It was a part of me no one knew about. The secret that I had never shared. And then I shared it. With my husband…through tears, with shaky hands, and elephants beating a mad drum in my stomach. I had endured 21 years of silence and was finally ready to share.
All those years of silence had been a slow build. What once felt like a note that I had quietly folded and hid in my pocket now felt like a boulder I was dragging down the street. Impossible.
It was interesting to look back on. This thing that I had kept secret. You see, at first, shame helped me to hide it. And very successfully. But that shame whispered to me and spread lies that became part of the fabric of my young life. Threads I am still pulling out to this day.
People ask me why I became a therapist. I usually responded with a smiley confession of loving people and wanting to offer to the world what I felt was missing in caring for one another. But what I didn’t say, not until recently, was that I had a deep compassion for those who were hurting, traumatized, afraid, and lonely. I had felt all those things deeply. I had endured the darkness that they found themselves consumed by. I had done the hard work in therapy that I had hoped to join them in. That sacred space where hurt meets holy.
Its not easy. But the love of being a therapist and holding the hands of the people I serve is the second greatest calling of my life, aside from loving and serving my family. Being given the honor of entering the depths with people, given the trust that I know is so precious and costly, this is what it means to me to be a therapist. This is why. And this is what keeps me in the battlefield. In the fight for those who no longer want to try alone.