It feels so good to be back.

Being stuck in your head is never a pleasant thing, and I was starting to get a little concerned this time around. 

When therapy was just an idea floating around at the beginning of my recovery journey, I received warnings to have a good amount of sobriety under my belt first before I started unpacking my mental shit. 

Let me be clear about something there is no amount of sobriety that could lessen what I’m currently going through. 

I feel like I’m dying, I feel like I’m back in high school fighting to not drown in the pool during gym class again, I’m fucking sinking here, and I’m sinking fast while still trying to learn how to swim. 

The difference between then and now – not much, I don’t think; I still don’t know how to swim, and I’m still terrified to wear a bathing suit in front of others. 

But hold on, I’ve learned the hard way more than once that when I walk away from what I thought was the more challenging route, it always comes back in another form. So I know facing whatever is holding me back and finding a way to deal is the only way to preserve my sanity or whatever’s left of it.

When I initially started therapy (well, when I started going and when I began taking it seriously are two different times), my sessions always skirted just around the edges about any sexual trauma I had experienced, especially as a child.

I was ok with that; my upbringing pre-conditioned me to believe that being a woman, correction, a black woman meant I had to deal with and accept certain things. 

My healing process was underway, and I was experiencing the benefits in leaps and bounds. 

Shit, if I’m sincere, it was almost like another way of getting high for me.

To be open, honest and more importantly, vulnerable without any judgement; EUPHORIA!!

But then I felt stalled in some areas. For example, I was still struggling with bouts of bitterness and anger when all I’ve been doing since May 2018 focused on letting resentments go; it wasn’t making any sense to me. 

Bringing my concerns to my CBT Counsellor, she suggested I try going to a program that focuses on the lingering long-term effects of childhood sexual abuse. 

I immediately wanted to refuse, but knowing that repeatedly avoiding this area of my life was only causing delays in my healing process, I reluctantly went to The Gatehouse to face what’s been holding me back. 

At first, there was a waiting list; I felt relieved, months passed, and they reached out. Finally, my intake started, and that’s when I knew I was in trouble; the process was an emotional rollercoaster, and it wasn’t their fault. 

The truth is, if it wasn’t for the sincere level of empathy shown by the staff who guided me through, I don’t know how I would have finished my registration.

See, specific questions had to be asked to identify the best way they could help me; I wasn’t prepared to give those answers, but I did and eventually started going to group sessions. 

My first clue that something was off was when I was struggling to confide to the person who knows me best that I’ve been having a rough time of it lately; he said he couldn’t tell and would have never known a thing because I seem to be handling things so well—I wasn’t; I needed to be comforted, but I was too ashamed to ask and instead cried myself to sleep. 

I woke up angry at him for not knowing how to fix me, even though I know that’s not his job; that onus falls on me.

All I wanted was a hug and some words of reassurance that it would get better but, I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed, and I still don’t without feeling needy and weak. 

How do I explain that I’m feeling massacred on the inside?

I can’t, at least, I don’t think I can, and I’m starting to comprehend why that is. I’m the one who’s symptomatic here while healing from my personal experiences. I’ve been walking around with these not so lovely emotions brewing right under the surface lately.

Some days can be intense enough that I feel like a bubbling pot of boiling liquid walking around. Still, every fucking day, it’s almost like there’s a constant slow burn from a hot slap that keeps intensifying with no cooldown forthcoming; it never goes away; it’s constantly present and always burning. 

I couldn’t possibly be expected to live like this; I felt like I was regressing. I’ve worked hard to get this far; was this worth it? 

Should I continue?

It was killing me, and it had only been a few sessions so, I did what I always did and stopped attending the weekly meetings.

Why am I like this? 

I didn’t ask for this. I know the basics; it has to worsen before it gets better, but FUUUUK, nobody has time for this. 

Seriously, I don’t have time now in the present to deal with shit from the past, but I have to make the time, especially after opening that vault and the memories started flooding back. 

After suffering silently to myself for a few weeks, then a couple of not-so-lovely outbursts to my loved ones, I took myself back to the only place I knew would understand and told them I was terrified.

Hey, they’re strangers to me; telling them my fears felt safe. 

Safer than many choices I made in the past to run away from what keeps me up at night.

The Gatehouse welcomed me back and virtually gave me a hug I desperately needed because they understood my fears. 

As I’m writing this, I realize that my fears are reasonable; however, taking them out on others is not cool. 

I have a pretty awesome support system; I am loved. 

Although they may be on board to deal with my quirks because they love me when the war inside me starts spewing out on them, I need to check myself. 

For that, I am accountable.

The memory flood has now escalated to a tsunami. There’s no turning back now, and while I’m trying to circumvent the fallout of reopening old wounds, I am once again reminded about the power of asking for help. 

When I restrain myself and don’t show my true feelings, I feel like I’m the confident person in the room that everyone wants to be around. Still, when I exhibit too much emotion, I feel like I become the killjoy of the party that no one wants in their space. 

I already struggle with loneliness on any given day; I habitually keep things to myself because I don’t want to scare anyone away – that’s messed up, that’s a disservice to the ones who love and support me. 

Being accountable breeds new responsibilities, and I understand a lot more these days where my duty lies. I have to be more vulnerable with others about what’s really going on with me, for starters. 

Setting some boundaries and sticking to them is also crucial; I have started doing that.

I also need to start giving myself more credit – this shit is hard, but I’m doing the damn thing.

I’ve taken a deep breath, pulled my big girl panties on, and finally saw that things I once feared to face are not that impossible now that I’ve started to; not easy, but definitely possible. 

It all boils down to a balancing act; experiencing these emotions is perfectly normal; it’s all a part of the process, but to keep that balance, I am in charge; that’s where I hold accountability. 

No one else can do that for me; I’m the one still learning to swim, remember. 

I’m obligated to make sure I put what I need first, and since embarking on this wellness trip, I realize that I eventually end up getting what I want by prioritizing that.

Putting myself first will not always work for others, but it doesn’t matter. As someone always eager to please, I have to learn to be ok with that.

It’s up to me to speak up when I’m overwhelmed or hurt, oh, and when unachievable expectations are being placed on me. For that, I am definitely accountable. 

The best thing I can do for myself from now on is to not only learn but to utilize the tools available to manage when I’m triggered without projecting onto and hurting others. For that, I am accountable.

Someone recently validated me by saying they knew if I were raised in a different environment, I would’ve reached my maximum potential in life; I silently agreed with her. However, now that I’ve received the validation that I once sought and, in all honesty – had held me back from living my best life, it doesn’t matter. 

I’m personally answerable for where I go on this journey called life, even with this newfound knowledge. That’s what I have control over.