My therapist is moving out of state and we had our final session today. It was bittersweet. They are the shit, and under different circumstances, we probably would have been pals. The one year mark of my journey towards mental and physical health is approaching. June 4th is my parents' 36th wedding anniversary and, ironically, the day that my longest relationship imploded. Randomly, I saw my ex and for the first time, I didn't feel like running in the opposite direction. That chapter of my life is finally closed and I can appreciate it for what it was and how it shaped me into the person I am now: someone who no longer requires multiple years to pass in order to be civil with a former partner.
Looking back, I have made strides with my personal progress: I love myself more, I sweep my emotions under the metaphorical carpet of non-confrontation a lot less, I do not rely on humor to express my emotions as often as I used to, and I am quite happy being single. There is a list of things to work on, and I struggle with being hypercritical of the time elapsed in my quest for balance. It is a lifelong endeavor that ebbs and flows with awesome days and equally shitty days. My depression and anxiety is related to the trauma of interpersonal sexual violence. It is a fresh, gaping wound that is slowly, but surely healing. Having been in therapy for quite some time and having accessibility to rape crisis resources has expedited the process a little, but shit takes time. I have to remember that. Aside from my bomb-ass therapist who is no longer my therapist, I have been hashtag blessed with an overflowing village of family, friends of olde, new friends, and academic mentors-turned-friends who are a constant source of positivity, love, and support.
So, I christen this new blog with an imaginary bottle of champagne and I swear fealty to my damn self. I keep the things and the people who bring me joy close to my heart and relinquish toxicity in its myriad of forms. I have worked too damn hard to get to where I am academically, professionally, and personally to completely unravel. The world is my fucking oyster and bitch, I like pearls.
Looking back, I have made strides with my personal progress: I love myself more, I sweep my emotions under the metaphorical carpet of non-confrontation a lot less, I do not rely on humor to express my emotions as often as I used to, and I am quite happy being single. There is a list of things to work on, and I struggle with being hypercritical of the time elapsed in my quest for balance. It is a lifelong endeavor that ebbs and flows with awesome days and equally shitty days. My depression and anxiety is related to the trauma of interpersonal sexual violence. It is a fresh, gaping wound that is slowly, but surely healing. Having been in therapy for quite some time and having accessibility to rape crisis resources has expedited the process a little, but shit takes time. I have to remember that. Aside from my bomb-ass therapist who is no longer my therapist, I have been hashtag blessed with an overflowing village of family, friends of olde, new friends, and academic mentors-turned-friends who are a constant source of positivity, love, and support.
So, I christen this new blog with an imaginary bottle of champagne and I swear fealty to my damn self. I keep the things and the people who bring me joy close to my heart and relinquish toxicity in its myriad of forms. I have worked too damn hard to get to where I am academically, professionally, and personally to completely unravel. The world is my fucking oyster and bitch, I like pearls.
Comments
Post a Comment