The first time I went for counseling was a knee jerk reaction to an extreme rage episode I had. For those of you who only come here for gossip, here are the juicy details. I was at a party and at some point I flew into a mad rage and butchered someone’s baseball cap with a bread knife.
To this day the details of my actions are still so hazy to the point of barely remembering what the owner of the cap had done to attract such an extreme reaction from me. Truth be told, whatever it was had been building up gradually inside me over time.
I was angry – at the world, at God, at all my friends and family. Mostly, I was angry at me (but I didn’t know this at the time).
I never really believed in counseling then; even when I lost my first baby at term, I didn’t bother to seek help dealing with the loss. I was pretty bad ass back then, my very own ninja protector.
The hat incident changed all that. It scared me and shook me to the core. It made me realize that I was out of control and for the first time it did not feel like something I could cope with on my own. So I asked around for a decent counselor and as it turns out, the company I worked for at the time had counselors on our medical cover.
I quickly made an appointment before I could talk myself out of it and insisted that it had to be a male counselor. For some reason, I have always found it easier to talk to men.
The session itself was scheduled for one hour and I opted for an early evening slot right after I got off work. The counselor (I don’t recall his name) was welcoming and I immediately felt at ease and started to tell him my story. Three and a half hours later I was still there, pouring out my heart and soul.
It turns out that a really great therapist will not stop you when you are right in the middle of vomiting all your demons.
Anyway the gist of the whole matter was that all my life I had been giving away little pieces of myself to people I cared about. With the men I loved, it was more like really large chunks of my heart. So I was basically running on empty with all the pieces of me floating around in far flung places. This is what led to the volcano explosion aka me destroying a random piece of apparel.
That marked the point at which I embarked on my recovery mission. You know, like a search and rescue. I was determined to bring back every single piece of me that I had ever given away. I was powerless because I had spent my whole life giving my power away and I was done with that level of foolishness.
Today I stand whole and complete – no pieces missing. It took just over seven years but my mission has finally been accomplished. Make no mistake, the journey was not easy and there were times it threatened to break me completely. I never gave up, constantly drawn by that yearning in me to never leave a part of me with someone else. Not permanently anyway.
If you are feeling broken or diminished in any way, I pray that my journey may be a source of inspiration to you to never give up on yourself. We are all capable of so much more than we have ever envisioned and we have to be whole to fully step into our divine purpose.
As someone who now lives out her divine purpose daily, I would be happy to help you on a similar quest. Just drop me a quick note on my email email@example.com and I will be happy to bring you back into the divine fold.