Echoes of the Past: A Journey to Healing

“I understand that your past experiences have had a significant impact on how you see the world, Ms. Bella. While those experiences are important, we can work together to find ways to build a perspective that empowers you to move forward and thrive.”

I found myself uttering the same words I had repeated to several of my clients that day, and boy, had it already begun to sound like a broken record to me. While reminding my clients of this truth was part of my role, I couldn’t ignore the weight it carried. I could see that it had an effect on Ms. Bella as she instantly seemed to realize something that had been hanging over her head for the longest time.

She got up.

“Thank you, Doctor. We shall see at my next appointment.” She said, obviously struggling to keep the stream that had welled up in her eyes from pouring down as she excused herself from my office.

Oh, how I hated Trauma Tuesdays.

As a psychologist, helping my clients confront and overcome the experiences that sought to cripple them had eaten deep into my soul. It had begun to consume me, so much so that I had already fallen neck deep into the pits of my own unhealed negative childhood experiences.

Growing up, my dad was not the best father figure and even as a young and naive girl, I could tell. On several occasions, he’d come home drunk to his veins, and if my mom got in his way, he’d beat her to a pulp. Sometimes, she could barely see with both her eyes for days.

My struggling mom could have left the marriage. He was an infidel, but she stayed anyway.

“For the sake of my children,” she’d often say. But that was far from it.

She was simply living in fear of my father and the thoughts of what he’d do to her or her two beautiful girls if she made an attempt to leave him. Watching her suffer all those years in the hands of someone she claimed to love and who claimed to love her back, unnerved me. I still have nightmares, haunted by the painful sobs of my mother after each wrestling round.

I’ve never talked about this with anyone. I always wanted to be a psychologist, but over the years, my father discouraged my dreams. Like many traditional African men, he believed that mental health struggles were merely a sign of weakness, and that pursuing a degree in that field was even more shameful.

Proving to my dad that he was wrong became my strongest driving force. I had lost myself so much in the process that I neglected my own mental health. I was always buried in my work.

Surely, I had gotten the degrees and awards, but nothing seemed to take away the emptiness inside.

Then, one morning, I woke up and decided I had had enough.

Reflecting on my own story, along with the stories of several of my clients struggling with trauma from similar experiences, made me realize that the journey to healing is not a linear one. It is filled with twists and turns, ups and downs, but it is certainly a journey worth taking.

Enough of hiding behind my college degrees and awards. It was time to start confronting the trauma that held me back all these years.

Surely, Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I know I am in a better place now. I hope that my story can serve as a reminder to anyone out there in a situation similar to mine that prioritizing their mental health is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of strength!

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