This blog originally came out of the struggles of new motherhood. My nights were sleepless, my days hazy and overwhelmed. The long shadows of my childhood and adolescence darkened my view. An extended episode of undiagnosed clinical depression further blurred the penciled line between darkness and light.
After a move with the family, my child barely a toddler, I started writing to survive. During naptimes, in the early morning hours, the house still and calm, I wrote out my frustration. I bemoaned my isolation. I wrote and reworked stories from the past, taking control of my narrative. I found an online community of like-minded folks, a support system across the globe.
My child is now a teen. I became a psychotherapist. As I have changed, so has this space. I kept it anonymous for a long time, fearful of what it would mean to be seen as a psychotherapist with a past and an internal life that bobs and weaves with emotion and, sometimes, pain. But what does it mean to hold back this part of myself, to walk a thick line between the personal and professional?
The past creates the present and the present unfolds into the future. Our ability to tell stories saves us. I won’t make it easy to find me here, but I will make it possible.
Jennifer