Sometimes admitting the things we think we’ll make us ‘look bad’ is the best thing to do. At my last therapy appointment, the therapist actually apologised for what she termed an unprofessional reaction to my present-tense issues (see previous post). I’m sure that was difficult for her; admitting issues with one’s profession is never easy. However, it immediately restored my faith and trust in her. I needed to know that her response related to her feelings, rather than my experience. It changed nothing about my view of her as a therapist. In fact, it made me appreciate and respect our relationship even more. I admit when I bung up therapy exercises, and I appreciate her willingness to admit when things don’t quite go as she would like on her part.
In the reverse, admitting to my shrink that he frightened me was one of the best things *I* did in terms of my psychiatric care. It was difficult, and I shook as a spoke. However, his very gentle voice assuring me he would not harm me in any way plays through my mind when I am frightened about/during appointments. I was afraid he would see me as weak and unstable, but he thanked me for telling him about that and said it would just take time for him to gain my trust. The fact that he understood made seeing him easier.
Extrapolating these experiences is easy in a logical sense: sometimes admitting the things that make us feel unsure of ourselves is the best way to reconcile the issues. If only we as survivors could reach that point on an emotional level and admit the horrors we have survived, healing would be much simpler. For now, though, I’m happy to be learning about admitting something less than perfection safely. I’ve never thought of myself as perfect, but my past demands that one appear infallible. Weak spots are dangerous. As I’ve gained some ability to trust, I’ve learnt that appearing human is infinitely better.