First of many

In my last post, I mentioned on the fact that I had started going for therapy sessions following my Postpartum Depression whose experiences I have shared a lot on here. This is the first of installment of several that I will post, sharing what I have learnt, looking back at the journey that has been as well as charting the way forward.

Before anything, I must express my gratitude for one dear friend of mine who made it possible for me, and hooked me with one of the warmest souls I have ever met, Rhoda. Rhoda is a trained counselor and psychologist with a heart for moms, and this made her a perfect fit. Both my friend and Rhoda are gifts in my life, and for that, I am very grateful.

Read More: To Those I Hurt…

We (my son and I) arrived on the first appointment some 15 minutes before time, because even kids must learn the importance of keeping time. I noted, to my delight, that Rhoda’s office is nestled in a tranquil neighborhood, away from the manic driving and honking that Nairobi matatus (public buses) are best known for. The calm soothes the soul. It is as if the gentle breeze blows away one’s worries from the balcony.

Rhoda made my son and I feel comfortable first as we sunk into her stylish floral sofa, not your typical office I guess, huh? The blinds let in just enough light: not too glaring to illuminate my issues (LOL) and not too dim to wonder where the melaninaire I am is 🙂 Then she introduced herself, her academic background and stated clearly she upholds ethical values for client confidentiality purposes. After the paper work, the session was off to a great start.

Read More: Feeling like a mom

At the onset, it was simply for me to introduce myself, why I thought therapy would work for us, my key relationships – family, my son, my partner (or the lack thereof) and God. My response was jumbled really, most of which I have blogged about on here, especially as regards my relationship with my son and Postpartum Depression.

She listened, careful not to interrupt, but with a keenness that made me comfortable to open up to her as my son ran around. She asked questions that allowed me to express myself better or to clarify something she may have missed. Her affable self was a delight to spend time with. After I was done talking (and honey, I talk and talk and talk…), she gave me a mini-break to collect her thoughts and give me some ‘homework’.

This was the interesting take-home from that session. Some of the factors that did contribute to my Postpartum depression were childhood scars, issues that I had let pile up unknowingly and unattended to up until the birth of my son. Part of the week’s task was to journal on all these things in greater detail and find what insights I would come up with. To say this was mind-blowing would be understating it.

I took a Friday afternoon off, went to one of the open public spaces in Karen and poured everything on paper. I looked back at the little girl I was, the proud moments at school, the dreams I had growing up, the relationships I had, graduating at just 20 and plunging headfirst into motherhood. My paper was tear-stained, but I did not care. It felt like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. The insights gave me a sense of direction; I saw that most of life as it unwraps in adulthood is an undeniable product of childhood.

I look forward to what is in store for me and my little boy on this journey. I have a feeling it is pretty exciting, especially that we get to kick Postpartum Depression in the butt!



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