In therapy, I describe my house to another
‘This is my house.’
I tell them about the space, the clutter, my favourite room, difficult times, good times, people who’ve passed through, all sorts of things, really; things I never expected to say because – well, I didn’t know they were there.
It is strange how liberating this can be, to get things out.
I’ve lived in this place all my life, but never really talked about it.
It can be like opening a curtain on a big dark room. And there are a few of those in my house.
It’s so nice to be able to speak of these things and not be judged. I expect judgement, it’s how life is, and it can keep me silent – but not here. Here, I am free; here, I am just applauded for my honesty.
‘Honesty heals,’ they say.
In the first few weeks, I move some of the furniture; in time, I may even decide to get rid of some of it. So much clutter! It can get in the way; this becomes clear as we talk.
I have even known people knock through walls, to let in light; walls which serve no purpose now.
I always thought the walls in my home were forever. But this is not so, apparently. Who’d have thought?
Strange things do happen when, feeling safe, I describe my house to another.