Letter to my psychotherapist


“I see darkness ahead of me. I think I need to talk to a psychologist.” That’s what I told my mother when I was about to graduate university. After 16 years of school, when I have always been told what to do, the idea of deciding for myself was so very scary.

I still remember the look on my mother’s face. She said nothing, but in that nothing I felt her helplessness, shame and confusion.

20 years later, I talked with a psychotherapist. We met 4-5 times and each time we discussed a topic I chose. There was this part of myself speaking, but at the same time another part was paying attention to what and how the psychotherapist was saying. I felt empowered after each discussion and I kept thinking afterwards what exactly has helped me the most.

My answers:

  • I could talk about anything and feel welcomed – what a relief!
  • I did not felt judged;
  • I was shown respect and patience and felt being an equal to my psychotherapist, not inferior;
  • I felt listened and accepted, the psychotherapist paid attention to me, stayed in my story and did not leave, no matter what I said;
  • the psychotherapist stood by my side and this sensation somehow filled other empty spaces inside of myself;
  • I felt I do matter as a human being, no matter how my past looked like;
  • I felt enough.

Because I was shown how healthy respect looks like, I started to treat myself with more respect although I felt the guilt of taking better care of myself.

Writing here is a form of honoring myself.

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