I go to Group therapy. Not unusual to do therapy if you’re American perhaps, but in Britain , it’s considered quirky, weird, odd or downright indulgent.
I have been going for a year now. I have been wondering whether to leave.
Last time before the summer break , our facilitator said that people almost always enter therapy due to some kind of loss in their life , then she suggested, perhaps for my benefit that it can be due to a loss of self.
At that moment I realised that this was indeed my reason for signing up . Albeit , I didn’t have a sense of that at the time , but through this last year , I have discovered that I was indeed lost. Lost to myself , untethered in a whirlwind of avenues and streets of which I had not agreed the destination . In fact , as I look to where I was a year ago today, I realise that this year has been one long passage of discovery ; enlightenment and freedom from the chains of my own making. I feel like the phoenix who has been rising from the ashes, dramatic image maybe , but nevertheless, resplendent in colours and passion , I have shed the irritating , itchy skins of conformity & self consciousness , or I am in the process of still shedding them… But I know that a glossy new skin is visible and it’s actually me . .
flossyfeet 