Therapy VII

New records.

It was the first time that I had a complete meltdown during a session; and the first time that I made the psychologist cry (more like tearing up). Is this progress or deterioration?

I told Jenn that her office was a safe place for me. I knew that when I sat on her couch, I let go of control. I would no longer need to be the one with all the answers; that during this hour, I can rely on her without feeling guilty. It was almost like a stolen hour of calmness, during which no one would call me for help or ask me to do things or blame me for not doing things. In her office, I was allowed to be flawed, or sad, or “lazy”. I don’t even judge me for being me there.

One night, after everyone went to bed, I tried to paint. I have never learned painting but something about blending colors on a canvas just really calms me. I was trying to paint a field of daisies. Suddenly, my dad came downstairs to grab water and leaned in to look at my painting. I could feel my whole body tensed up, preparing for what kind of uninvited comments that was coming my way. “There are different colors of flowers you know. Not just white ones.” Then he walked away. For the next 10 minutes, I was sitting still in front of my canvas, trying not to hate everything about my painting at this point. Without realizing it, I added colorful flowers onto my daisy field, completely covering those white vulnerable little peddles.

Good for me, I thought, still finished the painting despite my mood. The next morning, my mom said:”I saw your painting. What’s that thing hanging on top? Was that supposed to be clouds? Can you do something to cover it? It ruins the painting.” Yup, this was when tears coming down Jenn’s face. Poor little me, still secretly trying to impress my parents, yet, I can never be enough. I am bad at painting. I am not a good mom. I didn’t get my master degree. I failed at my relationship. I am incompetent in dealing with life.

I forgot what Jenn advised me for this therapy. I still felt lighter, lighter on the shoulder and lighter on the chest. Till our next session, I will have enough courage to hold on.

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