Today’s therapy session touched several threads that all belong to the same larger theme: I’m starting to see the real shape of my childhood, and how much it still influences the way I move through the world.

It wasn’t overwhelming.
It was clarifying.
Almost like turning the lights on in a room I’ve spent my whole life walking through in the dark.

The College Vulnerability Moment

We talked about what happened at college recently — how I opened up far more than I intended to, and then had to sit in the same room with everyone afterwards. It created this strange feeling of exposure without any real containment.

That moment showed me something important:
I want to be known more deeply, but I’m still learning where and how to do that safely.

It wasn’t “too much.”
It was just uncontained.
My therapist described it as a weird dynamic to hold, and she was right.
But it also showed me how much I’m craving authenticity.

The Truth About My Mother

Then we moved into something much heavier: my early years.

My mum left for a job in London when I was around three months old.
My dad paused his career to look after me.

And my mum refuses to talk about this period at all.

The reason is obvious now:
if we talk about the past, the truth becomes undeniable.

She didn’t see me.
Not emotionally.
Not as a person.
Not as a child with preferences, feelings, needs, or a pace of my own.

The only “attention” I ever received was performative:

  • the birthday cakes I had to pretend to like
  • the Christmas presents I never asked for
  • the holidays she chose for her own storytelling, not my enjoyment

All of it was about how she appeared to other people.
None of it was for me.

Realising this is a punch to the gut.

But it’s also the first time I’ve been able to say the truth without cushioning it:

She was not an attuned mother.
She didn’t know me, and she didn’t want to.

And that created a wound I’ve been trying to understand my whole life.

Realising My Dad Didn’t See Me Either

I mentioned that my mum never saw me, but my therapist asked if there was anyone who did.

I brought up my dad — how he occasionally did, but even that wasn’t stable.

I told her the story about him being a maths teacher and shaming me for not working quickly enough.
The irony is that I was one of the best at maths in my school.

He wasn’t responding to my ability.
He was reacting to his own frustration, his own insecurity, his own inner world.

My therapist pointed out the pattern:

My mum didn’t see me because she was wrapped up in her image,
and my dad didn’t see me because he was wrapped up in his inadequacy.

Two different versions of the same wound.

I adapted to both.

Why Being Seen Feels Terrifying

This ties into something else we explored today: my fear of success, visibility, and stepping into my potential.

Sharing my writing terrifies me.
Publishing anything terrifies me.
Even imagining my own private practice and the income to support a bigger life terrifies me.

Because in my childhood:

  • success wasn’t encouraged
  • achievement wasn’t celebrated
  • being exceptional created tension
  • having needs created discomfort
  • being “too much” made other people react badly
  • being “too slow” did too

So of course stepping into visibility feels dangerous.

My body learned:

“If I show who I am, something bad will happen.”

This is exactly the belief I’m unlearning now.

Bramhall, Safety, and the Shed

I talked about imagining myself living somewhere like Bramhall — safe, grounded, balanced, middle-class affluence.

It scares me and comforts me at the same time.

My therapist helped me see something:
as I’m building my shed… I’m symbolically building the safety and security I didn’t have growing up.

The shed isn’t about timber and nails.

It’s about:

  • boundaries
  • stability
  • privacy
  • space
  • protection
  • building something solid and mine

It represents the adult part of me creating the safety my child self never received.

Letting Myself Feel That Things Might Be Possible

What stood out today was how I allowed myself to imagine a different life yesterday — one where success doesn’t collapse, where I don’t fail by default, where I’m not destined for struggle.

This is new.

There’s a small opening in me now.
A tiny window of possibility.

I’m still terrified of it.
But at least I’m feeling it.

For the first time in my life, I’m starting to imagine:

“Maybe things can work out for me.”

And that’s not just hope.
That’s healing.

The Core Realisation Today

When I put everything together — college, my mum, my dad, success, fear, safety — it all points to one truth:

I was never seen by the people who were supposed to see me.
And now, as an adult, I’m finally learning to see myself.

It hurts.
And it frees me.

I’m building the life, the safety, the clarity, and the identity that I never had growing up.
Piece by piece.
Truth by truth.
Boundary by boundary.

And today’s session showed me how far I’ve already come.