The only answer to the sheer discomfort and confusion that grows murkier and darker as I hover in no man’s land somewhere between sanity and its diametrical opposite; the only thing they all — therapists, advisors (even friends!!) — say is “Trust the Process.”
Why would I do that?
Who is this Process that I should put my trust in him?
What makes him deserving of that precious commodity of mine, one that I rarely ever relinquish to anyone or anything?
Because they say that the Process, as painstaking and painful and difficult and soul-wrenching as it is, works.
But who are they that I should even believe them?
This pain, this discomfort, is mine alone, pinning me down with its absolute heaviness, paralyzing me and stopping me short in this very Process. Stalling my progress — and even hurtling me backward into regression.
I’ve reached an impasse. There’s nowhere to go from here.
How can I trust that this will turn out fine? That hanging in a place of so much unknown can be safe, let alone good, for me.
How can I trust that this hurt will not beget more hurt and more hurt, sending my trust and belief into even deeper hiding, to a place of no return?
Why should I trust when everything feels so wrong and every brain cell is shouting: Give it up. It’s not working. It’s not meant to be this painful. Don’t trust. You’re not being understood.
They just don’t get you. You just don’t get yourself. It’s not possible to get you.
I’ll admit that it has changed me — this Process that includes a march right through hell — in too many ways to list.
But now as I reach the inferno, I'm no longer sure that there, too, in that scorching torture, lies my healing.
Should I trust the process anyhow, even if the devlish tongues of fire lick my extremities — and I just may get burned?
Should I believe that this pain is the healing type of pain and not one that inflicts further damage to my system that’s too delicate to withstand more adversity?
Do you trust the process?