A Letter to My Former Self: On Starting Counseling + the Healing That's Ahead
April 2021 marked my four-year anniversary of starting counseling— a milestone I never imagined I’d hit, but I’m so grateful for. As I reflected with my counselor on all that the past four years have held, I was struck by truly how much has changed, and how much the Lord has done in myself and in my life. My counselor gave me the homework assignment of writing a letter to myself four years ago— so here it is.
ps— there’s some language in this post, just so you know.
Dear former me,
It’s April 2017, and you just emailed a Christian counseling practice a friend recommended. You know you could use the help, that the things in your past are too big and too heavy for you to keep carrying on your own, but I know you’re anxious about this step and unsure of what’s to come.
I want you to know I am so proud of you.
For far too long, you felt like it was you against the world, and you tried to battle it out bravely and independently, so I know how huge it is that you’re reaching out for help. You’re choosing to make a change, to take a step, to call in reinforcements, and that is something to celebrate.
You have no idea what’s in store. You have no clue who this counselor is that’s on the other side of the email. You don’t know if you’ll go for one week or ten or a hundred. You don’t know what to expect, if you’ll really lay down on a couch like in the movies, if you’ll cry or laugh or clam up. You can’t even begin to comprehend that healing is possible, or how God will do it.
But let me tell you something — what’s ahead for you? It is so very good.
You will find that your counselor is a man you feel safe with, a man you can trust, someone who calls you on your bullshit and speaks truth over you in love and knows when to crack a joke to make you laugh. He is someone you didn’t know you needed in your life, but someone who is a wise, kind, gracious, helpful guide along your journey. Be grateful God brought you to his office.
You will find that not only CAN you heal from the pain, the abuse, the trauma, but you WILL. It will take time— so much more time than you’d like— but it will happen, and it will keep happening.
You will cry more tears than you knew you could. You will laugh more than you thought you would. You will find there’s never a shortage of things to talk about, to work through, to process. You’ll discover God speaks through Scripture, through your therapist, through Narnia books and Dan Allender’s writing and even Seinfeld clips. You’ll wrestle with wanting to “do it right” and you’ll make a lot of jokes about wanting to get a gold star, and they won’t actually just be jokes for you. You’ll learn a lot about letting down your guards and breaking down your defenses to let yourself be seen and known and loved. (I know that sounds terrifying, but just trust me.)
You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but one day, four years from now, you will actually believe you are loved.
I know, I know. You’re squirming at the thought. You’re convinced I’m wrong, that there’s no way in hell, that all the crap you’re carrying and the choices you’ve made and the things that have been done to you disqualify you from love. Don’t I know that?
But it’s true.
You will come to believe it.
You will tell your counselor that saying “I am loved” is as easy as saying “I’m Rachel.”
Wild, right? Miracles really do happen.
You will come to find that you can face the hardest, the worst, the most devastating things in your own past and not only live through the remembering, but come to find value even in those darkest places.
You will discover that life can come from and come through even the places of greatest deaths and pain. Resurrection is real. And it’s real for you.
You will discover wounds you didn’t know you had, painful places that were buried, threads and ties and truths you didn’t know were in your story. And you’ll come to work through these things, too.
Yes, all of this will take time. A long time. Days and weeks and months. Four years and counting, to be specific. It takes so much longer than you want it to, than you hope it will, than you wish it would. I know you want to snap your fingers and be fixed, but you aren’t a problem to fix, you’re a beloved child of God with hurts that needs healing.
Be patient with yourself.
Be kind to yourself.
Give yourself grace like you know God gives you.
Don’t be afraid to let love in. It’s so good, I promise. You don’t need to fight it.
Keep showing up— when it’s easy, when it’s hard, when it’s the last thing on earth you want to do.
When your counselor prays for you, listen for the truth in his words. Hear the reminders of what is beautiful and good and true and let them settle into your heart.
You can’t possibly know this now, but so many incredible— and seemingly impossible— things are ahead for you.
You will do EMDR therapy to relive the night of your first and worst trauma— the night you were raped— and you will come to find that your Guardian was with you all along, grieving for you, weeping with you, carrying you out from that room and covering you in the blanket of his love. It will change and save your life. You will go from believing “I am too fucked up to ever be loved” to believing “I am fully seen and I am fully loved.”
You will tell your family the story of the abuse you endured, years after it happened, and then you’ll write about it for the world to know, too. You’ll find that you don’t have to hide, you don’t have to bear the weight of it all alone, you can let yourself be seen. You will feel the freedom that comes with shining light into the darkest places.
You will start taking antidepressants, and it will take a while to find what works, but it will make a massive difference in your daily life. You’ll get medicine for your panic attacks but find you actually have tools at your disposal to both prevent and work through them better. You’ll fight the stigma associated with needing the help of medicine, and you’ll be grateful every day for how it helps you not just survive but come to thrive.
So much is in store for you. I’m so excited for you to start this journey. I’m so proud of your courage, even if it feels shaky and uncertain. I’m so grateful you reached out when you did, that you trusted the process of getting connected to a counselor, that you showed up and that you will keep showing up.
Four years later, I think back to those first few sessions, to the fear I felt, to the shakiness in my spirit, to the weight I was carrying, and who I was… and I can hardly believe I’m where I am now.
Freedom is for you. It’s coming.
Love is for you. It’s real. You aren’t the exception.
Healing is for you. It will happen.
Hope is for you. It’s beautiful and powerful.
You’re starting the hard work of tilling up the soil, pulling out the rotten weeds, untangling the messy roots, stirring everything up. I know, I know, I know how hard it is and how much it hurts. But the seeds you’ll come to plant? The light that will break through? The growth that will happen? The blossoming you’ll see? The life that will flourish?
It’s stunning.
Keep going, brave one. You are so, so, so deeply loved. I know you don’t believe me yet, but trust me, you will. Just give it time.
Proud of you always.
