I had an experience on Wednesday of last week (October 17, 2018) and it has taken me quite some time to be able to put that experience - and my feelings about it - into words.
Those of you who know me well, know that for the last few years I have been working toward becoming a counsellor. In the last year, I struggled to find a practicum site in my own province and found nothing that was available, which would accept my university's requirement to have me videotaped while I was in session with a client (so my distance-education professors could see me in action). I ended up looking in a neighbouring province and found a placement there. I therefore moved to that city and leased an apartment, essentially doubling my monthly expenses (and more) with my salary reduced by half so I had sufficient time to spend on my clinical hours. The practicum, I told people, would last for 8 months, followed by my part-time employment with the agency for another year at least. The plan was set - I was living alone for the first time in my life, and managing. But I was quite homesick, and it took a lot of energy to just function.
Without going into the gory details, of which there are many, the placement didn't work out for quite a number of reasons, and I was "let go" (read: raked over the coals and told to leave and not come back) a little over a week ago. The ordeal took about four and a half hours from start to finish; it was very traumatic and hurtful, and struck to the very core of who I am. I had thought that things were improving after a rough start, so this development blindsided me and left me in shock for days.
I have been pinging around in the stages of grief ever since that day. At the moment, I am bouncing between anger and depression. I know that it will pass, eventually, but going through it is no picnic. The whole experience made me realize that I have never fully addressed my traumatic childhood and its ripple effects in my current life (hypersensitivity, insecurity, fear, suspicion, etc.) If the experience highlighted anything for me, it was that until I can put these issues to rest, I will not be able to fully be present for any future clients I might have. Any hope of resuming my graduate program rests, therefore, on my own mental health, which at the moment is quite frail.
I have spoken with my doctor to ask him to refer me to a psychologist, which he has done. Fortunately, my health care insurance company will pay for 80% of the cost of any sessions I have (up to a certain ceiling amount) - and knowing the depth of my issues, I foresee needing long-term therapy to delve into some of these very difficult traumas from my past as well as their fall-out in my daily life.
In a major way, I feel like I've gotten a "Go To Jail" card in the Monopoly game of my life (Go Directly To Jail - do not pass Go, do not collect $200). I cannot proceed until I receive my "Get Out Of Jail" card. Until then, I will keep rolling the dice while others progress on their own paths.
I have had a lot of reactions to what happened, some healthy, some not so much. In a sense, I am somewhat grateful that this surfaced before I screwed up with a client or something.
In another sense, I want the ground to open up and swallow me. Shame is my constant companion. Grief (from losing my future career, quite possibly) crashes over me and I sometimes cannot even breathe, it is so intense. The circumstances of my loss fill my nightmares, attack my character, condemn me for my naivete. Basically, I am keenly aware that I mortgaged my future and locked myself into a planned early retirement to do this, only to fail. True that my supervisor was the worst possible fit for my personality, but that takes none of the pain away.
Everything is an effort, and there is much to do. I have been trying to extricate myself from the life I have built away from my home - putting my apartment on the market again (hopefully sooner than later), cancelling my flight to Alberta that I booked for school, cancelling an order for furniture for my home office, etc. - and coming to terms with having to go back home in disgrace.
One of my close friends in the grad program asked me to tell her what she could do to support me. While her question is a valid (and sweet) one, I honestly don't know what to tell her. I cannot say when (or if) I will resume my graduate program. I told my professor it would be next September; I hope so, but I cannot be sure of that. This experience has shaken me to my roots. It has demolished the core of who I am and made me question everything I thought I was. It is by far the worst thing I have ever had to endure, and that includes losing my daughter five years ago. For that admission, I feel guilty as well, but I have also learned that trauma is cumulative ... which means that the more unresolved trauma you have, the worse it affects you every. single. time.
I know that a lot of people will judge me for my failure, and for my reaction to it. They will judge me for my choices. They will judge me for my feelings. But I also know that those people do not know what it is like to be me, because they have never lived my life. What I need most from the people who are in my life is understanding, and support, and empathy. I need them to build me up, not kick me when I'm down. I had enough of that - in the last little while - to last six lifetimes.
I tell you this, my readers, so that if I talk about my journey, whatever form that takes, you will recognize that this is just one more layer of Getting Unwrapped. This is one more (painful as it is) phase in my growing process. And hopefully, someone somewhere will find my raw musings to be helpful.
I have also learned, over the years, that most people don't want to hear about tough stuff unless someone has already gone through the tough parts and came through to the other side, and can inspire them. I'll be rigorously honest. Right now, I cannot do that. Right now, my spirit is bleeding, and tender, and disfigured. Right now, I am not fit company to be around because I am super-sensitive to what people say ... and especially to what they think about me. I am not able to "bounce back" from this kind of devastation without help. I cannot put on a happy face when everything I am is pulverized, when everything I have built my self-perception on is in question.
What I can be is genuine. What I can be is open and willing to do what is necessary to rid myself of the things in me that hurt others. What I can be is what I am: broken. In my brokenness, in my vulnerability, I have asked for help from those who are trained to help. I do not expect my friends and family to "fix" me ... but I hope that they will be gracious and understand that I am doing what I can to heal.
Those of you who know me well, know that for the last few years I have been working toward becoming a counsellor. In the last year, I struggled to find a practicum site in my own province and found nothing that was available, which would accept my university's requirement to have me videotaped while I was in session with a client (so my distance-education professors could see me in action). I ended up looking in a neighbouring province and found a placement there. I therefore moved to that city and leased an apartment, essentially doubling my monthly expenses (and more) with my salary reduced by half so I had sufficient time to spend on my clinical hours. The practicum, I told people, would last for 8 months, followed by my part-time employment with the agency for another year at least. The plan was set - I was living alone for the first time in my life, and managing. But I was quite homesick, and it took a lot of energy to just function.
Without going into the gory details, of which there are many, the placement didn't work out for quite a number of reasons, and I was "let go" (read: raked over the coals and told to leave and not come back) a little over a week ago. The ordeal took about four and a half hours from start to finish; it was very traumatic and hurtful, and struck to the very core of who I am. I had thought that things were improving after a rough start, so this development blindsided me and left me in shock for days.
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| Photo "Sad Woman Sitting Alone In Room" courtesy of FrameAngel at www.freedigitalphotos.net |
I have spoken with my doctor to ask him to refer me to a psychologist, which he has done. Fortunately, my health care insurance company will pay for 80% of the cost of any sessions I have (up to a certain ceiling amount) - and knowing the depth of my issues, I foresee needing long-term therapy to delve into some of these very difficult traumas from my past as well as their fall-out in my daily life.
In a major way, I feel like I've gotten a "Go To Jail" card in the Monopoly game of my life (Go Directly To Jail - do not pass Go, do not collect $200). I cannot proceed until I receive my "Get Out Of Jail" card. Until then, I will keep rolling the dice while others progress on their own paths.
I have had a lot of reactions to what happened, some healthy, some not so much. In a sense, I am somewhat grateful that this surfaced before I screwed up with a client or something.
In another sense, I want the ground to open up and swallow me. Shame is my constant companion. Grief (from losing my future career, quite possibly) crashes over me and I sometimes cannot even breathe, it is so intense. The circumstances of my loss fill my nightmares, attack my character, condemn me for my naivete. Basically, I am keenly aware that I mortgaged my future and locked myself into a planned early retirement to do this, only to fail. True that my supervisor was the worst possible fit for my personality, but that takes none of the pain away.
Everything is an effort, and there is much to do. I have been trying to extricate myself from the life I have built away from my home - putting my apartment on the market again (hopefully sooner than later), cancelling my flight to Alberta that I booked for school, cancelling an order for furniture for my home office, etc. - and coming to terms with having to go back home in disgrace.
One of my close friends in the grad program asked me to tell her what she could do to support me. While her question is a valid (and sweet) one, I honestly don't know what to tell her. I cannot say when (or if) I will resume my graduate program. I told my professor it would be next September; I hope so, but I cannot be sure of that. This experience has shaken me to my roots. It has demolished the core of who I am and made me question everything I thought I was. It is by far the worst thing I have ever had to endure, and that includes losing my daughter five years ago. For that admission, I feel guilty as well, but I have also learned that trauma is cumulative ... which means that the more unresolved trauma you have, the worse it affects you every. single. time.
I know that a lot of people will judge me for my failure, and for my reaction to it. They will judge me for my choices. They will judge me for my feelings. But I also know that those people do not know what it is like to be me, because they have never lived my life. What I need most from the people who are in my life is understanding, and support, and empathy. I need them to build me up, not kick me when I'm down. I had enough of that - in the last little while - to last six lifetimes.
I tell you this, my readers, so that if I talk about my journey, whatever form that takes, you will recognize that this is just one more layer of Getting Unwrapped. This is one more (painful as it is) phase in my growing process. And hopefully, someone somewhere will find my raw musings to be helpful.
I have also learned, over the years, that most people don't want to hear about tough stuff unless someone has already gone through the tough parts and came through to the other side, and can inspire them. I'll be rigorously honest. Right now, I cannot do that. Right now, my spirit is bleeding, and tender, and disfigured. Right now, I am not fit company to be around because I am super-sensitive to what people say ... and especially to what they think about me. I am not able to "bounce back" from this kind of devastation without help. I cannot put on a happy face when everything I am is pulverized, when everything I have built my self-perception on is in question.
What I can be is genuine. What I can be is open and willing to do what is necessary to rid myself of the things in me that hurt others. What I can be is what I am: broken. In my brokenness, in my vulnerability, I have asked for help from those who are trained to help. I do not expect my friends and family to "fix" me ... but I hope that they will be gracious and understand that I am doing what I can to heal.
