I’ve said it before that our family spent 8 months in family based therapist. I agreed to it without the faintest of clues to what it would entail.
We are 6 months out from discharge and it doesn’t seem as though it’s been that long. It was my first healthy good-bye – ever.
I wasn’t the ‘patient’, but the family based model is just that, family. The dynamic of the team we got matched our family – it was just luck we got them.
Having therapists in your ass, 3 days a week and almost daily contact. It sets the foundation for a depth of a therapeutic relationship that is truly unique.
They got ‘us’ as a family and ‘we’ got them, they were the kind of people who I would be friends with had they not been our family based team. They didn’t feel like therapist, which is what made them a powerful influence in our family opening up, developing trust and a solid base to heal and grow.
They aren’t gone even though they are no longer part of our day to day. I don’t miss them, but I think that because I didn’t avoid the hard part of saying good-byes, which was emotional and lots of tears – it was hard. We touch base every now and again, usually a smart ass remark or sharing something good.
It brings me to this week and one choice I made on Sunday that I never would have even had the chance to make a choice if not for our time in family based.
I remember vividly how pissed off I thought I was when S found me a team to play on. My anxiety over it was shown as anger and he had a way of pissing me off and he’s called me an ass a few times- probably because I was 😉.
I lashed out, got over myself and he brought me to my first game where I wanted to throw up at meeting new people, let alone going out and playing ball with people I never met. Add that I hadn’t played for oh, 20 fucking years. I was actually pretty damn good as a kid but to join a team as an adult….fuck me.
I wanted that so badly almost as badly as I wanted to punch the therapist in the face for making it happen. Did I say adversarial? Ya, little bit.
As discharge was nearing, we were out for our last session that was just us. Sitting eating really bad Mexican food. The session was different, after 8 months and lots of work and growth, you’ve said it all, seen it all and you end up just being there counting down the billable hours that are left. He took my phone, added me to the local co-ed facebook site, told me to change my profile pic or I’d scare people away. – Who was the asshole with boundary issues…hmm.. Who even does that??
Fast forward 6 months and on Sunday, I saw in myself just how far I’ve come. There was an open practice, I knew I wanted to go but it was out of my comfort zone of isolation. I don’t like people.
I walked in, saw a shit ton of people and no one I knew. I full on fucking meant to walk right on by, go to the bathroom like that was my life mission and walk right the fuck back out the door.
No one would be the wiser.
I didn’t. I went in and I play, with people I don’t know and it felt normal. It felt like it was mine.
My team of last year was not playing this spring, but because I took in so much and grew so much from that 8 months, I was able to trust myself and fuck, wouldn’t ya know it. I got on a new team and that makes me just plain normal and run of the mill happy.
So, as the therapist says, I may be an asshole. But now I’m an asshole who can’t wait for spring to play ball.