The Answer I Can't Get
A really big part of me wants to reach out and ask for a closing session.
I'm not going to.
It's been a year.
I did a lot of things that would make it a big clinical and professional risk for a clinician to feel enough comfort to be open to that. Whether I agree with every decision that was made or not, I can understand that.
Mostly, though, I want the closing session because I want to understand.
I want to understand what was happening in her mind.
What she was thinking and feeling.
And what led up to doing things the way she did.
Then I ask myself a question:
Would I believe her?
It's easy to sit here and tell myself that I would.
But I also know myself well enough to know that belief isn't something that comes easy to me.
My brain picks up on the smallest inconsistencies.
Wording.
Tone.
Body language.
History.
A sentence that doesn't quite match another sentence.
Something that feels different from what came before.
And when I notice those things, I struggle to let them go.
Because of that, I think I would need hours.
Hours to be open and vulnerable about what I'm picking up on.
Hours to explain what those things mean to me and for the other person to explain what was actually happening, or why something that appears inconsistent from the outside wasn't inconsistent from their perspective.
I know that is exhausting for people.
So most of the time, I don't do that.
I sit with the inconsistencies instead.
And over time, they make it harder for me to trust.
I don't know how to let go of this.
I don't.
I want to.
Badly.
My brain keeps trying to find a storyline that makes sense.
A version of events that explains everything and allows all the pieces to fit together.
And logically, I know I can't know the storyline.
I know I can't know what was happening in someone else's mind.
I know I can't know all of the factors that influenced the decisions that were made.
I also know that radical acceptance is probably the answer.
I just don't know how to stop searching for an answer I can't get.
