Under the Orange Blossoms by Cindy Benezra

Author:Cindy Benezra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cindy Benezra
Published: 2021-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Am I OK?

Shame is the most powerful, master emotion. It's the fear that we're not good enough.

–Brene Brown

As a single mother with two young children, including a special needs child, I’m determined to build a healthy life for myself and my kids. We have endured so much. My husband is gone, my mom has passed, my sister is far away, and my dad is emotionally non-existent. It’s time to take care of myself so I can take care of my kids. I went to individual therapy while married, but I concentrated on marriage counseling and parenting a special needs child. Now I need therapy to heal from my traumatic childhood. I also need to know that I’m okay.

Initially, I battle preconceived notions that therapy is only for people whose lives are a mess, the rich, or the weak but I quickly learn that the purpose of therapy isn’t just to treat an illness but is an excellent tool for enhancing well-being. I turn to therapy because I realize that I need another person’s help to walk through the most difficult parts of my past so I can be the best possible mother, friend, sister, coworker, and partner.

Before going to therapy, I use techniques essential to my healing and maintaining the right mindset. I continue these techniques for the rest of my life. Aside from self-guided techniques, I embrace therapy with open arms. When I first seek therapy, I don’t consistently have insurance to cover it, so I look for places that work on a sliding scale or accept my insurance. I go through Consejo, East Public Health, and Kindering Center, and I am referred to a few therapists. I vet them, avoiding ones who tend toward psychobabble, label me, or don’t allow me to reach my own conclusions.

Every dollar I spend on therapy is hard-earned, and if I feel I don’t connect with a therapist, I move on. My time matters because I’m paying for a sitter or asking a friend to watch my kids. Even the driving time is a factor, so I level with the therapist that I don’t feel I can continue. I’m surprised when they aren’t offended and help me look for the right fit.

Kathryn, my first long-term therapist specializes in parents with disabled children, and the therapy focuses on grief and loss. I like her because she accepts payments on a sliding scale; I can’t afford therapy otherwise. She soon pivots to my repressed childhood memories, asking me to bring in family photo albums to help unveil the memories. I know where she wants to go, but I resist her approach because I don’t want to go backward.

She suggests we do a timeline with the photo albums, starting with my teen years and moving backward to my toddler and baby years. She asks questions about my emotional state and how I coped. During one session, when I shared photos of me at nine, I came across a photo of me looking like a terror. I hold up the photo album to show her.

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