I’m stable, welcoming the next breath. Waiting without judgement or trepidation for the next step. Trauma therapy begins next week. I don’t know what to expect. I am not afraid. I am cautious. I am careful. I am not afraid.
I was offended and frustrated yesterday, being told that my needs and the needs of the others around me (education, skills, means of survival) don’t matter. We are a dumping ground. The needs of one person supersede the purpose, the rules, the boundaries set in place to protect the value and meaning of what we gather for. I said what I could. I tried not to judge. I practiced every precious skill I have gained. I tried to be patient. I came looking for education and guidance. I found frustration and sat, having a full blown panic attack in silence.
The lifeline that I am counting on to see me through this trauma therapy, the lifeline that has seen me through the most horrifying part of my life (until now), has been restructured without warning or even a conscious decision being made to restructure. Rules are rules and boundaries are there for safety, especially in a room full of people who want to learn, who are hurting, who need every morsel of information that is supposed to be offered there.
Am I being cryptic? Only because I respect rules and boundaries. I needed to vent. I choose to do it on my own time where people have the choice to use their time to listen. Bottom line is, I want to go into trauma therapy with an open mind, ready to work, able to breathe, and armed with every skill available to me. Just because I’m ready, just because I’m strong, just because I’ve come so far, does not mean that I’m not vulnerable, that I don’t have need of strength, guidance, and support. I choose who and where I spend time working at life. There must be meaning and value. It must be useful. I haven’t time to waste.