Self-Therapy Session 01.

My first time navigating a tangled experience after ending my therapy cycle.

Intro.

After 3 years in therapy, I decided to do one final session, take a leap of faith, and venture into my life with the tools it gave me. Now, I need and want a space where I can process the feelings, situations, and inner voice I encounter alone, and without the safe space therapy provided to me. My intention is for this to become a series of writings without an ending-

**Some of these writings are originally written in Spanish or Portuguese. I will post the translated and the original one, just because I think it’s fun.

On Sunday, we celebrated my siblings birthday and for a couple of minutes i was left alone with my mother and father who talked about the problems, achievements of my 3 siblings, then about what they were currently doing, the challenges and changes they wanted to make in their lives, but never about me.

It was strange to be there, as if I were totally invisible, like being inside one of those dreams in which you can see your body from the side.

It has always hurt me, and it causes me sadness to be there. It transports me into this Macarena, a child full of impotence that wants to slam the table and scream, “I’m here! Can’t you see me, or you just don’t care?”

After so many years, I convinced myself, or in a way, I try to accept the logical way of thinking, that my parents do not care about me, not because of a lack of love, but because my presence bothers them. They don’t know what to say to me or what to do with me; they never made an effort to build a connection with me.

Even tho I can comprehend that a lack of connection is something natural and maybe even a painful sensation for parents, I can't truly explain how garring is the pain I feel as their child.

Now I wonder what would change if I told them how I feel? Being that I believe I would never feel safe enough to demonstrate that vulnerability to them.

My hurt self, but with an adult scar, tells me, “Why does this matter? Let it go, whatever.”

Whatever, since now I have other people who are interested in how I am doing, what I do, and even who I am.

But, ok, you and I know that the lack of parental attention creates a hole that probably will always stay half empty, hollow, and demanding.

I see that Macarena, there so small with all this frustration and tears. I wanna sit her on my lap and tell her how tender she is, how funny she is, creative and smart, as I hug her and rock her. Take her by the hand and pull her out of that table so she can tell me more about the thousand things she has to tell me.

Because I love her.

I feel that healing those wounds sometimes puts the responsibility on me, especially when I feel that I am not strong enough, and when I want the other person to say “I’m sorry.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know you were feeling that way”, and a change.

But for now, the only thing that makes me feel safe is writing it here and understanding it. Being able to have control and give that attention to my inner child makes me feel safer. As if I didn't need anyone to heal that wound.

There are situations that get to me, and that is normal; it is upsetting! Not much I can do about that! The questions would be: Do I want to change that, or should I keep being the same? What's more important?

I think I should probably say something.

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Español (original)

El domingo celebramos el cumple de mis hermanos y por unos minutos me quede sole con mis papas que hablaron de los problemas y logros de mis hermanos, luego de lo que ellos estaban haciendo en su vida y los cambios, pero nunca de mi.

Fue extraño estar ahí, como si fuera totalmente invisible, como en esos sueños que uno ve a su cuerpo desde afuera.

Siempre me daña y me causa mucha tristeza estar ahí, me transporta a esta Macarena chiquita llena de impotencia que quería golpear la mesa y gritar °Acá estoy! ¿No me ven o no les importa?”

Al pasar de los años me convencí, o de cierta manera aceptó el pensamiento lógico de que a mis papas realmente no les importo, no por falta de amor sino porque mi presencia les incomoda, no saben que decirme o que hacer conmigo, nunca hicieron el esfuerzo de construir una conexión.

Aunque puedo comprender que una falta de conexión es algo natural, y debe hasta ser un sentimiento hiriente para los padres, no puedo explicar el dolor hueco que me hace sentir a mi como hije.

Ahora me pregunto qué cambiaría si les dijera cómo me siento, siendo que creo que nunca me sentiría segure para demostrar esa vulnerabilidad ante ellos.

Mi herida, pero ya con la cicatriz adulta me dice “Que importan ya dejalo, total que…”

Total que si ahora tengo a otras personas que les interese como estoy, que hago y hasta quien soy.

Pero bueno, tú y yo sabemos que la falta de atención familiar es un agujkero que probablemente siempre se queda medio vacío, hueco y demandante.

Veo a esa Macarena chiquita con frustración y lágrimas. La quiero sentar en mis piernas y decirle lo tierna que es, lo graciosa que es, lo creativa e inteligente que es, mientras la abrazo y la balanceo. Agarrarla de la mano y sacarla de esa mesa así me cuenta sus 10 mil cosas que tiene para contarme.

Por qué la quiero.

Siento que sanar esas heridas a veces ponen las responsabilidad en mi, especialmente cuando siento que no soy fuerte lo suficiente y cuando quiero que alguien me diga “perdón”.

“Perdon, no sabia que te sentias asi” y un cambio.

Pero por ahora creo que lo único que me siento segura haciendo es escribirlo aquí y entendiéndolo.

Poder tener control de darle esa atención a mi nike interior, me hace sentir más en control, positivo o no. Como si no necesitara a nadie para curar esa herida.

Hay situaciones que me afectan y eso es normal, es pesado! ¡No hay mucho que pueda hacer!

La pregunta sería: ¿Quiero que algo cambie? O ¿Quiero que todo siga igual? ¿Qué es lo más importante?

Creo que debería de decir algo.