The first time I went to Sara's office, I was obviously nervous. I had found her information on the web after a particularly overwhelming series of nightmares had forced my sleeping patterns to come to a grinding halt. "Sara: experienced Trauma Counselor," the website had stated. I wasn't necessarily comfortable seeing a therapist, but I was at the point that my life was being affected thoroughly. So, it was time.
I sat in one of Sara's chairs, my hands crossed over my knees. Sara began her line of questioning, pausing slightly before asking me what specifically brought me into her office. It was then that a lump rose up in my throat, making it nearly impossible for me to speak. After a lengthy pause, I began to tell Sara about my nightmares - memories of sexual abuse as a child. I had never allowed myself to accept these memories as occurrences that actually happened - they were simply bad, reoccurring dreams. In the last few months, however, my "dreams" had invaded my mind and refused to be smothered as they had been for years. I couldn't believe my ears as even the vague descriptions of what happened came from my mouth. I had never told anyone anything about these occurrences. They had haunted me for years, yet I had always been able to label them as bad dreams that didn't actually occur in real life.
I left my first appointment feeling weighed down and vulnerable - I had just divulged the largest of all my secrets. Yet, I was hopeful. Something had shifted slightly. I wasn't sure what it was. I would come to learn more of the shift that began that cold February day in the months ahead.
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