I’ve Sectioned Myself

I have six weeks until the school summer holidays so I’ve decided to section myself. No, I’ve not handed myself into a psych ward, I’d never do that. I crave the space and freedom that would give me to focus on my recovery, but I also know I am strong enough to carry on being at home, keeping a day to day family life running, and being an amazing mum. So I have sectioned myself right here at home. 

Consider it a kind of day therapy. I wake up and make breakfast and get my son off to school with a smile and laughs. And then I embark on my recovery process. No more rushing around. No more feeling so busy despite the fact I’m on university summer holiday, am unemployed, and literally have nothing I’m supposed to be doing. You wouldn’t believe how busy a not busy person can make themselves… it’s a key to how I dissociate. So long as I’m busy I don’t have to process things. Sitting down, being present, means being with my feelings. And that is something I’ve avoided like the plague.

So no being busy. If I am as ill as I find I am all these times I keep breaking down lately, I deserve to hospitalise myself in the comfort of my own home and recover from this. If I had a physical illness there wouldn’t even be question over this. So I’m giving myself the same treatment for the mental illness I’m battling. Because I am so close to breakthrough now. I am ready, it’s taken two years and a course that has taught me more in 5 weeks than I’ve learned in 26 years, and I’m ready. No more dissociation. No more pretending I wasn’t abused. It’s time to face into it, talk about it, trust the process of therapy (or why the fuck am I training to be a therapist myself?!)

So yeah, home therapy. I go into my inner child room. I finger paint. I play with Duplo. I journal and read and lie back and BE PRESENT. You know I’m the biggest fraud of a mindfulness proponent EVER. I’ve sworn I practise mindfulness for years and I’ve not even realised that my head is full of voices CONSTANTLY. I’m never present because they’re always chattering and now I am aware of them it’s gotten so bloody loud. But I’m aware of them! I see none of what I’m learning as saddening, it is all taking me in leaps and bounds of recovery. My dissociated selves all chatter away and finally I know they exist and I can tune into them, listen to them, therapise them too. And finally, finally, there are times I’m able to be mindful, present, and have no noise. No distraction. No running. Be here with the inner children. 

Hulk, the child who doesn’t know how to express emotions. He’s petrified of abandonment and I don’t even know why. He’s only 5. Yet he’s the only one who ever outlets emotions… so you can imagine how messy that is. He can’t help it. He’s little. He needs guidance. Then there’s… there Ellie. I speak her name with venom, she is diseased. She is the one who was abused and who I’ve pretended is dead. I fucking hate her because she is so damaged and I’ve pretending she’s too fucked up to ever get better. Her pain has only got in the way of success and a “normal” life. But she is there and she needs a voice too. This week at therapy I will give her a voice. I’ll learn to love her. I’ll help her see she wasn’t the one at fault, she isn’t dirty or bad. She’s just a little girl too. She is 13 and she carries so so so much pain. But this pain will not kill me.

So 6 weeks. All about me. It may not fit tidily into this time… but it’s time I’m offering myself. Holding space for myself. For all my selves. Every single one. Even the one who I called dead. I’m giving them outlets that are age appropriate. I’m bringing them all to therapy. I’m letting them journal. They need to heal. But that means I need to let them be the ones in the therapist chair sometimes! And I know this process is gonna be painful and hard and TIRING. The fact it will drain me and is draining me so much is why I’ve pretend sectioned myself right here at home. I’m taking seriously the depth of what I’m dealing with, how important the work is, and how much of a toll it will take on me. Because I’m ready. I’m not scared anymore and I will not dissociate in the way my abuser did from his blame and responsibility. He put it all on me and I couldn’t take it so I killed that me. But I didn’t. Because we can never kill a part of ourselves. Only dissociate until we explode. And then… then… we start to heal.


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