|After 64 hours of labor: first of many nights together|
Really, I do feel, as I posted on Facebook a couple of nights ago, that my child is my little yodi; my little teacher and inspiration.
I started therapy again this past winter because I fell apart one sunny winter morning; the morning of Christmas eve. I fell apart because I wanted her not to suffer as I did when I was a child. A few sessions into therapy, I confessed this to my therapist; that I felt somewhat inauthentic in my quest for therapy. That I was doing it for her. To be a better mom than mine was.
"Then bow to Lilly," my therapist responded.
So I bow to Lilly.
Towards the end of this latest cycle with my therapist, and after writing about the various ways of finding healing over at Love, Sex, and Family, I dared to do what I described there, which is this:
In psychoanalysis, the idea is to expose the wound by facing the original trauma and thus in a sense reentering it in order to let go of it.I postponed it till the end of one of my sessions; still reluctant to go there. Fearful I'd fall apart. But then I did it. Spastically, I sobbed the words to something ugly that happened to me as a child.
It was hard. I hyperventilated. I put my head beneath my knees. While I purged the words out.
"He's not your father," I heard her say.
"Tell her you won't ever let it happen to her again."
I saw her, I saw me, at Lilly's age. And I told her; "I will NEVER let this happen to you again!" And I felt it! For the first time, I felt rage. Not shame. Not dirtiness. Just pure: "How the f*ck could you?!!!" And it was so cleansing! So empowering!
I was already a mama bear for my child; from now on you can bet on me also being a mama bear for me.
I couldn't stand on my legs after spitting those words out. Of what he did. I couldn't feel my hands. I was shaky all over. It was nothing I had experienced before, and it was everything I had experienced.
For the first time, she let our session go over time. Like, for a really long time.
Eventually I left her office. Then I sat down in the waiting room. After a while I braved it to my car to take me home to our house. Where I kept sitting. I wrote a letter to my sister who endured worse than me. And then I kept sitting, still shaky in my body. I made tea. And upon the advice of a good friend, I drank a glass of water, really slowly. At the end of the day, I was okay.
Today we are celebrating Lilly's four-year-old birthday. And I am bowing to her. I teach her and she teaches me. Or the other way around.