Why psychotherapy?

Why psychotherapy?

It is a big obligation.

money, time and emotional work.

Why the hard courtyards if they don't want to make anything of it?

With the right therapist, you can feel safe to get your most endangered parts out and explore the parts of yourself that may be hidden or suppressed. With the aim of integration, psychotherapy enables us to discover and integrate these lost parts again and to become more complete.

to engage in the process of psychotherapy can be financially and emotionally challenging, but without full commitment you can never do the hard work to change your own life.

After going through the process myself, I can say that it was life -changing - and was.

It was a journey that was sometimes challenging, often irritating, sometimes scary, often revealing, always committed and sometimes surprising - and especially for me - deeply creative.

It was the only room in which I was able to explore my inner worlds completely and safely.

I had returned to Melbourne with my cock between my legs after a fulfilling and well -paid role on the Interstate ended. Fortunately, I had saved savings. For a while I stayed on the treadmill to apply for roles, for interviews by Australia was flown only to find the position that was assigned to someone who was less qualified / better aligned / more successful in obtaining research money, or who had managed to hang around for a long time. Enough to convince the hierarchy that you should be rewarded with an ongoing appointment. It was humiliating and exhausting. Every job for which I applied had at least 80 to 100 applicants. I was tired and full. Enough was enough.

I was always interested in helping young people. I had enjoyed looking after students as part of my role at the university, and slowly lit the flames of interest in therapy and advice.

I started to get advice and although my consultant was great, we couldn't get any further. He agreed that it was time to continue and recommended to see a therapist that he had met during his act training. Sally (as we will call them) had just completed their registration and psychiatric training, worked psychodynamically (my preference) and had a practice nearby.

I had a picture in the head of the perfect therapist for me - someone who is warm and blurred like Judd Hirsch in ordinary people or maybe a wiser and funny German like the tiny septagenian Dr. Fried in I never promised you a rose garden. I imagined someone who was seasoned, perhaps slightly overweight, with thick eyebrows and gray hair, and handed over from a rotating office chair made of life advice and jokes. Under no circumstances a big young blonde with a concise look and cool blue eyes.

I was probably surprised by her attractiveness, but I stayed and told my story while listening carefully and kept her assessments.

And so my journey into psychotherapy started.

These first few sessions were hard.

I had no therapy, but I described my pain and experienced it again in many of these early moments.

After this first evaluation phase, she indicated that there was something to work on (I always asked myself whether this carefully formulated sentence is part of her engagement for understatement - a property that I have learned more than to be released) and that she and I could work on it.

In the beginning I was raw from the events of the recent past, but it didn't take long for us to get one of the many ways that led back to my childhood.

Psychotherapy was a load -bearing pillar of my emotional life. Somewhere where I felt safe and well -kept. A place to explore and find myself. A place where all parts of me were welcome and were warmly welcomed, but I was also challenged and confronted. A relationship in which I was listened to and thoughtful.

Sally has been there in my life for 10 years. Every Friday and a while, even on Wednesday, I came to her room, typed the code and waited impatiently on the under -sized chairs of the waiting room in the hallway. I had the feeling that my life would be visible to everyone. try to avoid other customers' eyes.

I will be your rickety hood stand (a public liability suit that is waiting to be passed), the comfortable chair, on which I lived for 50 minutes (and sometimes, rarely, one more smidgeon), and miss the psychiatric texts on their bookshelves. Under these weighty books, my eyes were always attracted to the Words to Say IT from a shared copy of Marie Cardinals Brand up -to -date and poetic treatise, which carved its own niche over the fireplace.

I will miss the smell and feeling of space, the lamps and paintings, the wafer -thin texture of the curtains, which keep my vulnerability and tears away from the public. I notice that I don't say that I will miss her - maybe because it's too sad. Although we go to psychotherapy to find ourselves, we do this through a relationship, and our therapist becomes something special for us by re -recovering our most vulnerable and fragile parts by the dangerous journey of self -discovery.

It is difficult to go.

Sally knows that art is important to me. Without them I couldn't have come back to it. And of course I'm here now and try my wings as a therapist.

When I started with the therapy, I was everywhere. Now I feel stable and centered - able to find meaning and give something back.

What did she do for me?

It is not for the metrics of randomized controlled studies. Another GLIB and packaged certificate.

It may be something for dreams or poems, something that you can think about on those days I am grateful to be alive.

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