Two years and counting (or not!)

This time last year…… I recounted the tale of my first 12 months in therapy.

A year later I’m ready to report of a life filled with rainbows and unrivalled joy having ‘found myself’ and enjoyed an epiphany of self care and enlightenment……yes??

Well, no, it’s not exactly like that but I am working on it.

When I wrote last year, I compared the year in therapy to my phone contract. If I were to do the same this year, I’d say that I’ve now moved onto a fairly bespoke contract with flexible terms. There have been a few service outages and a seriously unheard-of amount of talk time along the way. As a customer, there have been times when meeting my needs has put a strain on my service provider. I further suspect that the processes and procedures that are fit for purpose across the rest of the ‘customer base’ have not always suited my more unique type of agreement.

It’s safe to say that year 2 was a lot tougher than year 1, for all parties involved!

Because, as with many other of life’s important relationships, with time comes deeper connection and with a deeper connection comes challenges and hurdles as the people involved drop their guard, reveal their less palatable characteristics and evolve their understanding of each other.

Last year I set out the key considerations I had when choosing a therapist. I outlined the very practical things I considered (like location and cost). What I didn’t mention then was the list of rules I imposed on myself as I embarked on therapy.

• I was not to care. I would not allow myself to care about the wellbeing of my therapist, to care about their happiness or to like them on anything other than a professional basis

• I was not to ask for, or accept, anything beyond very straightforward contact in sessions. I’ve always known that I can tend towards the needy, I’d been diagnosed with BPD and read a lot about what this meant I was and how I could behave. I would not be that ‘crazy client’

• There were 2 clear ‘no go topics’. No matter the impact of these experiences on my life I would not bring them into the room. Nobody should have to sit in the shame with me.

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Year 2 has seen me fail threefold on upholding these rules. And, in doing so, allowed me to finally begin the process of repair.

I’ve let myself care, it was unavoidable. It was unavoidable for 2 reasons; firstly, I am a person who cares and I cannot switch it off. I am a good judge of people, their stuff, their pain. I cannot be me and not have this. And secondly because my therapist is, well basically pretty great (he might read this so I shall avoid more ego stroking!) People enter our worlds from all sorts of places and for all kinds of reasons. Some of these people you just know were meant to be there and, even if they arrived unexpectedly, you feel a safety and happiness just by knowing that they are there.

Asking and accepting more was maybe the hardest rule to concede. Accepting a second session, accepting email contact between sessions, asking for proactive contact were all, and remain uncomfortable facts of my therapy. I’m not quite at the point where I am comfortable with the needs I have but I’m at a point where I can accept life is easier when I allow these needs to be met. I’m practising with the idea of this being OK whilst grappling with the overspill of gratitude and guilt I feel for letting someone do this for me.

The no go topics were obviously always a really bad idea – who goes to therapy, feeling suicidal but still holding a list of things they won’t talk about? Well me!

But the biggest surprise is probably the order that the topics fell in. I conceded quite early on the need to talk about a difficult experience from my teenage years. The second no go zone was breached only very recently and by accident. We’ve parked the chat about my self loathing around my weight and my body for now. When I’ll be ready to wade through that shame and embarrassment I’m not yet sure. But what I know now is that the time will come at some point, that my therapist will do all he can to ease my shame and discomfort and we’ll work through it because I need to.

Again I’ll struggle with metrics but I am crystal clear about the fact that being in therapy has kept me alive and that the last 12 months has taught me valuable lessons:

• I deserve a bit of care (just about….maybe….sometimes)

• My therapist isn’t perfect and that is just fine!

• I act out, my behaviour sometimes plays out stuff from my past. This is painful and difficult but it is also OK

• Being in therapy still makes me all sorts of crazy!

• Thinking about the end of therapy is still beyond scary

• ·My therapist is going nowhere (although I need this repeated, sometimes daily, in order to believe it)

• Most importantly the last year has taught me the importance of patience, hope and connection.

I’m not yet where I want to be but I don’t need a timescale on it. The ally I’d formed 12 months ago has held on through the roughest of storms and most testing terrain. I’m hoping I may find us a smoother path for the months (or maybe years) that are to follow. For now though, I’m going to stop counting.