My counselling session yesterday was like no other I have had before.
I expressed the anger that I felt towards my counsellor. In our previous session, we did some work to express my anger towards my father and I visualised kicking him in the chest. This brought up an avalanche of feelings in the week after and she was away last week so I missed that session with her. I felt abandoned and unsupported after unearthing all of that emotion and I was angry at her for not being there.
I am glad I expressed this to her because she was very receptive and said what I needed to hear. I spoke up and expressed my dissatisfaction in a relationship, without worrying what she would think of me. That is important because it’s not what I do usually.
She also gave me a blank piece of paper and a set of pastel crayons. Although I was open to the idea of using art to express my unresolved feelings of anger, I wasn’t sure what I would draw. I have never been great at art.
I was surprised at what I produced, the depth and substance of it, and the way I interpreted it. I cried as I talked about my picture. Somehow I was able to capture all that feeling and find a powerful outlet with those crayons.
I did some deep meaningful work in the session and I knew it was important for me to find ways to stay present when I left the building.
I touched a place that I have never wanted to admit; namely; that there is a part of me that wanted so much for her dad to love her, a little girl who has been searching for her father’s approval, love and praise all her life. I never wanted to admit this to myself because of what he did. Because he sullied the relationship with his desires. But there is a lot of sadness there, an emptiness. A loss.
So confusing and unsettling to love, need and want the man who caused such pain and hurt for me. It’s hard for my brain to get around it, let alone my body and mind. So conflicted. Being pulled in different directions. Disgust, loathing, longing and love all mixed together. I don’t deserve to be left with all these conflicting emotions, yet, I have to somehow process them and move on and live in the present.
I gather myself up, all the parts like broken shards of glass scattered all over. I hold them gently. I hold me close. I am courageous to take this painful journey. It’s hard to swallow. It’s hard to take. It’s hard to sit with the feelings, yet I keep going for counselling and I keep moving forward with all the hurt.