If you read last week's post, you may have gathered that I got called out pretty harshly. Part of my issue had been my reluctance to share more openly in groups. I was fond of saying, "I'm not comfortable discussing ______ here," or "I don't want to talk about ______ right now." Apparently that sort of refusal to disclose shows two things to the treatment team: 1) I simply don't want to participate, and 2) I believe I am "terminally unique" (a bit of psychology jargon meaning that I don't believe the rules apply to me as they do to everybody else). I was mad as hell upon hearing that, but after a bit of pouting and stomping of feet, I took the feedback in.
The fact is, the team was right on both accounts. I didn't want to participate in certain conversations because to do so would mean facing thoughts and feelings at which I had no desire to look. Also, I really did play the terminally unique card. Often. I was stellar at giving constructive feedback that I would never apply to my own life. I must have been a very obnoxious client.
So I took what I heard, and I used it. For the last week, I have completely thrown myself into groups and therapy. I have forced myself to be totally open to all of the activities and conversations, many of which made me profoundly uncomfortable. Case in point: last night in group, we had what is called a "Shame Circle." All the clients sit in a circle with a stack of paper. We go around the circle and admit something aloud that we are ashamed of, then we crumple the paper and symbolically throw the shame away. Let me tell you... there is nothing quite as terrifying to me as sharing my shame with others. That's the nature of shame; it makes you want to hide, to lie, to cover up. This kind of activity flies in the face of all the work I've done to block my shame for years.
I cried. Good God, did I cry. Each time my turn came around, I dug deep and gave a voice to things that have plagued me for years. "I am ashamed of being a financial burden on my family." "I am ashamed of being a bad influence on my children." "I am ashamed that I have never been as dedicated to anything as I have been to hurting myself." Ouch. And it wasn't just me; every person in that room was eviscerating their innermost secrets. The emotion was palpable. Even our steadfast therapy staff were having a hard time keeping it together.
After the group was over, a funny thing happened. I was okay. I hurt, and very deeply... but I was okay just the same. I allowed myself to feel whatever came over me, and didn't fight it with my usual defensive fervor. To put it plainly, I did what I have been taught to do. I went home, I spent time with my family, I went to bed. I got up this morning in a cheerful mood.
Listen, friends. This therapy shit WORKS. I've spent a decade in and out of treatment, in and out of therapy, repeatedly refusing to be open to the possibility that things could ever improve. Guess what? Once I finally laid my weapons down and listened, and spoke honestly, things actually began to get better. Imagine that.
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