As a missionary I wrote hundreds of newsletters, articles and blog entries over the years. Always my husband had one rule – only write the good stuff. No grumbling, griping or sharing frustrations was allowed. No matter how difficult the month had been you only passed along the happy news. I don’t think that rule will work for this blog so it is an uncomfortable adjustment for me. But I promised to be honest, so here goes.
Today was not great. Actually, 2022 has not been particularly good since I got Covid right at the beginning and it took a good 3 weeks to feel semi-decent again. The “not great” today, though, was due to yesterday’s counseling session. It was . . . difficult.
Being sick gave me way too much thinking time. My mind kept circling back to the issue of my two sets of memories – two lives that did not seem totally connected. Perhaps part of the problem was constantly labeling them into separate categories: “What I’ve always known” and “What I know now”. That tends to keep them spaced apart. Yet analyzing various repressed memories I determined that I had accepted most of those as truly happening to me. My mind just kept bumping against the memory of when I was 9 and buried alive in the woods. That particular bit of nastiness emerged from my repressed memories more than a year ago so I have certainly had time to accept it. Apparently, I have not. Anyway, now that I’m back to therapy that’s what I’ve tackled. Not by choice, but necessity.
Why necessity?
Some people do not understand why I continue therapy. Some have suggested I just quit since the sessions are often distressing. However, to me quitting is not an option. Quitting would not bring back the peace of mind I had before my husband died. It couldn’t wipe out those traumas or the hurt they caused. It probably would not even have stopped additional repressed memories from returning. Quitting would just leave me stuck right where I am at this moment and that is not acceptable.
These memories are like wounds that won’t heal until you scrape away the pus. Sorry, that isn’t a pretty picture but then neither are these memories. If I have to wade through the muck to clear them away then that’s what I need to do. So, yesterday I was in that shallow grave again choking on the dirt.
But tonight my two youngest grandsons are spending the night with me. They kept me entertained this evening and at bedtime they had a contest on who could give me the most hugs. I was definitely the winner there. That’s the good stuff!