March has been a big month for me. Mentally, emotionally and physically.
My therapy got off to a rocky start. The first session, where I divulged a great deal about my life and what ultimately led me to seek counselling, was heavy and left me a jittery wreck for days. The night after my session, I just couldn’t sleep at all and tossed and turned in bed for hours. I have 8 weekly sessions as part of this current program of treatment and I am determined to get as much from them as I can. So I pushed through…
I was completely derailed the following day, by a telephone call from my landlord, evicting us. We have lived in our current house for years, told annually at tenancy renewal, that our landlord had no intention of selling the property and ideally wanted us to remain here for many years to come. When we first moved in, she didn’t live nearby and had a total of 3 rental properties in her portfolio so we took great comfort in that. We felt secure. Over the last few years, she has sold one of the 3 properties and moved into the other, leaving ours intact…until last week. In short, she needs to move back. She wants us out asap with no real explanation other than “things change, nothing personal”.
I finished up the telephone call as calmly as possible, before falling to the floor in a heap of tears. This was no longer our home. The house we became a family in, the house where my daughter experienced her first milestones, the only home she’s ever known; now needed to be packed up. I couldn’t breathe.
A few days have passed since that phone call. We don’t have a deposit to move and there are no properties available to move into either. My husband worried about logistics and the possibility of storage issues, if we ended up in a smaller home. I was upset that we would have to leave my daughters daffodils, that she had planted in the front garden behind. Strange where your mind goes in times of stress. It’s a horrible situation to find ourselves in. I was still trying to process our new dilemma as I sat eagerly awaiting my next counselling session. I found myself almost excited. I needed to talk through this new challenge and figure out how I was supposed to mentally handle it, alongside all my other rather weighty issues. I logged on for our next Zoom session, the therapist did not. I waited the entire length of the appointment looking at my own face staring back at me. Maybe she was late? Maybe she was ill? Maybe she forgot? Maybe she thought I was too much and bailed? I messaged her…nothing. I emailed her…nothing. It would seem I’ve been ghosted by my counsellor, this was a low moment.
No stranger to the painful treatment that is ghosting, I was waiting for what seemed like the inevitable spiral into hopelessness. As a person with abandonment issues, I expected my reaction to be more emotionally chaotic. Instead I was calm, made myself a cup of coffee and laughed. You see, I expected this to fail. I wanted it to work but expected it to fail. I needed her to be awesome and to help me whip my life into shape. I was so eager for this to be the catalyst that would help me rebuild my broken brain. I had such hope for it but there is always a quiet voice inside, that reminds me that people usually flake when it matters. Not true for all people I’m sure but I have met more than my fair share of individuals, that have left my little voice shouting “and that’s why I don’t trust people! That’s why I don’t ask or reach out for help, because it just isn’t there”.
As upsetting and disappointing as that episode was, I wasn’t that angry. Just resigned to a behaviour I had seen a million times. Was I secretly hoping for a call or email from her? Yes. Did I receive one? No.
What I wouldn’t give to get in my car right now, pop on some old school tunes and drive. For years that was my therapy and it never let me down, not once. In the painful absence of that, I stepped out into my garden this week and sat in the sunshine with my headphones on and eyes closed. I pictured the open road, windows down, sun in sky, driving with the volume up. My music taste often lingers in a time when my life made sense. As I didn’t get to talk this week, I smiled when this classic came on my playlist. In my mind I was in my car on that gorgeous sunny day and I turned this up. As therapy sessions go, I have no complaints.
Tevin Campbell – Can We Talk