Elle, a personality discovered.

     What does it take for a person to seek help from a therapist. In my family growing up there was an unwritten rule. Do not tell anyone outside the family about what is going on in the family. I was afraid to break the rule. It took an erosion of my world and some crumbling for me to see I had to try. I had a family to take care of and because of my body falling apart illness after illness I was not able to manage without changing something. I had already been the medical route and received what help I could. Going to therapy was like a last ditch effort for me.
     I began seeing a marriage and family therapist who someone recommended to me. He was a experienced and willing to help me.  I thought naively as inexperienced 26 year old might that maybe he could help me within a few visits and that it would not require too much money or effort on my part. The worst obstacle in my way was I did not feel worth it. He found out within our first visit that I expressed myself with art. He asked me to draw a self portrait. I drew a picture of a tiny particle that I later identified (embarrassed at first) as a piece of feces blowing in the wind above a giant hand. The hand represented the hand of God.  I felt like a loose unimportant end who had become the dust in the air. No longer in Gods hands but blown wherever the wind took it.  I believe that parts of me knew I really needed therapy like I needed food or water.  I'm also sure that part of me was scared to come to the knowledge of what I was really thinking. After a two visits (once a month) with Dr Ronald, I had learned that there were some valid reasons for my depression. I was not prepared for what I learned next.
I nervously knocked on the heavy wooden door of Dr. Ronald's office. I was not sure if I was interrupting anyone, but I had a pretty good guess. Leaving my children at home with a sitter and coming way out of comfort zone left me very anxious. I knocked ever so lightly as if to say timidly “ It is 11.am  my turn, now” . After all I have to be home by 12:15. He answered through the door in a muffled voice saying patiently “I will be right with you” . I was too new at going to therapy to know how often Drs are at least 10 minutes off a schedule and that I might actually irritate him; not to mention the other person in need trying to wrap up their session.
     I walked down the hall where I could still see the door in case he emerged. I paced which is what I do when I feel trapped and unable to handle the stress overload. The hall next to some tall narrow window felt like a cage. Oh! How I wished I was home with my babies and my husband. I wanted intensely to open the door to the parking lot and go home to where I felt safe!As I walked off some of my nervous energy I again pondered the reason I came. I was getting more and more depressed with each illness and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever feel well again. I had to get help which meant I had to get past the fear that psychologists were not to be trusted as they could mess with your mind and do more damage than good. This was a long held belief in my family who did not seek outside help. I was taught to believe that just one bad session could change my mind forever and make it so I was unhappy permanently after. Something inside told me I did not have to worry about Dr Ronald. I could trust him.
    That was not the only major roadblock for me. In addition there was the money issue. A dollar a minute was the rate at that time. How could it possibly be worth it? How could I possibly be worth that? At the time my breadwinning husband was unemployed. We did not have much saved. I felt torn between surviving physically and mentally.
I had already decided that this was my last visit. I would ask him to hypnotize me and suggest to my subconscious mind that I would be all better. I actually believed a quick fix could be my ticket to wellness. I was alerted to the door opening and the last patient exiting.   I looked away so I could avoid any embarrassment on either side.  Once inside his office, I went to the place I had spent a couple of uncomfortable sessions on. It was an old sagging brown and green plaid couch. I sat at the far end of it and clutched a  toss pillow.
     Dr. Ronald was a tall man with graying hair and a mustache. He practiced family counseling and hypnotherapy. In a gentle way he asked how I had been during the previous month since I had last seen him. He sat a few feet away from me in his padded chair with a note pad in hand. After giving him the condensed version of my latest concerns, I got down to what I came for.
    He had mentioned when I told him I had unexplained muscle pain that maybe I had a subconscious suggestion that caused it. He did not believe that the origin of the pain was anything malicious, perhaps just a mistaken acceptance of an untruth on my part.  He would hypnotize me and tell the pain to stop. I would go home and live happily ever after and my 60 bucks would be well spent. It sounded so simple and how could it hurt. The worst thing I could imagine coming from it was that I could not relax into a semiconscious state and that I would have wasted my precious money
    Hypnotism did not scare me then, nor does it frighten me now. I went to watch a man who used hypnotism as a way to entertain audiences, so I was at least familiar with the concepts and process.  It was a performance I had gone to with my mother and neighbor. I saw that only people who wanted to be hypnotized -  could be. I saw that no outside person could get you to do something you were against without your consent.
     This was before people were against people using hypnotism as a tool for exploring the subconscious mind.  I did not feel afraid that Dr Ronald would do anything to harm my subconscious mind.  I still find hypnotism to be a useful way progress. I believe it is superstitious fear that predators play on when they suggest that if self revelation comes about due to hypnotherapy it is invalid. They want to blame the assisting therapist and ignore the fact that the same resulting discoveries could be reached by self hypnotism.
     “Ok lay down and close your eyes”. Those were two commands I felt certain would make it so I could not possibly ever relax in his office.  I would lie there all uptight and pretend to do as he asked fully believing I was not hypnotizable.  He began to tell me a story about a little princess. I do not remember the story because my mind began to wander to another more important place. In my mind I could hear a child sobbing. Without understanding I was talking to myself I asked “what is wrong?” In my minds eye I could see a small girl of around 5 yrs old sitting on the ground holding herself. “I'm sorry' I didn't do it..... I didn't know” She kept repeating the same message over and over again until I felt the girls emotions. Being empathic I pick up on others feelings easily.
     She kept apologizing which added emphasis to the fact she was innocent. I naturally beckoned this imaginary child to come to me so I could comfort her. In my mind I held her in my lap and reassured her that I was not angry about whatever she was sorry for. I told her as I was telling myself it would be alright whatever it was. I told her I was not mad at her.
     By this time Doctor Ronald had finished his story. I had not been paying attention to his voice but I heard his next question clearly. Is there any part of the subconscious mind that would care to speak to me? Suddenly I found that the little voice I had been hearing in my head was now talking out loud to the Doctor I felt so embarrassed and could not comprehend for the life of me what was happening. She told him “I did not do it”  He responded “I believe you” Then she said “I am not bad” He again agreed saying “I know you are not”. I then listening to this conversation wondered how could he know what he was talking about. He then asked how old are you (I am sure because I sounded like a 5 year old!) . Without hesitation I answered 5. What is your name? When she said her name was my name I was floored and confused. Then he said well, Its been nice talking to you but we are out of time and I will talk to you next time.”
     I felt as if someone had made an important announcement that changed the world and that I had missed it. He said goodbye to the 5 year old me and woke me up. This was a joke in my mind as I felt clearly I had never been asleep. His body language said hurry and get out. Our hour was over and someone else was waiting. Except for sitting up I did not move at all. It was like the surgeon had been operating on me. He cut me open and then said sorry we are out of time, please don't bleed on the rug. I was in shock. I sat tight and my muscles refused to move. I asked him what had happened. He said he thought I probably need to see him again soon. I sat there feeling I was caught in a time warp. It was no longer meaningful to me. I had stepped out of time into a abyss. I could tell it was not this way for the Dr who obviously wanted me to move off his couch. See him again? See him again? I was going to need to see him again? His words finally reached my brain. I managed to engage my mouth. Why would I need to see you again? I uttered. Well.... you might not feel so good. I do not understand I said weakly as he reached for a book on his top shelf of his bookcase. He opened a page and read that if something traumatic happened to you when you were too young to process it, then a part of you might break off to deal with event so the rest of you could continue to function. In my case so the rest of me could go on to kindergarten and be normal.
     He must have known by the look on my face, that this was a new concept. I had never heard of such a thing. It seemed so rude to me to be introduced to such a bizarre idea and then be expected to instantly deal with. I tried to find someway to make this new truth swallowable. There was a part of me broken. I sat there as if it were my legs that were broken. He had shown me in writing that this was not just his idea. I had heard part of me talk out loud. She said she was five. Just as soon as she had said it I felt like I had broken the law. Don't tell anything that belongs to the family secrets to outsiders. It was not that I could not say part of me is 5, it was that I was telling a doctor.
     It was a few more minutes before I could move. It seems like hours. My mind continued going over and over the new information looking for a way out other than through. I set up an appointment to return in days. I was in so deep of shock that the time right after was very blurry. I was in a daze. I thought I had been sick before but now I felt unable to function all together. I told only those close to me so I could see if they could accept my new discovery and help me to do so myself.
     My husband was full of compassion and trust. He might have been afraid but I do not remember seeing this. I remember him being there for me in ways I am still amazed at. He can handle a crisis with calm and clear thought. He comforted me and without his love I do not think I could have felt the safety I needed to begin a journey of healing that I am still on.