Cross-post from my original blog, which I thought I was closing, then started again, and now I might combine them because I like this theme better. I’m not mad at all, how are you?
As I mentioned previously, I parted ways with the therapist I have been seeing for about 18 months. I think she helped me a lot by asking me to look at life through a different perspective and to consider that I maybe didn’t have symptoms from several different disorders. She had me look at my issues as a series of responses to trauma and introduced me to the concept of being neurodivergent. What she didn’t do is help me feel like I was working toward a goal. We would talk about meaningful things most sessions, but I think there was several months of simply talking because I had a safe space to examine things.
I’m not necessarily sure what my goals for treatment are. I want to learn to change the deep-seated core beliefs that I’m damaged, unworthy, and unlovable. I need better strategies for managing the pervasive negative self-talk and feeling like I have to win approval from everyone I meet. I would like to improve things that I don’t like about myself, such as my low self-esteem and difficulties in social situations. However I’m not sure it’s possible to do all this, and maybe that’s not even what my goal should be.
A wise philosopher once said “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam”, and maybe I need to shift my perception of who I really am. Rather than trying to change myself, I could accept that there are things I do well and things I struggle with. Instead of looking for ways to break through walls, I can look for strategies that make it easier to manage stress and avoid negative outcomes.
Another great thinker said “a man’s got to know his limitations.” I’m never going to be Mr. Sunshine, and it’s not in my nature to suddenly become gregarious and extraverted. I’m never going to throw my hands in the air like I don’t care, and I’m never going to be completely happy and blissfully ignorant. I understand I will never be able to completely fix my life or repair the damage from years of childhood abuse. But maybe I can learn to be okay with those limitations.
So for now, I have no desire to look for another therapist. Honestly, I think a little less self-analysis would be really good for me. Anyone who reads here knows I tend to overanalyze everything. I second-guess, I ruminate, and I indulge in endless loops of revisionist history and alternate endings. It’s quite exhausting sometimes, because I spend so much time thinking about the past that I forget to live in the present.
I’ve had several days recently where I suddenly had the time and solitude to brood on all the negatives, dig up old regrets, and write thousands of words about how shit my life is. But I chose to not do those things; I made a conscious decision to restrain my urge to pour out all my frustrations into the blog. It was rather freeing to realize that I don’t need to write out all my thoughts in the moment they occur. I can think those thoughts, process any emotion that might be attached to them, then move on with my day.
It’s not some huge epiphany I’ve made, and I won’t promise that I will be able to redirect my thoughts in the future. But for a few days at least, I have been free to do other things that are maybe a little more mentally healthy than wallowing in the swamp of despair. That’s good enough for the moment.
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