Therapy
So last week I went in for my first therapy session where I was the client and not the therapist. Well I guess not the very first if you count the couple of times I went in first year of grad school and the times I went with david in undergrad. This time was different. I knew the rules of therapy, I knew what she may have been thinking, how she had to be thinking and the extent of what I was revealing about myself as I spoke. I felt like I was stripping naked. I felt like I was taking all of those things that belong in the back of your mental closet and instead showing them to someone. It did not feel like the happy thing that I thought it would be. It was raw, intense, and a little scary. I know that this is something that I have to do. With the demands that are being placed on my by school, internship, and work (not to mention socially, what's a social life again?) I can no longer contain some of the things that I have built up inside me. I have to process them, chew them up and digest them so that they can no longer harm me or my work. Being a therapist takes too much energy to have to contain my own stuff and help a client hold theirs. So I am going, if not with excitement (and possibly with some trepidation).