“What does rebuilding trust look like to you?” my therapist asked me today during our session.
“I don’t know. That isn’t something I do. I run. I’m a runner,” I responded.
This is my reality now. It has been for the last 4 years at the least. If I’m honest it has probably been that way for much, much longer. That’s probably why I am so reluctant to run now that I’ve “suffered a major rupture” (her words) with my therapist. I’m tired of running. I’m tired in general.
I’ve spent way too much time closed off from people; running at the first sign of discomfort. I learned that I couldn’t protect myself if I stayed in relationship with people so I never stayed too long. I was a cardiac nomad, trudging along from one heart to the next. I’d stay just long enough that our hearts would start beating the same rhythm and then I’d bounce. It was always safer that way. But, so, so lonely. My heart has become a desolate wasteland. Still a patchwork but of sharp, jagged parts. Anyone who came close risked injury, so it seemed to me. It was inevitably going to be one of us. It isn’t going to be that way with this therapy relationship. I don’t want it to be. I’m scared out of my wits and the jagged bits are erect and ready. But, I’m not running this time.
The irony of this running business is that I am most decidedly “not a quitter.” I said as much in therapy today. But, I sure know how to quit at relationships. And, I rather thing it would be a beautiful irony were I to quit at life. That’s where my mind is currently, despite having actually had a session that was about as ideal as it could have possibly been under the circumstance.
If you read my last post, Text, Touch, and Therapy Changes, then you know that my therapist, we shall call her C, did something that hurt me very deeply. It shook my trust to its core. I mean, I was already on rocky terrain with her, but then she pulled the rug out from under me. I was pretty certain that I was done letting her walk this journey with me. But, despite that, I gave her one more chance today after having written a pretty lengthy letter for her to read. I don’t know if she actually did read the letter but she gave me exactly what I needed. She gave me the truth, finally, and she owned her part of this. She owned up to the hurt she caused. And she explained her intentions and how things got so messed up. That was really all I ever wanted; the truth. She had already hurt me enough with her actions. I thought, at the very least, I deserved to know the why and how. I’m “hypervigilant” for goodness sake. It isn’t like I’m going to miss the little details. I see things whether I want to see them or not. And, yeah, sometimes I make those things into something they’re not but there is usually at least a nugget of truth even in my delusional constructions. I guess she finally realized that or she had some more “consultation” and she was told she better tell me at least some of the truth if she wanted to salvage this thing. So, that’s what I got. I still don’t feel satisfied that I got all of the truth but I feel like I got enough and I’m okay with that for now. Which leaves us at… how do we rebuild the trust that has been lost? Because right now, I have nothing for her. I know that she said trust isn’t black or white but in this moment… it kind of is… She said, maybe I just learned how to trust myself more in this situation. There might be some truth to that. And, that is a good thing. I did need to trust myself. But, I need to trust her, too. I just don’t know what that is supposed to look like, coming back from something like this. It’s also exhausting.
I’m exhausted if I run and I’m exhausted if I stay. I guess that means it is better to stay, if the outcome is the same either way. I hope I’m making the best decision. I just couldn’t stand the thought of starting over. Learning how to trust an entirely new person, another stranger, another wildcard, another someone who could possibly hurt me. I hate the risk of human relationship. I hate that if I invest something of myself it means putting my neck out, hoping there isn’t a guillotine hovering out of sight, filled with potential energy waiting to turn kinetic. I suck at hope. I suck at faith. I’m a tangible gal. I like the concrete. I like the material. It’s easier than this abstract feeling business. Is there any way to turn trust into something tangible so that I can believe in it?