Progress

Therapy hasn't been a pleasant experience these last few weeks. I've discovered that the hill my fortress is built on is prone to landslides. The fortress may be sturdy, but come the rains...

Today, we spent a lot of time discussing why I've been unstable lately. My therapist tells me that it is a natural progression of our work together and reminds me that I need to get through this to have any hope of getting better.

Why is therapy so difficult for me?

1. A lifetime of living with my mother's delusions. Puberty, sexuality, flirting, being attractive; these were all dangerous, inciteful things in my mother's world. I learned at my mother's knee not to ever bring them up, not to discuss them. I've spent twenty years hiding my femininity, my sensuality, my sexuality. To willing bring these up a 15'x20' office, with a male therapist, no less?

2. My family. We've spent more than my lifetime minimizing my mother's illness. My sister thinks I'm just melodramatic - it's not that bad. Everyone else has family problems too. But, my sister is too invested in my mother for her to admit the truth, even to herself. If mother is truly that far gone, then how can she leave her to watch her children every day?

I've spent a lifetime hearing, "you're just like your mother", from my Dad, from my sister. They meant it about the little things, but to a kid who knows her mother isn't right? And my mother's whole family is seemingly around the bend. Given that my own father and sister think I'm just like Mom, given that Mom's whole family is nuts, "crazy" for me just seems inescapable.

3. "Shhh, you can never tell." Everytime I tried to reach out, it failed. My father refused to see the damage my mother was capable of inflicting. My sister says it's not that bad.

I told my mother's brother (before I realized he was already quite a ways around the bend himself); only to have him betray me to my mother.

I told the shrink my mother made me see when I was 13. She told me my mother and I were just "intense" and we'd grow through it.

I told the family court counselor, and she separated us. (You'd think that'd be a good thing, right? But to a teenage mind, it just meant that my mother was angry with me for years. My sister was angry with me for messing up Christmas. And Dad didn't know what to do with a teenage daughter.)

Everything that has gotten me this far, every rule of survival I've ever learned, tells me that going to see a therapist is wrong. It's dangerous. It will lead to betrayal, or worse: I'll find out that I'm crazy; or that I'm not, that my mother's not.

Why do I need to move forward?

1. I want to be my best me. Rather Oprah of me, I know, but it's true. I want, need, desire, a more full life. I've had my hair styled, colored; I've had a professional manicure, my first pedicure; I've taken to wearing my jewelry again. I'm taking the time each day to do all those things women do to look their best. And I feel better for it - attractive, appealing, feminine.

2. I can't do this on my own. I've been here before: taking pains with my appearance, getting out among people, opening myself up to the opportunities. And each time before, I'd slowly begun to sabotage myself - getting up "too late" to take time with hair and makeup, not keeping up with hair cuts and color because it was "too expensive", not going out for fear of being found unattractive, lacking. And each time I withdrew, my world got just a little smaller, a little darker.

3. I am strong. Or maybe I've just reached the point where desperation is stronger than experience and fear. My therapist pointed this out today. I don't think he meant it as a "yeah for you"; more as a "this is why you're feeling unstable". Regardless, to discount years of experience, walk willing into a therapist's office to discuss all this - it's progress.