today I realized my dad doesn't see me as a human being

confessions from therapy (pt. 2)

This article references my article the unseen and the seen.

S(ubjective) — My Perspective

Well, for starters, I sent my therapist my article.

Why?

I wrote the unseen and the seen because I knew it would be hard. Because in years of therapy, the period of time documented in this recent piece is one I still hide from. I can relay the details clearly enough, somewhat from a place of detachment, like I’m describing someone else’s experiences.

And, truly, I had to detach from this experience. The 5+ years in which my eating disorder ruled body and mind, I let it. It was exhausting to fight it, so I let it eclipse my light and speak for me, act for me. It consumed years of pain, the voicelessness I felt as a child; it devoured my unseen feelings until I was blissfully numb.

But when there were no feelings left, it moved on to other vulnerable parts of me: my identity, my sparkle, my energy. It fed on those things greedily, insatiably.

In a manner of speaking, I understand how the conditions I was raised in created the circumstances described in my recent piece. The players involved acted their parts consistently and convincingly. Perhaps there was a good intention somewhere in there, a part that sought to eradicate the monster in my head. But they failed to recognize or even consider their own part in the monster’s inception and prolonged existence.

Internal and external forces, each convinced they were working in opposition, were, in reality, combining their forces to further strip away my humanity.

In this session, I came in with my article and said, “A few weeks ago, I told you this story, and we haven’t touched it since. Today I’d like to because I wrote this without feeling anything for it.”

O(bjective) — Observable Data

I wrote about it. Why now, 13 years later?

I think, possibly, that it’s taken all 13 of those years to unravel enough of how this era of my life still affects me today. How my nervous system remains attached to what made it feel safe then, and activates in the same ways to protect me now.

For the last few years, I’ve been persistent in my efforts to combat the anxiety that often runs my life. The line between my voice and the voice my anxiety offers instead has always been fuzzy. I often wonder where my motivations are starting from.

Do I really like what I like? Do I need what I need? Why did I say that? Do that?

Possibly, I’ve done the superficial work, danced around the roots enough that the soil is wearing away to reveal the deeper truth. How deep and wide those roots flow.

Maybe now all that is left is to face the thing itself.

A(ssessment) — What My Therapist Said

Dr.K, my therapist, is subtle and unassuming, but she’s good (which is hard to find). She sees me more clearly than I see myself and calls me on it when necessary.

In response to my statement, she goes, “I disagree, I think we touch it every single session.”

I stare back at her, contemplating that, and she continues, “When you walk into new places and feel on edge, like you don’t belong and can’t relax, isn’t that what you learned as a child? When you feel boring and can’t figure out what makes you special, isn’t that this? When you defer your needs to the needs of those around you, didn’t that keep you safe when you were younger?” (all in reference to past topics we have indeed touched upon frequently).

She asks me then how I am feeling, and I stare back at her, still unsure. She reframes the question.

“Do you think your dad sees you and your sister as human beings?”

“No.”

“Right, he’s probably not capable of it.”

“I hate him for that.”

“A part of you does, and a part of you should.”

And that got me, she saw it on my face a second before the tears leaked out.

P(lan) — What Now?

“It’s time to resurrect that belittled little girl, unbury that dejected teenager, and take the hand of that woefully misaligned 20-something who ran 3000 miles from her pain.

To make us whole, I must look them each in the eye with clarity and sincerity and tell them,

I see you.”

the unseen and the seen

I got in my car to drive home, and it hit me deeper on my drive. The sadness and grief I feel for these versions of myself. The anger and disappointment I feel towards those whose job it was to make me feel safe.

I let myself cry for them, for me. I reached out and listened.

“Presence,” Dr.K said when I asked my usual, what now.

“Be present for the parts of you that hurt. They don’t need you to fix them, just show up for them without judgment. Show them they are safe and seen with today’s June.”

-June

I invite you to stay and be seen here.

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unspoken thoughts, unfinished feelings, & everything in between

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