Sometimes I feel like I want my T to just climb inside of me and pull everything out that needs to come out. I want her to know what’s inside because it is too painful and humiliating to relate. She has even said herself that she wishes she could do that. But instead she has had to watch me sitting in agony trying to work up the nerve to tell her this BIG thing. Me squirming on the couch with an occasional glance in her direction, and her slightly tilting her head reassuring me that she is ready to listen. Then when it finally does come out I find her nonjudgmental presence continues to comfort me and engulf me into a depth of security I had never known before.