Seeing A New Therapist Soon, And I'm Terrified

[bxg54]

I'm leaving my current T. for a new one. I'm seeing this new one in two weeks and it honestly feels like I'm going to be disclosing my abuse for the first time, again. I'm nervous, anxious, terrified and just sad. Yet, I've written about my abuse numerous times, some of them publicly on my own domain.

What does this mean? Does anyone else feel like this? They've been through the cycle before; they've opened up, written about their abuse, have even talked about it, yet, seeing a new therapist makes it feel like you're starting from the beginning again, bringing up feelings you've already overcome... or so you thought. Terrified of opening up, telling them in the hopes they'll believe you, scared of having flashbacks you thought you already processed, anxiety, etc.

 

[Hagaco]

I haven't experienced that because I just started with my first therapist. However, all of your fears go hand and hand with how I feel about my trauma. And I did have a friend that I gradually opened up to. My therapist was able to get out of me (in one session) what it took about 2 months of friendship to get through.

 

[Bito]

I'm on therapist four if you count the PTSD group I was in. I've never felt the need to go over things I've already dealt with beyond what is required for a new therapist to get an idea of where I have been. For some reason I've never worried about whether a T would believe me or not. It does seem to worry many people here though. I guess I just can't imagine anyone lying about PTSD.

 

[Ewihaf]

I'm on therapist four if you count the PTSD group I was in. I've never felt the need to go over things I've already dealt...

I think for those of us that buried our trauma and told no one back when it happened fear that we won't be believed. I actually keep trying to convince myself that it must have been consensual since I don't remember the scariest parts, gave up in the fight and never recall saying "no." All I remember is knowing in my head that I didn't have a choice. That part has always remained a staple part of the memory. But I buried for so long, I sometimes catch myself trying to do it again.