I think it’s perfectionism that stopped me doing this a long time ago. It’s now more than 6 years after the point where I first thought ‘I wonder if I should blog about this..?’ Even now that I’ve made the decision to dive in, I’m hesitating… typing, deleting… what if this sounds really stupid/boring… A friend suggested I write for me. Maybe if I do that, I won’t stress so much about all the mistakes and whether it’s interesting or not! The scary thing about writing the raw, honest truth is the very real possibility that other people might read it and hate me just as much as I hate myself… or maybe the prospect of no one reading it is even worse? Feeling unseen… at least it would be a familiar feeling.

I have plenty to write about after all. In fact I’ve already written so much. Over 6 years ago I stepped into my first therapist’s office and so began a journey I really had no idea would be this long or this deep. I journaled after every session. Sometimes before and after each session. I’ll dip into those notes from time to time to help build a picture of what this journey of self-discovery has been like.

I have a few people in my life who know I am in therapy but I share very little of why I’m there and what I talk about when I am in session. In ‘the real world’ I appear to be a ‘normal’ person (whatever that means) – I have a husband and young kids, a professional job, friends… I listen to music, watch tv, go out, stay in. I have perfected presenting the coping, capable me while hiding all the dysfunctional crap below the surface. If I’m honest, that stuff has been leeching out of me since I was a child. The quiet creeping of blackness swelling inside me and seeping through my pores in ever increasing quantities. Maybe I was the only one who really knew it was there but it seemed so screamingly obvious to me that I was certain everyone could see it. Smell it. The stench of all that was wrong with me. I’ve worked so hard all my life painting this façade. It’s taking a long time just figuring out where the real bits of me are.

After holding it together as best I could for all of my life, I found myself in my late 20’s, after the birth of my first child, completely broken. And after a year of seriously thinking and searching for some form of help, I finally committed to meeting with a therapist. For the first three years it was Paul. Then my second child was born and I took over a years break from therapy. When I returned to therapy I headed in a slightly different direction and with a new therapist, Anna.

So in this blog I’ll attempt to share the highs and lows, the challenges of my journey. Reading other people’s experiences has helped me feel less painfully alone in all this so I thought I’d add my voice to the chorus. Even if I’m the only one who can hear it.