My backpack.

Therapy is fantastic. It can help you see your world from another angle, it can take that weight off your shoulders that’s been weighing you down for years, it can assist in finding your self-esteem. But you know what, sometimes, it just feels really shit.

The thing is, it’s meant to be shit sometimes! It’s not meant to be easy talking to a stranger about your life, letting them in through the door and not knowing whether they’re going to take their shoes off and tread lightly, or come in and stomp around with big heavy boots.

I’ve seen many counsellors in my life, I’ve studied counselling, wrote assignments on it, and I’ve counselled my own clients, but none of that makes any difference to how hard it can feel sometimes.

I recently went back into therapy and after my last two counsellors both had to temporarily stop working due to ill health. I was very reluctant to make a connection with another counsellor – but needs must, so I did and it’s working well. Or at least until today anyway.

See, I’ve been working with my current counsellor on emptying my metaphorical backpack. In it is everything in my life that I’m holding on to; things that make me angry, thing that I regret happening and things I’ve felt wronged by. I’m not sure why I kept a hold of them for so long, but I have, and it feels good to have a sort out and get rid of the things I no longer need.

Of course, it’s a lot easier said than done.

I imagine everything in my backpack is in another bag or a box, and each is a different colour. Some of the bags or boxes are squashed from being in there for so long, and others are new. But others are more like tumours that have grown into the fabric of the bag. They’re black and weigh a tonne. They’re holding me down, and my shoulders hurt from dragging them around, and because they’ve grown into the backpack itself, they feel impossible to get rid of.

The tumour in the backpack is made up of shame, sadness, depression, blame, worthlessness, and isolation; all things I felt when in an abusive relationship.

…seeing the word ‘abusive’ on the screen before me makes me feel uncomfortable, but I’m leaving it there, because that’s what it was. He may not have laid a finger on me physically, but emotionally and mentally I was tortured.

“Well, I think it needs to be dealt with.” My counsellor told me, and I couldn’t agree with her more, but I’m not sure if I’m ready yet? On the other hand, are we ever ready for anything in life?

When looking in the backpack, I know the black, oozing, horribleness is festering at the bottom, so in the past I just wrapped fabric around it, and wrapped it so hard I couldn’t see it. Then I added another layer, and another, and another until it was unrecognisable. I then sealed it with layer of tape until it looked like a football wrapped in Sellotape. Then I left it at the bottom of the bag and threw things in over it, to help me forget it was even there.

Which was all well and good until I’ve began emptying the backpack.

Now the bag has less contents, the black mass looks bigger, and it’s too much. My counsellor suggested imagining setting fire to it, but I think instead I’m going to slip the backpack off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. I’m going to salvage the small things I threw in and put them in a new, smaller backpack and sling that on my shoulders instead. Things that are in yellow, green and pink boxes – things I can look at right now. I’ll leave the tumour in the other bag and I’ll leave it outside.

Carrying the heavy backpack that contained one of the worst times of my life was exhausting and looking at it today made me shut down. I could only muster one word answers and move to wipe tears from my cheeks; I’m not ready to look at it again for a while, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep carrying it around all the time, right?

I’ll leave the manky, old, battered backpack outside, and come back to it when I’m ready. When ever that may be. And even though therapy sometimes feels like I’m paying someone to beat me up, I know one day it will be worth it.

Maybe I won’t need a backpack for my past one day, maybe more of a pencil case or purse instead. Or at least I can hope!