Hi Ales,
I understand...you are experiencing the contrast between someone treating you (and your feelings) in a respectful, attentive way and what your past was like. The contrast is painful because you are still grieving, processing what the reality of your childhood was. As you unearth it, you are having to grieve.
And you're not finished.
When you're done (grief does end, it's just very hard to know that in the acute stagees--it leaves you changed, but one day, the active grieving-processing will be behind you)--when you're done, you will be able to receive listening and ... just receive it. With peace. With gratitude and comfort. Balanced.
But right now, it is a painful contrast and so it jerks you back to the past, even while at the very same time, it is actually the very thing that will eventually allow you to move on from the past.
I think of it as like surgery that saves your life. NOBODY wants to go through a horror of an operation. We kick and scream and resist...and grieve the necessity of it. But it is necessary. And it is painful. Very. We hate the experience. We fight. But our life force wants us to live and our minds, somewhere deep in, know the unalterable wisdom of undergoing what is necessary. And so we do. We endure it, we recover, and all the while experiencing waves pain, we heal. The pain passes. But it's too slow. It makes us crazy at times. Sometimes we need pain relievers, human or medical, because we can't bear it alone. Other times, we find the pain lifts and we have a few hours or days when it's not right at the very front of our awareness. It recedes to a lower level. Then there's a reminding wave (you're not healed yet). We quiet down again, permit our bodies to heal some more. We start noticing what's outside the window. Weather becomes interesting. The natural world. We find we can walk a while alone. Then, maybe a little setback, we have to lean on someone, a strong arm. Then we walk a little farther the next time, and so on and on.
That's what surgery is, and pain, and healing.
Also, I canceled my appointment a day after T decided I was depressed enough to warrant anti-depressants, yet he hasn't called me back. I feel weird about that. Like he doesn't care.
He should not call you. Unlike your mother, he is respecting you by not calling you. He is not invading you. He is not forcing you. He is recognizing the boundary...that you exist in yourself, for yourself, and that you have the right to choose. Whether he agrees with your decision or not. He knows you are an adult. He believes you have the right to heal or to resist healing. To trust his advice or to decide for yourself that you do not want to take it.
It's not indifference. It's boundaries. They are good.
Hope that helps, just opinions...take anything useful, toss the rest...
Hugs and comfort,
Hops
