'You can't avoid the daily tremors, they come with being alive. But I believe these experiences are gifts that force us to step up. Don't fight them. Let them help you.' - Oprah Winfrey
These last few weeks, therapy has been like ripping off a band-aid... it hurts and when the wound underneath that band-aid is not yet healed, you have to find a way of withdrawing the poison that lays within. For me that is being raw and honest and vulnerable whilst trusting the process, trusting the world surrounding me and my psychologist, trusting she won't hurt me or get up and run, trusting she won't judge me, trusting she'll be gentle and listen to my broken words. One of my safety strategies is to not disclose the whole picture, I am the one who slowly reveals tiny parts of a story. My recovery challenge is to place honesty onto the table and work my way through the map of truths, however painful that may be.
My psychologist sits before me, her eyes clasped on me, I cannot look at her, eye contact being too much, the sensitivity being too much, for I fear I will break; And I'm sure that day will come, the day where I shatter into thousands of pieces and I'm sure together we will pick up the pieces, trying carefully hard to not get cut by the sharp edges, but for now, she sits before me, eyes clasped on me, as we try to untangle the web of anorexia, of self-doubt and confusion.
These last few weeks, therapy has been like ripping off a band-aid... it hurts and when the wound underneath that band-aid is not yet healed, you have to find a way of withdrawing the poison that lays within. For me that is being raw and honest and vulnerable whilst trusting the process, trusting the world surrounding me and my psychologist, trusting she won't hurt me or get up and run, trusting she won't judge me, trusting she'll be gentle and listen to my broken words. One of my safety strategies is to not disclose the whole picture, I am the one who slowly reveals tiny parts of a story. My recovery challenge is to place honesty onto the table and work my way through the map of truths, however painful that may be.
My psychologist sits before me, her eyes clasped on me, I cannot look at her, eye contact being too much, the sensitivity being too much, for I fear I will break; And I'm sure that day will come, the day where I shatter into thousands of pieces and I'm sure together we will pick up the pieces, trying carefully hard to not get cut by the sharp edges, but for now, she sits before me, eyes clasped on me, as we try to untangle the web of anorexia, of self-doubt and confusion.
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