How would you take this?

My therapist has been kind and open,
And while she's very kind , we are not doing any therapeutic things that target my severe crippling self doubt. Today, they said something that I just wasn't thrilled about. I was talking about my awful, sadistic mother, and she replied with, "You are not a child anymore"... That was in the middle of her reply, so it wasn't just that line only but I thought, is she saying it to act like I should've gotten 'over' the horrific trauma I went through because I'm an ' adult'.?

Or was it just to give me encouragement that I'm no longer helpless like a child? Either way I felt it patronizing. I Def didn't feel it was the latter , how she meant it. Would you feel a bit dismissed? My sister said it doesn't sound like the latter and that she wouldn't continue..esp. that she dismissed helping me to apply for disability due to my PTSD.

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HumanEarth · F

Sounds like your therapist is using you for a paycheck and really don't give a shit about you.

Now that's my first impression I get from your post above.

Stuff my childhood is now starting to surface, because I'm starting to remember some of the real horrible stuff.

So hidden childhood trauma to resurface is not uncommon and good therapist would do something about it

Coralmist · 41-45, F

@HumanEarth While she's told me a few affirmations, it seems we don't get to the root of my trauma. She has told me to get a part time job and that it's exposure..but that's the extent of our reflections. I really need to find WAYS to accept myself, not just a job only. 😟

Coralmist · 41-45, F

@HumanEarth In addition, sorry to hear of your memories. They stay in our subconscious and are numbed. It's our minds way of surviving. I can't even remember the years of age 4-9 or so...I read that means trauma was high. Have you considered a therapist to heal those root experiences?

HumanEarth · F

Me see a therapist, I wouldn't go. Just being honest.

I could give all kinds of accuses why. But let me put it to yoy this way. With busy life and living farming and living almost a hour from the major city that has that stuff.

Plus I frankly don't trust the any people in modern medical profession. I'll trust a backwoods mountain doctor when their hands were always stained from plants. Green from pokeweed in spring, purple from blackberries in summer, yellow from goldenrod in fall. Each color told a story of healing. Those same hands delivered babies, set bones, and mixed medicines that could break fevers or ease a dying person’s final hours.

Them are the doctors I see