That Wonderful Love Thing
In October, of last year, I wrote my therapist an email. I was having a difficult time, to say the least. This is part of what I wrote to her:
My therapist wrote back to me:
When I received her reply, it touched me. But I didn’t believe a word of it. I knew of people that claimed to “love life”, and I thought they were just crazy or exaggerating. How could anyone love life? Don’t misunderstand – I’m not saying life is all bad, evil, dark, worthless. Absolutely not. Still, I felt love was a mighty strong word to use. Maybe, they enjoy life or cherish life. But love?
At the time of this email, I can’t say I was enjoying life. I’d say I was barely tolerating it. Every waking moment was permeated with the stench of my past. I woke and went to bed with visions and flashbacks. When I could sleep, I’d have nightmare after nightmare, sometimes night terrors, where I’d wake up and see things, but it’d just be a dream.
Once, I was in my kid’s bedroom putting them to bed, and I *thought* I heard a slam outside the door. My heart raced, and I locked their bedroom door, sitting on the floor inside of their room. I could not get myself to leave the room. I was terrified someone else was in the house, and that they would come to hurt me, or my kids. Though the rational part of my brain said my fear was silly, my heart felt it was real. I sat there for an hour before I convinced myself to sneak out of the room, confirming that I was just imagining things.
Sleep and nighttime weren’t the only periods of day when I felt fear. Eating or drinking brought out vivid flashbacks, so much so that I often went days eating only a couple yogurts for my meals. If someone knocked on my door, I’d scream. The slightest sounds terrified me. The FedEx guy got so used to me screaming, that when I’d open the door, and I *knew* he heard me scream, I’d laugh and say, “I’m fine, you didn’t hear that.” We’d laugh together. While I’m happy I can laugh about things like this, the truth is, the overall experience wasn’t funny.
And let’s not even talk about intimate relations with my husband – a hug, a kiss, whatever touch, nothing felt good without also feeling bad at the same time. If I felt enjoyment or pleasure, I immediately felt shame or fear. Throwing up and crying became part of our after-sex routine. I don’t think it even phased my husband after a certain point, it became almost “normal” for us. Of course I cry after sex. Of course I throw-up. Doesn’t everyone?
I can’t say that now -- a year after writing that email, and about a year and a half since starting to heal my past -- everything is peaches and cream. I still jump at sudden sounds on some days, I still struggle with intimacy, and I still struggle with flashbacks and food. But while once those struggles were a 24-7 battle, now, I have periods of time when life is good -- when I can enjoy something without the past in front of me, when I can breathe without worrying someone will come from behind and suffocate me.
In the past few weeks, especially, I started to notice that when I sit with my kids to read them a story, or play a game, or color with them, that I really love it. And that I really love them. I hug my youngest and give him a little kiss on the cheek, and it feels warm, safe. It feels like love. Before, I couldn’t hug my kids without feeling like it was wrong in some way to hug. But now, when they come into my lap, I can wrap my arms around their little bodies, as they squeeze me tightly back, and say, “I love you.” And it’s not just words.
I really feel like I love them more now than I ever have before. And I feel like I love living more now than I ever did before. I actually love life. Not just enjoy, not just cherish. Love.
In that same email, later, I asked her if she thought I would ever heal. I felt, at the time, that it would never happen. That it wasn’t possible. She wrote back to me, “I think you are healing nicely, and going to be more than ok - like a fully alive real human being.”
At the time, I didn’t believe her. But here we are, a year and a couple months later since the email, and I’m starting to see it. I’m starting to feel that wonderful love thing more often, and I’m starting to experience what it’s like to love life, love living, and not be trapped in the past every hour of every day.
I know I still have a ways to travel, and that there are still many aspects of my life that are meshed in the past. But finally, for the first time in my life, I’m starting to know what it’s like to feel love, to feel comfort, and to love living. I may only feel the love-thing for hours, or a day at a time, but I feel it. I didn’t think it’d happen. I never thought I’d even get this far.
To all of you who are still in the darkest parts of your healing – don’t give up. Keep working hard, take care of yourself, forgive yourself for your weaker moments when it feels too difficult to work towards healing anymore. Because I believe that one day, you will get to experience that wonderful love thing, too.
Believe it. Because it will happen.
“Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes, I don't feel anything for anyone. I
feel like I don't love my husband, like I don't even love my children...
sometimes, I feel like I just take care of them because it's my job… but not
because I have this love inside. I feel like I can't love anyone, that I'm
empty.”
My therapist wrote back to me:
“Not feeling anything sometimes is part of the process, part of the transition
to where you will feel that wonderful love thing most of the time. That is
called living vs. merely enduring, existing. The emptiness is part of the wound
- embrace it, care for it, offer it comfort.”
When I received her reply, it touched me. But I didn’t believe a word of it. I knew of people that claimed to “love life”, and I thought they were just crazy or exaggerating. How could anyone love life? Don’t misunderstand – I’m not saying life is all bad, evil, dark, worthless. Absolutely not. Still, I felt love was a mighty strong word to use. Maybe, they enjoy life or cherish life. But love?
At the time of this email, I can’t say I was enjoying life. I’d say I was barely tolerating it. Every waking moment was permeated with the stench of my past. I woke and went to bed with visions and flashbacks. When I could sleep, I’d have nightmare after nightmare, sometimes night terrors, where I’d wake up and see things, but it’d just be a dream.
Once, I was in my kid’s bedroom putting them to bed, and I *thought* I heard a slam outside the door. My heart raced, and I locked their bedroom door, sitting on the floor inside of their room. I could not get myself to leave the room. I was terrified someone else was in the house, and that they would come to hurt me, or my kids. Though the rational part of my brain said my fear was silly, my heart felt it was real. I sat there for an hour before I convinced myself to sneak out of the room, confirming that I was just imagining things.
Sleep and nighttime weren’t the only periods of day when I felt fear. Eating or drinking brought out vivid flashbacks, so much so that I often went days eating only a couple yogurts for my meals. If someone knocked on my door, I’d scream. The slightest sounds terrified me. The FedEx guy got so used to me screaming, that when I’d open the door, and I *knew* he heard me scream, I’d laugh and say, “I’m fine, you didn’t hear that.” We’d laugh together. While I’m happy I can laugh about things like this, the truth is, the overall experience wasn’t funny.
And let’s not even talk about intimate relations with my husband – a hug, a kiss, whatever touch, nothing felt good without also feeling bad at the same time. If I felt enjoyment or pleasure, I immediately felt shame or fear. Throwing up and crying became part of our after-sex routine. I don’t think it even phased my husband after a certain point, it became almost “normal” for us. Of course I cry after sex. Of course I throw-up. Doesn’t everyone?
I can’t say that now -- a year after writing that email, and about a year and a half since starting to heal my past -- everything is peaches and cream. I still jump at sudden sounds on some days, I still struggle with intimacy, and I still struggle with flashbacks and food. But while once those struggles were a 24-7 battle, now, I have periods of time when life is good -- when I can enjoy something without the past in front of me, when I can breathe without worrying someone will come from behind and suffocate me.
In the past few weeks, especially, I started to notice that when I sit with my kids to read them a story, or play a game, or color with them, that I really love it. And that I really love them. I hug my youngest and give him a little kiss on the cheek, and it feels warm, safe. It feels like love. Before, I couldn’t hug my kids without feeling like it was wrong in some way to hug. But now, when they come into my lap, I can wrap my arms around their little bodies, as they squeeze me tightly back, and say, “I love you.” And it’s not just words.
I really feel like I love them more now than I ever have before. And I feel like I love living more now than I ever did before. I actually love life. Not just enjoy, not just cherish. Love.
In that same email, later, I asked her if she thought I would ever heal. I felt, at the time, that it would never happen. That it wasn’t possible. She wrote back to me, “I think you are healing nicely, and going to be more than ok - like a fully alive real human being.”
At the time, I didn’t believe her. But here we are, a year and a couple months later since the email, and I’m starting to see it. I’m starting to feel that wonderful love thing more often, and I’m starting to experience what it’s like to love life, love living, and not be trapped in the past every hour of every day.
I know I still have a ways to travel, and that there are still many aspects of my life that are meshed in the past. But finally, for the first time in my life, I’m starting to know what it’s like to feel love, to feel comfort, and to love living. I may only feel the love-thing for hours, or a day at a time, but I feel it. I didn’t think it’d happen. I never thought I’d even get this far.
To all of you who are still in the darkest parts of your healing – don’t give up. Keep working hard, take care of yourself, forgive yourself for your weaker moments when it feels too difficult to work towards healing anymore. Because I believe that one day, you will get to experience that wonderful love thing, too.
Believe it. Because it will happen.
posted by S.M. at 11:33 AM
5 comments
Today was an extremely difficult day. I had a very hard time in therapy, talking about things that made me extremely ill, literally. It took me a long time after the session to be able to think straight again... and I drew this while I was trying to bring myself back to earth...
