I was at Meier Clinics in Wheaton for their Out Patient Adult Program. I'd been feeling rebellious and angry inside. I wanted to cut up my arms but knew the stuff we were talking about was stirring up uncomfortable emotions.
One morning I decided to wear a t-shirt and my pajama pants to out patient. It was uncharacteristic for me to wear clothes like those. I also put all of my cutting tools into a brown paper bag and put it on the floor behind the driver seat of my car.
During break times the other patients and I would talk about our using - alcohol, drugs, cutting, anything we'd use to escape the craziness we felt.
I started doing some bragging by saying things like, "Yeah, technically I'm not breaking the rules because my tools are in my car and I didn't bring them in." Then we'd start laughing.
Little did I know my therapist was made aware of what was going on.
Later that day, during our session, she confronted me about it. She asked what I had in the car. I told her the specifics. She asked why I had them. I told her I really wanted to give them to her so that she could dispose of them and I wouldn't know where they would be.
But when it came time to give them to her I froze. I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of them. She tried talking to me but nothing was getting through. Then she said, "Amy, you brought those here to give to me so let's go get them so I have them." I told her I had to walk down to the day room to get my keys.
She walked down with me, I grabbed my keys and my backpack. As we were walking toward the door she said, "Can you leave your backpack in my office as a sign of good faith?" I replied, "I've already shown you good faith." "Yes, you have."
We walked out to my car. As I was opening the car she wrote down my license plate number. I opened the door then stood to the side. She asked me where they were. I motioned behind the back of the driver's seat and she reached down and took out the bag. She looked inside, sighed a sad sigh then I closed the door.
We stood at the back of my car for a moment. She asked how I felt. I said relieved. She asked if I'd like to come back in for a few minutes. I said yes (which she later told me surprised her.).
Once we were in her office, she held me while I cried. I felt very safe in her arms. She had a way of affirming my efforts even if the way I'd done something was a little sideways.
Although I continued to cut after that day, the memory of giving her those tools and the hug after have been stored in this survivor's memory forever. I'm very blessed to have had Carol as my therapist. She helped me make permanent positive changes.
- Self-Care: Going to therapy that day was hard. Admitting tough struggles then sharing them with others is no small feat. Trying to minimize them caught the attention of other counselors which is exactly how I was crying out for help.
- Talking with my therapist openly and honestly was scary. I didn't want to be hospitalized; I wanted those tools out of my house and not in my garbage. What I didn't know was how much I longed for a hug from Carol. To let her hold me while I cried was a big step in our therapeutic relationship.
