OK, first I want to apologize for not responding to some of the deeper threads others have been posting lately. I want to and am hoping to get to it, but sometimes as I reading and thinking what I'm going to reply, I get triggered. A stupid show where a character died the other night set me off into a sobbing-numbing cycle of a couple of hours in the middle of the night...so, just in the way of explanation of me taking things lighter.

So, tonight, I did some things in therapy I've never really done before. I stayed the whole time, didn't run away (switch out), even sitting close and connecting. I kept apologizing as usual, which is partly just because it really feels like being close to me and having to know me is something I'm inflicting on others. But, I realized, also, as I told T, that some of my sorries are just "cutting in line" in front of other things that are too painful or scary to say. We talked around this topic for a long time, along with other things about grief and loss, but I couldn't tell him what they were.

I talked about how it felt so unfair that simple things like the things I want to say sometimes, or being able to call him a name (still haven't, though I now officially have permission to call him Dr. last initial, Dr. last name, First Name, Dr. Doom, etc.), or to make eye contact with him or lots of other people without getting dizzy and sick...are so difficult for me. To live with such anxiety that easy things are hard and hard things are nearly impossible is very painful. Though he also did normalize that vulnerability is hard for everyone.

T started to do his usual wrap up stuff and could tell something was wrong, that I wasn't ready and I tried to explain that...I was feeling like I really needed help to not give up. When he gives me permission to wait and just hold onto things with God's help, I hear it as him putting up a stop-sign in front of me. And I was trying so hard to share what was behind those sorries, just nice feelings I wanted to share with him. And especially when I could tell he was already wrapping up, it seemed selfish of me to keep trying, to ask him to help me keep trying.

But he did...T took the next 15-20 minutes just waiting with me, waiting for me, to be able to speak. And it may be stupid, and things other parts have told him before. But, things that are so hard for me to say. The first was, "Thank you for being close and safe." Thank you is something I say all the time, but big thank yous, the ones that really mean anything, are something I usually only text T, because what it really means is: "This is something that is important to me, something needed or desperately wanted, something that really matters, something I'm terrified you'll take away now." It seems like now that I've let a thank you out in person, compulsive thank yous might replace compulsive sorries...but I'm planning to combat it by making myself say what I'm thankful for.

The next thing I had to tell him was split into two parts. First was that I like him, just genuinely enjoy him as a person. The next, he drew out of me was the "L word," which he used not to trigger me. I had to explain I was most afraid not of rejection, but that he would respond (positively), because it feels...so wrong that someone would feel care toward me in that way, like I did something bad. He promised not to respond, and I teased that saying nothing at all would be really awkward for me too.

In the end, I wasn't able to really say it directly, but I was able to talk about it, how I didn't want it misunderstood. That, it wasn't like the "child parts'" love, almost what I imagine an adult child would feel toward a parent they were close with, but I don't know for sure, because I've never had anyone like that in my life. So, I said the words, but it was mostly framing it intellectually to not be misunderstood.

As soon as I said it, I kind of started to physically pulled away (his hand hand been on my forearm, just encouraging me). He didn't prevent it entirely, but he shifted with me and just kind of kept me with him, while giving me space to leave or stay. He said, "You wanted to pull your arm away right after you said it?"

I said, "Yeah, I did," and more quietly, "Thank you for keeping me."

T was so encouraging after. I was beating myself up about how I didn't really say it, but just talked about it or around it. T said I did really well, took some huge steps forward. I felt like T was proud of me, not at all ashamed like I expected. He also said, he felt a sense of connection with me, more than ever before. He said to "you-you," meaning not the other parts who have been able to get closer on their own, but the me who lives most in the present-day. Like (my interpretation) I was allowing more of my true self in the room...and, by being willing to do so, making room to integrate parts which hold a lot of these attachment needs so I could survive so long without someone safe to attach to.

I guess, in the end, this was a long way of saying, T waited for me. Not just tonight, a little later than planned. But, for two-and-a-half years, just being the safe guy that he is. He talked about a rescue pup in his house (he and his wife are letting a friend and his adopted daughter live with them and they have two dogs) and (saying he hoped it wasn't offensive) how similar it was, seeing this dog's reaction, and his slow warming up to safety. T stayed still and waited for me, all this time, to be safe feeling all these attachment feelings...to be safe to have a voice.

All along, T has helped me not give up on this war to accept and experience mattering, being valued. I had to do so much without support or encouragement as a kid and whatever I couldn't had to be surrendered. I've never had someone stay and let me learn to do something hard. I've never been waited for like this...and I'm so grateful.

Thank you for reading...