Therapy sessions are never fun, they force us to delve into our subconscious and reveal all those idiosyncrasies we try so hard to keep hidden away. There are no secrets, no edited pasts, our true selves are on display for a stranger to analyse and make sense of.
I must admit I found therapy hard at first, talking so intimately with a stranger was completely out of my comfort zone, as the weeks have progressed I've found then comforting, they are a place for me to talk about how I really feel without fear of upsetting anyone. Therapy has made me realise how much of myself I edit in order to please other people. A glance at my Facebook page reveals little of my current struggles, little of the anxiety and the battles I fight every day - there life is peachy, a perfect snapshot. On twitter I am more open, I find it easier to share my feelings, perhaps because it's to people who understand my battles, who can offer support and advice to keep me going. Even here on my blog, a place where I can truly be myself I still find myself editing life, I don't write about arguments with my husbands, disagreements with friends etc... I wonder why I find it so hard to be truly honest with myself? Has ana played her nastiest trick yet? Am I simply unable to see all the good because I am drowning in the murky waters below, I hope not, desperately.
My life isn't perfect of course it isn't, but it is pretty damn good. Having an eating disorder is (unfortunately) part of me, a part that will never go away, so I have to learn to embrace it, to overcome, to shout proudly from the rooftops that I am a fighter. Therapy has taught me to listen to myself, to not beat myself up for imagined failures but to celebrate the positives. From here on in I have made a promise to myself to stop editing, to record my life as it is warts and all, after all what is the point of creating a reminder of life if it isn't my life?
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