giggles & grind

I came across a reel last night while scrolling through social media about a therapy app. After recent issues I’ve been having internally, and somewhat externally, I decided to download the app and give it a shot.

Much to my surprise I found myself drawn into the app much more than I anticipated. So, I guess I’m in therapy now.

What I liked most was, I was in my safe space; the comfort of my own bed, cozy clothes, a dim light, the lingering smell of a bouquet that was in my room the other day from my boyfriend. It was at the end of a long day, and I shut my door to keep the cats out so I could decompress. I was happy that I ended the evening doing something healthy instead of going down the rabbit hole of social media.

I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy. I hate to admit it, makes me feel like a victim. The first time I was in therapy, my stepmom made me go. She was insistent that something was wrong with me, especially after finding “my writings” that seemed depressed and aggressive to her. What she didn’t understand, was–and trust me, I’d of loved to take credit for the words–were they were lyrics to a song that I wanted to memorize. I memorized things much quicker if I wrote them down as I was listening to the words. And I was fascinated with music. I guess it made sense to put me in therapy, since the lead singer of the band who’s lyrics I was writing down later committed suicide.

The reason I should have been in therapy as a kid was because my mother abandoned me at an early age, then neglected me throughout the remainder of my childhood. My father was an abusive, angry alcoholic. My stepmother, which may or may not have drank, I honestly don’t know and never paid attention, was a torturous abuser. She would have made a great Nazi. I wish I was exaggerating.

So did therapy work for me as a child? Absolutely not. I wasn’t going to talk to a stranger about the people who were paying for me to talk to that stranger. There was nothing about the situation that felt safe.

The only thing I liked about therapy is that when my dad took me, usually we’d swing by and snag an ice cream afterwards, and I really enjoyed that special treat with him. Even if later on I realized he was a major factor for why I should have been talking to this stranger about my trauma. But to me, at that time, he was just dad. My superhero who punished me when I was bad.

In my late 20s I went to therapy again. Well, it was actually a psychologist that my doctor sent me to after enduring a significant event in my life that they feared needed more than the typical anti-depressants prescription.

I actually liked that stranger. She was very quirky but had a gift at getting me to open up. Plus, this time I was paying for it, so I felt safe she wasn’t reporting back to anyone else. I was much more at ease disclosing my feelings. She helped me learn about prompt writing, which was really hard for me at the time, because I was in a delicate state of mind and emotionally broken. But when I could do it, I enjoyed the practice. And, I’ve since utilized prompt writing throughout my life.

I remember one day I went to see her, not knowing it was my last visit with her. She said “I’ve seen a tremendous amount of improvement, and I’m going to discharge you.” She also informed me that she took a job elsewhere, which I later came to realize that she probably needed to feel resolved with her patients by discharging them as “healed” rather than to refer them to someone else and live with the guilt of abandoning them. Which, she did.

It wasn’t her fault I was there. And maybe it wasn’t her fault what happened to me next. But I lasted a couple weeks without her, and then spiraled into one of the darkest places depression I didn’t even know was possible. I was miserable in my existence, and miserable to be around. I definitely was not healed. But, I didn’t blame her. I blamed myself.

It took about a year for me to try and start finding something to do with myself, so I took to hiking. I couldn’t handle being around others unless it was absolutely necessary. I was so heartbroken I could hardly function.

Quick side note…..the reason for this pain I was enduring at the time isn’t something I’m ready to disclose, and I may never. Although a man was a part of the situation that got me to that darkness, it wasn’t him I was sad over, it was events in that relationship where I witnessed and experienced evil that took me down that path of deep depression.

Anyways, I knew there was one place in the world that I could get to quite easily and I know I would feel comfort. The wilderness. So, I went. And the more I went, the better I felt. The fresh air, the quietness, the beauty. I would take my children with my quite a bit, but the best times for me was when I was alone. Oddly, it was the only place I could get the noise in my head to stop being so loud.

I think my uncle was worried about me going alone so much, so he suggested me taking his dog Ava, a great pyrenees mountain dog that lived on his property to protect the land. The thing was, I had always been terrified of her. I’ve always had a fear of dogs, and she wasn’t the kind of dog to wag her tail and lick your hand when she saw you. She kept her distance from everyone, and just watched over her home. We had that in common.

So, I loaded up Ava and took her to the mountain. And I fell in love with her, and she fell in love with me, instantly. So, my new habit became, right after work, nearly every day, I would run and grab Ava, and we’d head off to find a trail. And we’d hike until we lost sunlight, and then we’d go home.

Ava and the mountain was the best therapy I have ever had. Funny, the only cost was fuel, and I could go as much as I wanted. And I loved it. I spent over a year doing this. By the time my uncle told me he was selling his property and he needed to find Ava a home, I felt like I was strong enough to let her go. So, I found her a place to live, and I kept on my hiking journey.

Something about the connection with an animal that has a similar demeanor to you, and loves you unconditionally, and instinctively protects you, and asks nothing in return from you…it’s powerful. I felt like I had a true companion, and really loved the fact that she didn’t speak. Because I really enjoy the quiet.

Every time I’d walk down to unhook her from her run line, she’d wrap her paws around my ankle like she was hugging me. If we came across anyone on our adventures, she was on high alert and protective mode. I felt like I could go anywhere and do anything as long as she was beside me.

I think I was just as much help to her as she was to me. She lived on a few acres, and that was her life, every day. She didn’t get much attention, and she definitely didn’t act like she wanted it. But once she got mine, she couldn’t get enough. Those dogs are naturally that way anyways. But without me, she wouldn’t have gotten to go on all of those adventures. And without her, I may not have warmed up to the idea of companionship ever again.

She was my silent therapist.

I guess my point is, therapy is good. However, it may not be in the form you expect it. And, you have to be pursuing it for the right reasons.

The other therapists I’ve had weren’t worth mentioning, so I won’t. My true therapist is outdoor adventures. I know I get that from when I was a kid. My dad always took us camping and hunting. And when we went hunting, we ate really well, we got to play, there wasn’t any rules, there wasn’t any fighting. In the mountains, my dad was happy, and so I was happy too. It was safe there. For me, it will always be that.