the part of me that I feel i garbage. I don’t want anyone to see me as vulnerable, unable to cope, or weak. I have zero empathy for myself. I feel I am defective. That when it comes to being deserving of sympathy – I am different. It’s true, if a friend of mine was in my exact situation I would do anything to help her. I would sympathise. I would look at her struggles and draw the dots together as to why she was acting in such a way. I would find her deserving of love and friendship. I am not a monster! Only to myself.
I had a difficult relationship with my mother. Still do. But as a child I only ever remember her as unreachable. To little me, t was as if she didn’t love me (I still don’t fully believe she does). She provided for me, yes. Fed me, put a roof over my head but she did not make herself available emotionally. I did some pretty despicable things to try to get a reaction out of her in my teens but it never worked the way I wanted it to. Her reaction only reinforced my belief – that she tolerated me and had no choice than to put up with me until she didn’t have to anymore. (Oh god, writing that…I think that’s how I feel about every single person in my life..)
I read a blog entry a few weeks ago about self- love. The writer wrote how she knew ‘she deserved the best’. I admit I cringed. Not at her self-belief but at the thought of voicing the same for myself. Even writing this entry I feel some disgust at myself. It feels a bit ‘oh, woe is me’ and I really struggle with that. My mother ignored many traumatic events that happened to me throughout my youth which led me to believe that it was best not to moan. Adopt the very British attitude of keep calm and carry on. It’s why reaching out felt like the hardest thing in the world (and the weakest…AAAND here’s comes the revulsion..)
It’s impossible for me to hear the good about myself. I am confronted day-to-day with the wreckage of my fuck ups. I live in my own brain so I KNOW what kind of person I am.
I’m not sure if any of this will make sense written down. It was a really good session and my mind got shook a few times with little epiphanies. But I’ve had epiphanies before and trusted in them and still went on to keep fucking up soo..
I may blog some more later. I’ve only scratched the surface of what we discussed today but I need to decompress. -_-