I know I’m having a moment when I hear myself ask “Does it ever end?” I’m sitting on my therapist’s couch, same as it’s been for the last six years, blurting the question out as if this time I’ll get another answer. She’s almost twice my age and she says it doesn’t and it hasn’t, not even for her. I regret asking, because I know she hears the message I’m really trying to send: I can’t handle any more challenges.

I’ve heard of people who finish their therapy journey. I’ve read the time comes when they reach self-sufficiency, a strong and adaptive sense of self, a way of living that supports them the way they need. I wouldn’t mind second place either, next to other clients who do therapy as needed, to help themselves out of the occasional crisis. Yet, here I am, years after my first therapy session, still feeling as though my journey is nowhere near done.

Not all of it is intense exorcising of the past. Somedays I ask about my therapist’s travels and, other times, I give her my to-do list in long form. I share a lot about my kids (I’ve had at least one of them with me during therapy for the past year). These are the pauses in my work, the breathers that cushion change. I know their purpose and worth, I am trained to recognise the need for mundane, slow moments in therapy. They are pockets of space for the work to unfold within me. They are an invitation for the next need to shape itself in the back of my mind. But most of all, they are occasions to experience the full range of my relationship with my therapist - to be real humans even in the lull of the process.

Inevitably, the work continues. I face a challenge and I am back on the frontline. I have to pick a side, pick a defence, find new ways to protect myself. I have been fighting throughout my adult life, sometimes with people, mostly, though, for people. And deep within, I have been fighting with myself. My war started when two ideas met: it isn’t safe to be with others and I am the reason why. Such is the disarming power of the inner voice: even though I recognise these ideas as limiting beliefs, a part of me believes in them nevertheless. My belief is ardent because it gives me hope. I hope one day I will be as I should be so that I can shelter from life under the wing of another person.

I now know this is the child within me. I am tending to these echoes from my past delicately. I learn new ways to see and think, and respond. Tentatively, I take a step back from the intense feelings that overwhelm me. Does it ever end? It is a magical belief that one day I will do one right thing that will let me get back to living. This is the paradox, if I could wrap up my therapy, I would wrap up life’s problems. But you only wrap up life’s problems, when you wrap up life. So I choose a different way to frame my thoughts. Instead of “how much more do I need to handle”, I ask myself: how do I handle this moment? What is this experience teaching me? What do I need to learn right now?

And so nothing needs to end. I need challenges, they are opportunities to engage with the world creatively and live out alternatives. Discomfort teaches me to trust myself, to remain engaged and believe I can work things out. I remind myself often that life is as it is, not as anyone thinks it’s supposed to be. When the next wave comes, I can still feel the calm waters underneath.

As for therapy, I feel it’s my right to be the captain. Therapy helps me clear my head and question my assumptions. I might keep on doing it for the rest of my life, but that mustn’t be the case. As along as I feel I am doing worthwhile work, I’ll keep going back once a week. If ever I feel I need to continue my journey by myself, I will. The choice is mine to make, as is yours.