The story of me and my therapist
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Finally, after years of contemplating therapy, I found myself in a session. I shared absolutely everything to a complete stranger and I’m so glad I did.
I was a teenager when I first started thinking about therapy. It was a concept that I felt would help me, but I had no idea how to go about getting it. I considered a visit to the doctor to ask, but I was overcome with fear that my mum would find out immediately. Even if I felt brave enough to ask a GP, my bigger concern was what would people think of me. At that time, wellbeing and mental health were not topics of discussion you’d have publicly. Nor was it common to have a mobile phone that you could use to research ‘how to get a therapist’. So instead, I ignored acting on that thought for many years, but it was an idea that would revisit me often.
Becoming a parent was both incredible and triggering at the same time. Memories I'd buried deep were resurfacing at an alarming rate and consumed much of my day-to-day thinking. It was the first time I'd experienced intense physical reactions to the thoughts I was having, and I simply hated it. I wanted to be the best mum possible, but here I was consumed by the past when I only wanted to move on with my future. I felt stuck and trapped in a mental headspace I didn’t wish to live in. I wanted to be present for my new baby and not have my mind wander back to my own childhood.
“It’s extremely difficult to not revisit the past when you find yourself in the role of your abuser.”
For those with childhood trauma, I now understand that this is common. Becoming a parent opened old wounds. It’s extremely difficult to not revisit the past when you find yourself in the role of your abuser. Becoming a parent highlighted just how awful what I had been through was. Until then, I had managed to justify the actions of my mother. I believed her when she would continuously say “it's not that bad” or “you’re too being sensitive”. I believed I was the problem and I shouldn't be sad or think there was an issue, because apparently the experiences that upset me were not a big deal or were my fault in the first place.
I didn’t like how my emotions and memories took over. I didn’t like parenting in this way. I wanted to give my daughter better than I had. I wanted to understand my past and understand myself, with the hopes to make our future better. I decided, once and for all, to look into therapy.
The appointment was booked and while I waited eagerly for my first session, a part of me felt confused and conflicted with what I actually wanted to talk about. I knew how I felt, which wasn’t great (to put it mildly), but I couldn’t pinpoint the cause of my pain. I didn’t feel as though I had ‘trauma’ and so it felt almost silly to be in therapy. I was nervous to be told I was overreacting and that there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. Life felt so hard and I didn’t know why. I cried all the time and I hated myself. There were so many ‘things’ on my mind, which I knew led back to my mum in some shape or form, but I also didn’t really understand how or why they were causing me so much anguish.
‘I’m an adult now’, I thought, ‘I can’t blame my mum for all my own problems - not like she did to me’. I didn’t want to be that person. I was accountable for my own actions and right now, I wanted therapy to help me be a better mum. At that time, and when a particular memory overcame me, I would either cry in a way that felt uncontrollable or I would feel a burning rage within that made me be snappy to those closest to me.
That latter feeling and reaction is the one I hated the most. It’s the one I'm most ashamed of. In that state, I reminded myself of my own mother - to a much lesser extent but still a reminder. Anytime I’d raise my voice I felt like her. I hated it and I hated myself for feeling angry or frustrated. I didn’t want to be anything like her, I didn’t want to be the shouting mother I grew up with or to take my feelings out on the people I loved the most. After any moment like this, once the memory had faded a little, I’d find myself crying and haunted by my failings as a mother.
“What was wrong with me? Why was being a mum so hard? Was I wrong about my own mother? Was I just like her?”
Meeting my therapist for the first time
I was extremely nervous meeting my therapist. I didn’t know how or where to begin. After some gentle encouragement, everything I had been struggling with surged forth like a flood. I gave a 40-minute summary of what had consumed my thoughts and the memories that seem to resurface at the most inconvenient times.
When I finished talking, my therapist said without any hesitation “your mum is a narcissist”. She shared how my mother had never allowed me to have my own feelings and I was taught to put her needs first at all times. She went on to explain how everything I shared with regards to my feelings, flashbacks, triggers and suicidal thoughts, were all signs and symptoms of complex PTSD. Despite there being a lot of ‘stuff’ in my past, it was the first time someone referred to them as ‘multiple traumas’ and ‘abusive situations’. I was stunned, numbed, sad, validated, relieved in disbelief, heartbroken, confused, awakened, grateful and tearful.
“After so many years of confusion and pain, it felt like I was starting to finally see everything clearly.”
In talking through narcissism and all my experiences, I came to learn (for the first time) how much I had been through and suffered at the hands of my mother. I was thankful to finally be in therapy and to be gaining an understanding of my past. After so many years of confusion and pain, it felt like I was starting to finally see everything clearly - including just how deeply my mother’s continuous gaslighting had really impacted me.
She no longer needed to be around me, for me to feel shame in myself. I could hear her doubting voice in everything I did and if I ever thought for a moment I could achieve something, her voice (from memory) was quickly there to remind me of my place and my inability.
I came to understand that I was parenting through trauma with a multitude of invisible scars. What started off as just a few sessions, turned into many. A lot of ground was covered and I’ll be forever grateful to have finally spoken my truth and to have an empathetic and knowledgeable ear to share all of that to.
I will be forever thankful for…
Finally having the therapy, help and support I knew deep down I always needed.
Society’s changing attitudes towards mental health and seeking therapy.
A change in circumstances which meant I could afford private therapy.
Advancements in technology that make it easy to research discreetly how to find a therapist and what to expect. As well as making it possible to have virtual appointments too.
The clarity over my past that therapy has given me.
My therapist.
How to find a therapist: Useful resources
If you're in the UK, of Black heritage and interested in therapy, you may find the following resources useful.
If the above doesn’t apply to you, you can also search for accredited therapists globally at www.psychologytoday.com
You’ll next hear from me in December. Until then, I'd love to know if you have any questions for me, or if there is anything you’d like me to cover in my next newsletter.
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As always, thank you so much for reading.
Chloe x