It’s been 13 years since I have been to the dentist.

While I finally have insurance now, I fear going.

How does someone explain to a doctor their reason for not going to the dentist for 13 years or never having had a pap smear?

I prefer nobody to know my history.

Even more, I prefer nobody to examine my body and further dissect what isn’t “normal.”

I avoid eye contact because I wish to not be the audience of someone’s examination of my body, mind, and voice.

I often remain silent so as to feel safe from further examination. You see, someone used to love to look at me sideways, up and down, and bottom-up. I didn’t go a day without his eyes finding something on my body to focus on.

Today, you might notice that I turn my left foot inward at a 180-degree angle, curl my shoulders in, and divert my eyes in an attempt to feel comfortable. If I notice you looking at me closely, I will continue to turn my foot until it’s close to snapping.

I wish I could go to the dentist.

I know I need to see a medical doctor.

I can’t seem to make the appointment though.

I would rather risk my life than sit and be judged for not having health insurance all these years or be forced to face where I am at today.

Maybe I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.

I think I’ll wait a few months.

Maybe next year.

Yes, next year, I will go. I’ll just lie and say I saw a dentist last year. Nobody will know except those of you who read this.

*Originally published on Elephant Journal

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.

To those who continue to ruminate over what happened and are unable to move past it, I can relate. We may never receive the answer we are looking for, but we can learn to be gentle with ourselves.

I wrote this letter after it was suggested to me by my new trauma therapist. As someone who has been ruminating and crying for the past year, I share it with you all in case there is someone out there going through a similar situation.

Writing your own letter, as if you were your therapist, may not fix how you’re feeling, but it can bring temporary relief. Nobody deserves this kind of treatment. But if this is your story, write yourself the letter you deserved: a letter acknowledging your humanness and the pain you are feeling.

No matter what some therapists believe, not setting down the clients they work with gently is unethical.

~

Dear Rebecca,

I have been thinking a lot about you, and while I know I have asked for no contact, I would like to reach out to say a few things.

As I said in one of my last emails to you, you’re an amazing person and did not do anything wrong. My decision about us no longer working together truly had nothing to do with you. Rather, there were mistakes that I made in working with you that make it difficult for our work to continue.

I enjoyed working with you very much, and as I said, “We had a special heart connection.” You still hold a special place in my heart, and you always will.

I know what happened between us is confusing, and I’m sorry for this. I didn’t hold the frame as I should of, and our relationship turned into more than a client-therapist one. As I said to you, you have been the only one I have ever allowed to engage in emailing me back and forth as you have. I want you to know that though I told you it was a mistake to have done this, it is no reflection of you or your behavior. The dual relationship was inappropriate and should not have occurred as it did.

I am sorry for confusing you and for not seeking supervision over the transference that was playing out. I am sorry for blurring the lines and allowing you to come to an event of mine outside of therapy. You have a way about you that draws people in to help, and while I was your therapist, I was not to have taken the role of your mom.

I also want to apologize for diagnosing you with Borderline Personality Disorder in your car during your lunch break. I realize this was an inappropriate time to discuss this diagnosis with you and can see that it greatly affected your ability to remain professional at work that day.

When I printed out your email in the next session and told you I would no longer read your emails, I saw that I had hurt you. I had a tart tone that was unnecessary, and felt awful as I watched you shake uncontrollably and cry. I didn’t handle this well, and I’m sorry. I encouraged you to read the book, Get Me Out of Here, thinking it could help you understand BPD, but I realize now that this label and pushing you down this path did not help you. I misunderstood your feelings of being suicidal as attention-seeking, and when you struggled to manage things in your life, I saw it as self-sabotaging rather than barely holding a plate that you’ve been trying to carry since you were young.

There was a lot that you never disclosed to me, and I became frustrated at trying to guess what was going on. I didn’t know your full history and checked boxes in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) rather than attempt to understand, the why. There was so much you never shared, and it frustrated me greatly that you were afraid to speak to me. I see now how dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) was not the right approach for you, and how more than anything, you came to therapy just wanting to be seen and cared about.

At the same time, it’s difficult as a therapist to give you what you really need and be ethical in my treatment. You deserve, as we all do, to be loved. I realize now that I didn’t have the expertise in developmental trauma and dissociation to work with you.

I also want to apologize for raising my voice at you on the phone, becoming angry at you when you continued to attempt to try and work with me, and for my coldness. It was inappropriate of me to address an email to your first name from Dr. X rather than my first name, as I always did in the past. This type of power dynamic should never be tolerated in a therapeutic setting, and I realize that I have only dismissed you and re-enacted your childhood. You’re bright and you deserve, as every client does, to have a chance to be heard. Rather than do this, I overpowered you and silenced you, like your abusers. This was not okay, and I am truly sorry.

While I am unable to continue working with you, I do hope to hear from you from time to time. As I said, clients can email me a short email once a year if they’d like. I’d be happy to hear how you’re doing. I know our relationship has been up and down, but I do care about you and hope that you continue to hold onto that rock I gave you.

You’re going places, and I want the world for you. Your previous therapist told you she loved you, and I am sure she meant it. We want you to flourish. I hope this email makes things easier to understand, and I hope one day that there’s a hop again in your step. I’m sorry for stomping on that beautiful heart of yours.

Warmly,

X

***Originally published on Elephant Journal.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.

Though I wish we could, we don’t get to pick the families we are born into.

We do, though, one day get to pick those who raise us.

My life may not be typical, but it’s beautiful.

I haven’t been home in over seven years, and that’s my choice.

I’ve chosen to live a better life—one in which love is around every corner, my true self can finally develop, and my younger child parts within me are free to run and play, as all children should be able to do.

I don’t go “home” for Christmas or other holidays, but I always manage to find a home wherever I am.

My so-called “family” may not be traditional, but it’s one in which I’m embraced and encouraged to be my authentic self. I have a long way to go in developing this, but I’m beginning to see her take form. She’s beautiful, strong, and smiles the same as the picture of the five-year-old I keep in my jewelry box.

I may struggle still with mental health from time to time, but I’m getting stronger. I’m beginning to hold space for all my parts. I thank them for their roles in my life and allow them to step aside so my adult self can continue on with her life’s purpose.

As the holidays are approaching us again, I do, at times, think about the home I won’t be returning to. Though there is much anger and pain still within me, I thank my past for what it has taught me, and for it placing me on this road filled with community and lifelong learning.

My family isn’t typical, but it’s beyond beautiful. It may not be common or understood, but I am thankful for being able to call on my families in Costa Rica and Brazil, friends across the world, and the Sangha community of monks if I’m ever in need of reminders that I’m not alone.

Home is not a resting place.

It’s a place deep within your soul that glows—a place where one’s ego does not exist.

It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever known.

*Originally published on Elephant Journal

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.

Good evening.

I see you’re crying again.

Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll wash them tomorrow.

What do you need?

Can I hold your hand?

You don’t want to be touched?

It’s okay. I understand.

You know, your sensitivity is not something to fix.

DBT is not your answer.

Nor is CBT or medication.

I think you know this—but let me remind you.

The answer is that pen and journal sitting on your nightstand.

I know you’re hurting.

I know you struggle to speak.

I also know there is a story within you that is wanting to be told.

You have a way with words.

A reader once said there’s a leader within you.

I see it.

Maybe you struggle to speak.

Maybe you chip at your nail polish feverishly when you sit across from someone.

Maybe this is true.

You’re a speech-language pathologist though, and you know that you don’t have to use your voice in order to say something.

I hope that one day you grab that pen and paper and share your story.

The world needs to hear from you.

Your sensitivity is not a curse.

It’s the most beautiful quality about you.

Channel it, make art, and let the world see your truth.

They are waiting to hear from you, and so am I.

*Originally published on Elephant Journal

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.

I was told one time that girls don’t play sports.

So I stood outside of grocery stores at 14 and sold pizza cards until I had the 3,000 dollars to play volleyball.

I was scoffed at one time when I said I wanted to study abroad.

“Good luck with that,” someone said.

So I stood outside of grocery stores again and sold banana bread until I had the 10,000 dollars to go.

I was told one time that I’m worthless.

So I kept running through life trying to find my worth.

I was told one time to grow up.

So I did just that at 16.

I was told one time that I’m a brainwashed punk.

So I kept reading.

I was told one time that I’m not worth investing in.

So the day I turned 24, I took out my own student loan.

I was told one time that I’m a disgrace.

So I wore it like a badge of honor.

I was told one time that I’m selfish.

So I read, The Very Hungry Caterpillar to my kids at the clinic, and learned how to play.

I was told one time that none of what I was once told was true.

I was told today, “I love you, Ms. Rebecca,” and I told the little girl that I loved her too.

I was told tonight that I’m worth it, and I smiled back at the mirror and said, “You’re right. I am.”

And so are you.

*Originally published on Elephant Journal.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.

I startle easily, I’m hypersensitive, and I often feel as if I am floating above my body.

I fluctuate between being here one moment and looking down on myself the next.

Crying comes on randomly. Sometimes it happens because of a class lecture. Sometimes it’s nothing at all but the mere fact that it is Sunday.

I often wake up early in the mornings (4 a.m.) and feel an urge to cry. It’s not my adult self, but a younger part of me—a child. I am unable to console her as my body shakes. I will hold a pillow and crawl under a weighted blanket until it passes.

I’m sensitive to words and tones. I will cry when reading an email that uses, “I’m concerned.”

I fear disappointing anyone.

I search for a mother everywhere.

I sweat through my clothes when in conversation.

I often need to crawl into bed mid-day to cry some more.

I’m always scared. I’m always hyper-vigilant.

I’m waiting to set the next person off.

My heart is always racing.

I thrive when I feel safe.

I don’t trust easily though.

I’m waiting to be hurt—raising my right shoulder high under my ear and turning my left foot in.

I’m scared of you.

I’m scared of everyone.

I like at least eight feet between us but am happy with more.

I become quiet if your voice is too loud.

I am silent if you have a big personality.

I prefer to not be looked at.

I prefer to have the camera on Zoom off.

I don’t like to be assessed in any way.

I want to be alone and yet engaged with others.

I prefer to write to the world than to speak.

So I am writing tonight.

I want you to know what it’s like to struggle with complex post-traumatic stress disorder.

Please be patient with us.

Please be gentle.

We are working on not walking on eggshells, but it will take time.

If you’d like to help us, please quiet your voices, use gentle language, and give us a little space. We want to engage with the world. We are just a bit frightened and may cry without reason. We will be okay though. We are survivors, and we are resilient.

*Originally published on Elephant Journal

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Rebecca Donaldson

Rebecca Donaldson is a confessional poet, a Speech-Language Pathologist, and a PhD student in Positive Developmental Psychology. Her research interests include adverse childhood experiences, resiliency, narrative identity, and personality development across the lifespan. She writes on topics pertaining to psychotherapy, Internal Family Systems, inequity, and the shamed soul with Borderline Personality Disorder. She believes therapy should be collaborative between client and therapist and writes to advocate for improved treatment for clients with BPD, complex PTSD, and DID. For her, writing is a medium of self-expression in which she can be open, honest, and reflective about the mud in her life and the flowers which grow from it. She attempts to be raw with the world as she is with her friends and disowns all labels of mental illness. She is a human being, a researcher, and a dancer of Brazilian Forrô.