During the afternoon of the retreat, I start to work on our assignments, but I’m exhausted and emotionally drained.
On the first morning of the retreat, we all read aloud the stories of our wounded inner child. And then we offer one another empathy and wise, tender words.
One day I wander into therapy and blurt out my embarrassing, intimate wish.
Even when therapeutic relationship is good, my sense that my therapist is getting tired of me is painfully close to the surface.
Often when I am depressed, a part of my brain is consumed by thoughts I don’t actively choose. They are not voices, per se; they don’t sound like someone else is talking to me. But in a way, they are like voices, repeatedly telling me things like, “I’m so bad. I’m a terrible person. I’m…
My critical voice says, “I can’t believe you acted like such a slut,” and “You want to make it out like you are some kind of victim, but you went along with it, so don’t pretend to be so innocent…”
After suffering from depression for well over 20 years, I’m taking it seriously in a way I never did before. It used to be I’d take an anti-depressant and go to therapy once every two weeks, not feel that great but manage to take care of my life so, okay, good enough. Not anymore. Considering…