“Writing became my medication and the book was my therapy,” but it’s important to add that this has been in addition to real medication and real therapy.
And so, by the way, I’m still seeing Jana every week. Our conversations are less often about the widow in me anymore, but now we talk more about this girl with misconceptions and boundaries and jacked-up perceptions from broken trust.
There’s a direct link between emotional energy and physical strength, and during a particularly grueling session, Jana watches me wilt before her.
When my heart gets tired, I fade into the shell of myself. She patiently waits for me. I imagine good therapists spend a lot of their time doing that: just waiting. She waits beside the cave and reminds me that I don’t have to be in there all alone.
I know I’m being vague, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I wanted to pave the way to tell you her words of wisdom:
“Tricia, not talking about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And talking about it doesn’t make it any more true than it already was.”
For better and for worse, words give life and strength. It is a brave girl who will say them out loud.
Tell your story to someone.