I Needed Them Both

I think I needed them both.

The nurturing energy of my therapist, and the confronting clarity of a mentor. Not to rescue me, but to reflect me back to myself at the moment I was finally ready to see the truth.

For a long time, I couldn’t face how much I had been holding myself back. How much I’d pushed people away under the guise of helping. How tightly I clung to the role of fixer—not out of superiority, but to protect a fragile sense of worth. I needed to believe I was good. I needed to believe I was lovable. And so I helped. And helped. And helped. Until I couldn’t tell the difference between love and strategy.

And then came the realization.
And with it, shame.
So much shame.

And that’s why I needed her—the therapist.
Not for more insight. Not for tools.
But for her presence. Her calm. Her quiet maternal energy that told me, without saying it outright,
“Even now, you are worthy of love.”

Without that, I think I might have turned on myself. I think I might have tried to fix the part of me that had been fixing all along. But instead, I softened. I stayed. I allowed myself to see the pattern—not as a flaw, but as a child’s attempt at survival.

And then came him—the mentor.
Not gentle. Not warm. But precise.
Like a father saying, “That’s enough.”
Not out of cruelty, but out of clarity.
A call back to truth. A refusal to let me hide behind language or insight or unconscious performance.

Between the two of them, I received something I never had growing up: a container.

One held me.
One challenged me.
And between those two poles, I found myself. — layout: post title: “I Needed Them Both” date: 2025-07-13 tags: [healing, archetypes, self-acceptance] description: It took both the nurturing presence of my therapist and the piercing clarity of a mentor to help me see the truth I’d been avoiding—and to forgive myself for it. emotions: [acceptance, grief] —

I think I needed them both.

The nurturing energy of my therapist, and the confronting clarity of a mentor. Not to rescue me, but to reflect me back to myself at the moment I was finally ready to see the truth.

For a long time, I couldn’t face how much I had been holding myself back. How much I’d pushed people away under the guise of helping. How tightly I clung to the role of fixer—not out of superiority, but to protect a fragile sense of worth. I needed to believe I was good. I needed to believe I was lovable. And so I helped. And helped. And helped. Until I couldn’t tell the difference between love and strategy.

And then came the realization.
And with it, shame.
So much shame.

And that’s why I needed her—the therapist.
Not for more insight. Not for tools.
But for her presence. Her calm. Her quiet maternal energy that told me, without saying it outright,
“Even now, you are worthy of love.”

Without that, I think I might have turned on myself. I think I might have tried to fix the part of me that had been fixing all along. But instead, I softened. I stayed. I allowed myself to see the pattern—not as a flaw, but as a child’s attempt at survival.

And then came him—the mentor.
Not gentle. Not warm. But precise.
Like a father saying, “That’s enough.”
Not out of cruelty, but out of clarity.
A call back to truth. A refusal to let me hide behind language or insight or unconscious performance.

Between the two of them, I received something I never had growing up: a container.

One held me.
One challenged me.
And between those two poles, I found myself.

It wasn’t one or the other. It was both.

The truth, and the tenderness.
The mirror, and the lap to collapse into after.

And now, I’m standing in something I never thought I’d feel:
Self-acceptance that doesn’t need to be earned.

I no longer need to hate the parts of me that held on to outdated strategies. I can see why I clung to them. I can forgive myself for not seeing it sooner. And I can choose differently now—not out of self-rejection, but out of self-trust.

I needed them both.

Not forever.
But for this moment.

So I could become someone who no longer needs saving—
just someone who’s finally here.

---

It wasn’t one or the other. It was both.

The truth, and the tenderness.
The mirror, and the lap to collapse into after.

And now, I’m standing in something I never thought I’d feel:
Self-acceptance that doesn’t need to be earned.

I no longer need to hate the parts of me that held on to outdated strategies. I can see why I clung to them. I can forgive myself for not seeing it sooner. And I can choose differently now—not out of self-rejection, but out of self-trust.

I needed them both.

Not forever.
But for this moment.

So I could become someone who no longer needs saving—
just someone who’s finally here.

---