Circle of support, part 1
He has seen me at some of my most vulnerable times. I’ve cried, sobbed really, on his couch more than once. For about a year I sobbed in front of him every time I saw him.
Not once did he tell me how to feel. He only asked me how I felt. And walked with me through the flood I thought would carry me away. He taught me, convinced me through patiently repeating the message, that my feelings were real. That I deserved to feel them. That they didn’t need to control me. That they wouldn’t destroy me.
I can talk about anything with him. My marriage, my divorce, my friends, my dating, my sex-drive, my parents, my work. He’s heard it all. Secrets even. Things I could can hardly admit to myself, much less risk telling another human being.
He shared enough of his story for me to know that he genuinely cared about my story. He was available when I needed him. He never turned down an opportunity to see me, even when we had to struggle to get schedules to mesh.
He’s listened to my pain and joys for almost 10 years now.
I miss him a little right now, even though things are going so well. I’d go to see him, to talk over the weekend. To process and bounce ideas off him. But I have no insurance at the moment. He’s my therapist.
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A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…
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A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…
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A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…
