When I worked with my last T, I completely forgot/ lost my ability to say what I was feeling most of the time. I could just barely stand to look him in the eyes, or wrestle the words out. A lot of reasons went into that... I was terrified of him, I'd lost trust in him, and I didn't get great reactions when I did manage to articulate my real thoughts or feelings.
But since I've started back with my original T, (even though we have had a bit of rough sailing) I do identify that she fostered a deep underlying trust our relationship. Our original work together established more trust than I'd ever realized, and I credit much of that to her teaching me to say what I really felt with her- good bad or ugly.
I haven't adapted that skill to my everyday life, but with her I know I could really access that again (my last session I was direct with her but maybe in more of a panicked 'listen to me!' kind of way?)
Anyway, enough rambling, on with the session from yester-year. I was in a deep place of terror, mistrust, and general disconnect when we started working together. One of the first tasks she tackled was accessing my genuine thoughts, not the 'what I figured she wanted to hear' type.
I remember we really hit a wall with that at one point, and T just stopped coaxing and prodding and begging with me and we sat in silence for awhile. When I finally looked up at her she had such a sad look on her face. She asked very gently and quietly, almost in a whisper, 'what are you really afraid of?'
I felt tears streaming at that point, and some instinct to tell her the truth came over me. It was as if someone were genuinely asking me that question for the very first time.
I told her I was afraid of saying something I couldn't take back. I was afraid of saying something that would be wrong, or make her hate me or throw me away. I was afraid of the damage my words caused, because they'd always been wrong and punished and caused destruction that couldn't be repaired. So I had to keep them in. I had to keep them safe, so I'd never be in trouble. I felt like everyone else's words were like writing in pencil, but mine was permanent marker. I had to be so much more careful, because I can't take them back.
And then we sat in silence again for a bit while I curled into a ball and cried until I ran out of tears.
(and also you folks may now have a little more insight into my infamous deletion spells... sorry again about that...) When I looked up again to see if she was still there, T had a look of compassion and understanding I'd never seen. Like she felt my pain. Like my fear was her fear. And then she did one of the strangest things she's done in our entire history together. She took the lid off her bottle of water from beside her chair and handed it to me.
I snapped out of my grief rather quickly, wondering if this was some sort of bizarre trust exercise?? I mean I'm all for trying to connect, but drinking after her seemed a pretty odd request???
I told her very sheepishly 'um... I'm not thirsty... thanks?' She started laughing and said that wasn't why she was handing it to me. She wanted me to pour it on the couch. I kid you not. She straight up handed me her water, and asked me to pour it on the couch. And then I started to feel like the idea of drinking after her was sounding pretty sane after all
I stared at her in disbelief, and asked if I'd heard that right? She said yes very confidently, and added that the floor was fair game too. and even her shoes if I'd like. Now I was really in shock. She laughed again and gave the warmest smile and a gesture to 'go ahead!!' Not to drag on the re-telling of how long this request went on, but eventually she somehow talked me into it.
I remember being partly terrified, yet partly feeding off her childlike enthusiasm for this rediculous request. She was nearly giddy when I actually splashed a bit of water on her couch and she let out an almost squeal of happiness. "Now the floor!' she yelled through a grin. And I poured a bit on the floor, and then almost instantly I felt really silly and handed the water back. I told her there was no way I was getting her shoes.
She just sat and smiled until I finally brought the painfully obvious question to light, 'what was that about?' She asked me to look at the spots of water, and sit with all the feelings that came up.
And then she asked me if the world had stopped turning when I'd done that? Did she lash out at me and demand I repair the damage? Did she scold me and criticize me and tell me that this isn't a place for messes like that?
'...no...' I said.
And then she said one of the most beautiful things, that I've never forgotten. She told me that the water would dry. My words, my feelings, they might get messy and feel chaotic and wrong, but her office was the place for just that. It was supposed to be a space for all of the things that didn't feel safe to pour out anywhere else. And even if we hurt each other's feelings sometime in the process, that that would 'dry' too, like the water on the couch. That there really was nothing to be afraid of.
It was a real turning point for me. And I hope it might help someone else out there too.
-edited for spelling-
