I think I have mentioned before that therapy has become very difficult and demanding lately. For someone who has been well known for starting things with a passion and abondoning them with boredom, therapy and this weight loss journey are the only things in my life that I have shown the same eagerness and determination to properly finish them both. I do not think I would have been in any of the two without the other, not for so long, not still struggling regardless the set backs or the feelings.
I begun therapy on November 25, 2001. I remember the date because it was a sunday and it was my dad's birthday too. I take 46 sessions a year. We have August off, one week off in christmas, and one week off in easter. And I take 4 marathons a year. Usually its in the beginning of each season. The spring marathon is this coming weekend.
So after 150 sessions and about 14 marathons, I would expect things would get less painful. But the opposite happens. I guess it is like going on a diet. The last bunch of kilos are the toughest to loose. They have stayed longer in the body than the rest, they are so firmly incorporated to who you are, that actually loosing them is like signing the final contract of change. I have seen people who have lost incredible amounts of weight and still have a little 5 kilos to reach goal, that take a back turn and gain it all back. I have seen it online a little, but mostly offline, among friends and aqcuitances. I have seen it in myself twice too!
Before therapy, that seemed utterly idiotic to me. Even when I did it myself, I really felt it was just something stupid. How else can you describe this? Working your arse off for months and months to get rid of a great amount of weight to just wake up one day and have a dozen dognuts for breakfast? And then go on with eating like this?
Now that I am so "cornered" in therapy, I can understand this so much better.
When you start therapy consiously, you know you have to deal with two things in abundance. Pain and anger. The more tears you shed, the more clean you feel your soul. The more punches you throw on the pillows, the more fresh you feel your heart. But after three and a half years, I believed that I was done with anger. And pain. Mostly I thought I was done with pain.
Perhaps it is just my school of therapy. Body Psychotherapy is a weird train to take the ride. It goes back to when you were a tiny seed in your mother's womb. It shows that most of your phobias and pain have been well established by the time you were a fetus, to the age of 9 months old. These are the last kilos one has to shed. Because there is no rational memory of then, it is really hard and so very painful. Your therapist will say the right words, and all of a sudden you will feel like a little baby and start ctying and screaming and you have absolutely no idea why. It is frustrating. It is different to cry your eyes out remembering when the exact thing that made you so sad happened, the room, your clothes, your mother's words. But it is really something else to feel the most pain you have ever felt in your 36 years and don't know why.
My mother had a very rough pregnancy with me. She had to stay in bed for 6 months with a lot of bleeding and pills of hormones to keep me. She almost lost me twice. I know it will sound so weird to you, but I have experienced my almost death when I was 20 weeks old in my mother's womb. A long time ago actually. And it cured my acrophobia instantly. I remember it was a Friday, and on Saturday morning I took Angelos (who has been parachuting a lot ) to an amusement park, and went to the Mega Drop ride. It is a tower with 3 seats in each side, 50 meters high, where they tie you to the seat, then it climbes up, you stay up for 3 to 6 minutes (time always varries) and they suddenly drop you so fast. They make you take your shoes off unless they have laces that tie when you go!
I do not talk about these things. Not with friends, not with Angelos. I do not even talk a lot about these things here. But lately I have been really stunned. And quiet. And in pain. Inside me. A pain so old I can not recognise. A pain so old I cannot describe.
My therapist told me that I could stop. He told me that I have reached the point where I am well. I have cleansed my soul. I know now. I can handdle. I can enjoy. I can trust. He told me I am getting into too unknown territory. That most people do not even go there. But he reassured me that should I choose to go on, the ride will be long and painful, but the result will be so much worthy. So I decided to dig in. I was really tempted to stop you know. I would stop the weekly sessions and would save me 60 euros a week. I could see him when and if I felt the need to vent. And I could still participate in the maratthons if I wanted. And most importantly, I would stop at the point I felt I was ready to conquer the world. About a month ago.
But now I am back on the train and I refuse to get off in the next stop. Not untill I see the last of this road.
Really, therapy to me is the exact same thing with weightloss. Finishing them both the way I should, by really reaching the finish line, will be consiously signing the contract. Accepting my worth. Feeling able to admit that I once wanted to change. And I have managed to accept and recognised my need. As much as I have managed to accept and recognise who I really am.
I am a woman. Not just a person. A woman. Who still has to negotiate a difficult road. But who has (almost) got fond of walking.