My Right to be Here

The stereotypical psychotherapist had always been wealthy middle class women, in her mind and of the women who trained her only two she would have classed as ‘working’ class.  As a training psychotherapist she was going against the odds, she was one of those “1 in 6″ families where both parents don’t work.  She was unique in the sense that she was not supposed to be training as a shrink.  She could allow herself to be type cast into a profession for the female form, working only term time so she may watch her children grow.  She did not see her self as the same as other mother’s, she did not want to be the same, she had always always imagined herself as someone different.  She wanted that difference for the sake of her children and no matter how, she would do what she could be the person she dreamt of being.  And at the moment a dream is all it was.

 

Today her aches had been soothed and as she compared her life to a year ago she was in a different place.  Her deep black hole now had walls, she was standing on the foundations surrounded by a perfect square wall, not too tall to block her in.  As she imagined the ladder she would climb she noticed her fingers on the keyboard clicking words onto the screen in front of her.

 

No matter what our class, we all have a right to existence, we all have a right to be here and she knew that in the past she had doubted her right.  It had concealed her aura and hindered her from being who she truly was.   Now she had acknowledged her right to life and cut the umbilical cord which had impeded her journey of fruition, the dragonfly she longed to be was hovering momentarily above her shoulder.

~ by girligorgeous on June 26, 2009.