It was a cold, dreary winter afternoon in Seattle as I drove north for a critical appointment. Once I arrived at my destination, I entered through the glass doors, took the elevator, and eventually found the office I was searching for. It was located on the top floor of the east wing, by an isolated staircase. Somewhat understandably, the location was concealed. Within minutes, a lady came to the door. She was a psychotherapist, and I was there to see her. I was in my early 20s.

In need

For a while, I felt I was missing something essential in my life, but I didn’t know what. When I was introduced to Psychotherapy in graduate school, I initially discounted its value for me, not wanting to air my dirty laundry. However, I was tired of pretending everything was OK.

So, that fateful afternoon, when the psychotherapist asked me why I was there, I quickly responded, “I want to learn.” But it wasn’t until our third meeting that I let her know my true intention: I was trying to find my way. – That single act of vulnerability unlocked the door to what I needed all along.

Help

Sitting in her office, I recounted experiences I had suppressed, including being locked in a dark room at school where no one would ever find me. Then, weeks of being isolated from friends and excessively controlled, culminating in a death threat, all at school. I spoke like an adult, but I wrung my hands like the terrified elementary school kid and later middle schooler I was when they happened!

As I raised my head, I was stunned to see tears streaming down her face. Instantly, I thought, I am so pitiful that even a professional helper cries when they look at me. Like she read my thoughts, she said, “Thank you for trusting me. Please don’t let my tears make you uncomfortable. May I hug you?”
Next, she said she would be honored to help me. But her message was clear: Her help would only be effective if I allowed her. I had to trust myself first and grant her access to earn my trust.

Finding our way

I committed to getting well. For weeks, I showed up as if my life depended on it! Being open allowed her to see me in all forms: hurt, scared, angry, and goofy. With plenty of compassion, but no judgment, she accepted me. Soon enough, I trusted myself and was strong enough to venture out and find my way.

However, the path I had chosen wasn’t popular. Back then, having a psychotherapist almost implied that something was dreadfully wrong with you, not that something unfortunate had happened to you. But misfortune touches us all. At some point, we all feel lost and need help finding our direction in life.
Throughout my journey, I wondered what made me easy prey to such ill-treatment.

Going deeper

In time, I realized that my people-pleasing and perfectionist tendencies were at the root of my prolonged suffering. To a perfectionist, shortcomings are a threat to self-worth, and this way of thinking leads to a persistent struggle to accept that anything, including oneself, is good enough!

In today’s high-stakes culture, characterized by the voracious pursuit of the next best thing, perfectionism is on the rise. Such thinking impedes growth and stifles authenticity. Shifting this mindset requires help. For me, it took support from a person who was willing to see me and help me grow.
So after our last visit, I walked out of her office with directions to help find my way. They were: Do not hide. And do not allow others to hide you. Give love, but do not try to earn it. Become a student of true love and create new memories.

It is not easy to forget the past, especially when it hurts. But we can lessen its power by acknowledging that it happened, learning from it, and creating new, empowering memories. For a long time, I thought facing my brokenness would destroy me. But it turned out to be a gift.

For you and to you,
Aké

Image credit: Pexels | Liza Summers