The Caring Counselor

Much like anyone else, I like to be in control. Peering into the unknown drives my anxiety meter off the cliff and into the dark abyss of ruminating. My entire week consisted of such situations. Ones where I had no control.

On at least four occasions I found myself saying, “There is nothing I can do but wait.” I just had to sit with it. Ride the wave with a broken surfboard. In the middle of the ocean, I floated along with my head bobbing effortlessly. Each wave lifted me high towards hope and then rolled me further from the coastline. Occasionally, the wave took me under, forcing me to gargle down water.

For several days, I felt like a dog chasing its tail. Just going around and around until I spun myself crazy. Once the weekend hit, I calmed down since the stressors were at bay until that coming Monday. Even then though, my attitude was absolute shit. I wanted to pull away from everyone and hide. I fought the feeling but with little success.

When Monday rolled around like one of the towering waves, I partook in my regularly scheduled programming. AKA my therapy appointment. I filled this poor woman in on my recent struggles and went in for the deep dive.

I told her everything that I am telling you right now and then some. Ultimately, it came back to an old irrational core belief developed long ago during my many years of childhood trauma. I wanted to fix everything and everybody. I wanted the control. It just was not enough. I never felt like enough.

It took me some time to pull together my feelings, but I eventually fell on the word “helpless.” I felt helpless. I compared the feeling to when my parents argued during my childhood. My parents did not just disagree. They had full-on top-of-their-lungs screaming matches. Whenever that happened, I retreated to my room or to the backyard. Although it did not matter where I went because you still heard them clear as day. Instead of my parents yelling though, it was my own thoughts yelling in the background. They were there and just loud enough to make themselves known.

My therapist and I determined that it was not bad to get away from the “yelling.” Still, I can’t run away forever as much as I want to. (A vacation does sound nice right about now.) The other sides involved in these situations are going to do what they want to. I can’t control them nor can I control their pace. Nobody is going to help that little guy except for me.

-The Caring Counselor