My therapist had faith in me. She believed in me. She supported me. She never blamed me. She showed me I was worth it when I did not think I had any value at all.
She was there when I was scared to death about having to share a room with another resident. She told me that I was strong enough. That everything would be okay. It was. I loved both of the ladies who shared my room with me. Although it took a while.
She would tell me not to let a bad exchange with another person ruin my day. You see I find it difficult to let an issue go if I have wronged someone in some way. It plays over and over in my head on a loop, while I am searching for a way to make things right. Searching for acceptance. She'd tell me not to be so hard on myself. Our sessions were peppered with the ever-popular cliches of therapists. "How do you feel about that?" "What do you think about that?"
If I was having a particularly hard day she'd tell me to have a piece of pie at lunch. A piece of the nursing home's cream pie, the flavor didn't matter, would make everything better.
My therapist prepared me for having a roommate. She prepared me for the transition to my current living situation. She told me I would succeed. I was on my way to a better life. That was four years ago. August 31, 2018.
August 27, 2022, I give anything for just one more session with her.
One thing she wished for me was that I would become close to some of the staff here in the way I became close to some of the staff at the nursing home. But here I am not allowed to develop relationships with the staff. I can't ask a certain staff member to take me out. The staff is not required to be friendly.
There is one staff member who assists me in silence. Ignores me when I speak. I would ask my former therapist how to deal with all of it. How to remain calm when I am annoyed. How to let things roll off my back. Having someone ignore me is one of my major triggers. My therapist knew this. I wish she were here to advise me.
I don't fit the criteria for behavior therapy. I get on the staff's nerves. There is no box to check for that. I am sure they will find someone. Then the staff and I have work to do. I am anxious to get started.
My therapist and I talked about the loneliness I might experience living here. I said it would not bother me, but I was wrong. Not being connected or interacting with the staff when they take me out is a big deal to me. The staff is connected to their phones. I remember talking about how that made me feel in a therapy session at the nursing home.
One more session. She'd encourage me, and help me work on solutions to the difficulties I face here. She'd be positive, supportive, and caring. She might even give me a figurative kick in the butt.
My therapist gave me all of the tools to make it here. She told me I didn't need her anymore. I want to be the strong, independent woman she believed me to be. I can't let her down.
I became obsessed with watching telenovelas. My therapist helped me with my Spanish. In the last five minutes of each session, we'd converse in Spanish. She conversed more than I did. I tried my best. She taught me the Spanish word for shoes which is Zapatos. The word Zapatos is synonymous with her It fits. (pun intended) She wore the coolest shoes
