Therapy, or “healing,” as we cryptically call it, is a strange thing. You mutually agree, at least for awhile, to have another person be your projection screen, your scratch pad, your mirror, your sounding board, your safe place, your containment, your own personal headspace specialist, your unbiased/ unfiltered (or at least differently filtered) perspective, your symbolic representation of the good, the bad, the absent, and the longed-for, of your past.
In light of those things, despite hoping and believing you won’t, and fearing you will, you go through the various stages of attachment to this person; the transference of feelings that have risen up like ghosts from past situations, and have little to do with now despite how much it seems like they do; the projection of emotions or beliefs the therapist likely doesn’t have, but appears to, when seen through your own filters. You love them. You hate them, or at least the power they hold over you (in spite of your agreement to it), which they likely aren’t comfortable with either…but you both see it as a necessary evil. You fear them. You get annoyed with them. You long for them, you ache for them, you pine for what they represent that you’re trying to acquire through them even though you’re not sure if it’s really feasible. (You both hope so.) You connect and disconnect and define and re-define your relationship to the world and all aspects of time (past, present, future), through and in and with this relationship to them.
You may not even know them.
You hope to God you picked a good one.
This is a complex dance.
Just some random thoughts when I really should be asleep. Cheers. ~J8