TRP Challenge 3: Go back to therapy
Growing up, our Mum always taught us that sharing is caring. I think it comes with the territory of being a twin. You share your birthday, your toys, your family and even your room (Me and Molly shared till we were 14!) Sharing is part of the package when you have a large family, you have to learn to do this or risk spending your time on the naughty step.
However, material objects, birthdays and even space are a lot easier to share than feelings and emotions, especially when your head is a constant tornado of worries, doubts and paranoia.
I remember my first experience of therapy like it was yesterday. I was at University in Liverpool, miles away from my family & then boyfriend, terrified and feeling almost constantly lonely, even when surrounded by friends. I was lost in my own mind. The room was dark & covered in posters about self-help and charities supporting bereavement, mental health problems and stress. I felt sick to the stomach, but that was nothing new, I had felt this way for at least 6 months by this point.
I distinctly remember the glossy magazines on the coffee table in front of me as I (impatiently) waited. I tried to flick through them but couldn't concentrate as all I saw were perfect bodies, and I sank deep into a spiral of how I could lose more weight ahead of my next GP appointment.
Alison, my therapist, came to collect me. She was calm and kindly spoken, and took me out to the hall to climb the stairs to her room. It felt like climbing Everest.
I'm not going to lie to you, going through therapy is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. For the first few months those 50 minutes once a week felt like they lasted a week. They were emotionally and mentally draining, and made me question everything about myself, my life and my past. But therapy is also the ultimate act of self-love, and I would not be here today without it.
In that vain and seeing as my mission is to strive for self-acceptance and self-love, I signed back up for therapy. Those feelings of loneliness, self-doubt and paranoia had started to creep back in, and I wanted more than anything to calm the waves before they turned into a tsunami.
I am happy to say I've been attending CBT sessions for a month or so now, and have already seen the benefits. I think the difference this time round is that I'm approaching it not as a beginner, but as a semi-professional. I'm finally lifting those monkeys off my shoulders.
Growing up, our Mum always taught us that sharing is caring. I think it comes with the territory of being a twin. You share your birthday, your toys, your family and even your room (Me and Molly shared till we were 14!) Sharing is part of the package when you have a large family, you have to learn to do this or risk spending your time on the naughty step.
However, material objects, birthdays and even space are a lot easier to share than feelings and emotions, especially when your head is a constant tornado of worries, doubts and paranoia.
I remember my first experience of therapy like it was yesterday. I was at University in Liverpool, miles away from my family & then boyfriend, terrified and feeling almost constantly lonely, even when surrounded by friends. I was lost in my own mind. The room was dark & covered in posters about self-help and charities supporting bereavement, mental health problems and stress. I felt sick to the stomach, but that was nothing new, I had felt this way for at least 6 months by this point.
I distinctly remember the glossy magazines on the coffee table in front of me as I (impatiently) waited. I tried to flick through them but couldn't concentrate as all I saw were perfect bodies, and I sank deep into a spiral of how I could lose more weight ahead of my next GP appointment.
Alison, my therapist, came to collect me. She was calm and kindly spoken, and took me out to the hall to climb the stairs to her room. It felt like climbing Everest.
I'm not going to lie to you, going through therapy is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. For the first few months those 50 minutes once a week felt like they lasted a week. They were emotionally and mentally draining, and made me question everything about myself, my life and my past. But therapy is also the ultimate act of self-love, and I would not be here today without it.
In that vain and seeing as my mission is to strive for self-acceptance and self-love, I signed back up for therapy. Those feelings of loneliness, self-doubt and paranoia had started to creep back in, and I wanted more than anything to calm the waves before they turned into a tsunami.
I am happy to say I've been attending CBT sessions for a month or so now, and have already seen the benefits. I think the difference this time round is that I'm approaching it not as a beginner, but as a semi-professional. I'm finally lifting those monkeys off my shoulders.
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