Every time I cried for my mom today, she came.
The single most healing thing that has come from therapy is this.
This is the rawest, most intense, deepest corner of my self—of my inner-child—exposed, and it is, by far, the most amount of pain I’ve ever felt.
And she is there. Little-me can cry/wail/scream and she will come with unconditional love. Little-me can finally feel all of these terrible things, every last frightening thing, in safety.
It’s flipping terrifying.
But God, I’m so thankful.
It is the first time I’ve felt sure of unconditional love in a parental way. Feeling that is beyond powerful. Feeling so intensely cared for allowed me, for the first time today, to actually begin to understand how God loves.
None of this was my goal when I started therapy. I didn’t go to repair (or find?) my spirituality. I didn’t go to deep dive into why my body does the things it does. I just wanted to stop purging and gain some confidence. I didn’t want an eating disorder to rule my life.
In some ways things are getting outrageously hard in therapy. We’re in places I wasn’t connected with and didn’t ever intend on opening up. But once I push past the protective parts and lean into my Wolfpack, the safety net that catches me before I fall is all I need to keep going through these rough waters. I don’t need an eating disorder to survive. I just need love.