Is it worth it?

A word-sketch reflecting on the worth-it-ness of therapy.

I can feel myself retreating. I had such a lovely week... and then Tuesday started creeping in, the day I go to therapy.

I could feel it getting closer - the muscles in my shoulders tightening as I still try to attempt to save my own neck from a threat almost 30 years gone.

The closer it gets the more tired I become. It’s like my mind is a flower that is closing up for the night, protecting itself from what may be lurking in the darkness.

I hate this.

This isn’t fair. They already took so much from me and now I’m the one that deals with it every single day.

I just want it to be over. I want to be on the other side of this giant mountain that I swear keeps growing just as I near the peak.

I believe God when He says that healing is mine, but some days I wonder if He meant in this life or the next.

And then I catch a glimpse of it. The fog dissipates and I can see the promised land - the place of joy and peace. The place where I finally get to change out of these disheveled, stained and tattered clothes and step into the person I was always meant to be. To be clear-headed and not feel like I’m just waiting for the next time this junk rises to the surface like vinegar and baking soda.

I hate that I have to wonder what it would have been like to live these past 3 decades as a whole person - not fragmented and with the core of who I am walled off from the world, miles beneath the titanium shell I constructed to keep me safe.

I hate that I have to wonder what it would have been like to live these past 3 decades with a whole mother - not shattered and spliced into 3 different people as her mind attempted to shield her from the once present, pervasive threat.

I just don’t understand how someone could do this to another human being.

It feels like they threw me into the deep end of a tarry bog.

The thick sludge blinds me and fills my mouth and nose,

threatening to suffocate me as I struggle to reach the surface.

It clings to me and fights to keep me under.

So thick and sticky -- it pulls at my clothes, skin and hair.

I try to call for help, but my mouth and lungs are full.

But to them it's a beach in the Bahamas --

recreation and relaxation.

A time to let loose and unwind.

A moment of satisfaction for them,

but a reverberation of suffering for me,

echoing through my life these past 3 decades.

So, I spend every Tuesday, wading into the muck and the mire, attempting to extract myself from the tar that so easily adhered itself to me.

Is it worth it?

"I can't help but wonder, is it worth it? I've always wondered that about therapy. Is it worth it to relive it every week," she asked.

"Well, she relives it every day anyways," Ben replied from a place of knowing - as someone who has held my hand and acted as a grounding force through many panic attacks and sleepless nights.

Even though it took me 2 years to finally be ready to embark on the journey that is EMDR therapy, I can honestly say that I have never regretted it.

Okay... but is it worth it?

It's worth it to me as my family and I return home after a game night with friends.

I watch my daughter, the same age I was when the gravity pulled me under, skip ahead of us on the sidewalk.

Her blond hair swirls and bounces as she sings a spontaneous, song straight from her heart, "I love my mom and dad. I love them, I love them. I love my mom and daaaaaaad." She laughs and twirls to a stop in front of our door. She turns and looks at me and I see it:

"the brightest light, so pure and full.

A perfect summer’s day --

eyes closed, face up, smile wide.

Warmth radiating from core to limbs."

But instead of being thrown backward into the darkness, instead of the gravity grabbing hold, I'm here. Really here. I spend the moment, fully present, basking in the delightful warmth. And then I realize the warmth is coming from me.

Joy is bubbling up from within me.

I can feel the seams of the titanium shell crack a little, shift, and the light burbles up from that place deep within, that place of abundance I didn't think existed anymore.

Is it worth it?

It's worth it to me as I sit waiting for friends to arrive and realize I'm not obsessively cleaning my house. I'm not attempting to scrub away the feelings of overwhelm and unworthiness with Windex and Lysol, because I don't feel overwhelm and unworthiness.

In this moment I feel peace and self-acceptance.

I feel joyful anticipation of good food and good conversation.

Is it worth it?

It's worth it to me as I stand outside and I feel the sharp bite of the cold, winter, not-yet-turned-spring breeze.

I hear the soft song of a bird in the tree above me.

I smell the strong, black coffee wafting up from the mug in my hand.

I see a red Chevy pick-up truck drive by and I'm not triggered.

I taste the bitterness of coffee and instead of the bitterness of pain and fear.

The beauty of the ordinary

To most these moments just seem like regular, ordinary life.

And that's the point.

In these moments I'm actually living life.

I'm not floating through the moment one thousand miles away.

My daughter doesn't need to say my name 10 times before I come down and realize she's trying to tell me something.

When I first started EMDR, my counselor told me if I could commit to the process and stick to it, I would experience feeling whole and grounded.

I wanted to believe her so badly, but I didn't. I honestly didn't even know what those things felt like. I had never once in my entire life experienced true self-acceptance.

I thought it was normal to hate yourself.

Little by little I started to realize the hate that lived in me wasn't mine, and even more, I didn't have to carry it anymore.

Yes, it's still an exhausting process. Yes, there are days where I still float along, when it all just becomes too overwhelming. When those days happen, I'm more gentle with myself than I've ever been. And I have more days of clarity. I come back from my foggy retreat quicker.

Is it hard? Yes.

Is it excruciating at times? Yes.

Is it a ton of work that I shouldn't have to do in the first place? YES.

Is it worth it?

Yes.

"Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky, but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." ​ Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection