New Therapist

Therapy sucks!
I guess it means I’m really getting to the heart of the matter. For quite some time, I enjoyed therapy. It meant I was doing something for myself, and I was proud of that fact. Yes, it costs money—but it is tax deductible! I like the ED therapist, and little old consistent me loves the fact that she also does the weekly group. It startled me to realize that I will be seeing her twice a week, at least for awhile. The first thing she asked me today is what I want to be working on. All I could answer was “the eating stuff” because it’s still rather nebulous and vague. It’s just this little food/eating problem I have. Last week I was able to put my finger on the fact that I binge after therapy, and I realized that after my regular therapy-induced emotional purging, the instinct to stuff it all back down with a binge is very, very, very strong. I was asked to come up with alternatives. The problem is the alternatives seem flat, boring, expensive and hard to come up with…it’s supposed to be something caring and nurturing for myself. It seems I’m being asked to learn a foreign language overnight.

I gave her a brief update on me, my life to date, and my eating disorder history. It’s clearer than ever that my habits have been learned. Anger was the only ‘safe’ emotion we could show/express as a family. Sweetums is always so calm, which was both a blessing and not so good for me. Certainly, I appreciate being able to talk and having learned how to share my life and love with someone, I never, ever want to use the sort of hurtful language and behavior that was so characteristic in my family. Yet, I failed to recognize that in my effort to be peaceful and calmly ‘talk things out’, I stuffed a lot of emotions. I did that when my primary mode of communication was yelling too…and thought that sweetum’s way WAS expressing emotions. But I was afraid to say a lot of things, afraid to speak a lot of my fears. That I wasn’t good enough, that he’d leave if he really knew the scary things that went on in my head. That if I told him about some of the things I wanted to do (from entertainment, to lunch, to decorating the house!) he’d laugh at me, or tell me I was stupid. Not one time has he ever done anything to indicate he’d react this way. I based it all on how my family treated me. I self-effaced, and almost always said “I don’t care honey, whatever you want”. When I did say what I wanted, I was always afraid that he wouldn’t like it or would be disappointed (movies, restaurant choices, etc). There were very few areas of exception. Most meals were planned with what I thought he’d like. Books, perhaps, were the exception because I never had to share them if I didn’t want to do so…the few times there were things he didn’t like that I did, I was careful to not bring them up. As far as I was concerned, I already had my answer, therefore, why defend my likes/dislikes? I was sure he’d laugh or make fun of me, as my father and sister had done. I don’t even think I thought about it. I just reacted.

In the last year, I’ve started to do more…and he’s encouraged me. I’m more confident on the choices I make for decorating my house, and I hope some of my personality shows. True, it’s fairly plain and simple, but I don’t like clutter or tons of stuff sitting around. Yet that fact alone is progress. Previously, I was indecisive, worried it would be ugly, and worried my beloved would hate it. I would go into other people's homes and be amazed and envious at what they would do decorating-wise. Sometimes he has to suggest the things I do want (and he knows it) and it makes me love him all the more, because I know he does truly accept me. Again, my own fears created this mess and I am so very grateful to God for providing a man who is patient, sweet, caring, and downright amazing. Even with all of my self-deprecating behaviors, I’ve always felt like we were two halves of a whole. When we first met, it seemed like we were speaking a different, secret language. The kind of language that I had forgotten I knew, and it was only when I heard him speaking it that I could remember it. Just one of the many ways I knew he was "the one".