A week has passed since I arrived here, and today I find myself sitting across the room from Dr. Andrews.
“What made you decide to use cocaine?”
A part of me still doesn’t want to answer. We’ve been tiptoeing around it, or at least I have, not wanting to admit my weakness, to confront it. Deep down I know this is necessary, though. I know saying the words will help me.
“I’m not skinny enough,” I blurt out before I take a long, audible sigh. That’s not it. Being skinny is not the reason I used coke, and if I was going to be healthy, I needed to be honest with him and with myself. Because this is about more than my weight. It’s so much more than that.
“I’m not good enough. I’ve never been, and the drugs . . . They made it go away.”
“Made what go away?”
“All of it.”
“Olivia, I know this is a lot to talk about. It’s okay if you aren’t ready today. We don’t have to figure everything out now. We can work up to it.”
I think about it for a moment. If I were to say the words, I’d say . . .
I started the drugs at first to lose weight, but in truth, it was a way to escape how unhappy I was. It was a way to take control of my life when I felt as if it was flying out of control. I’d failed out of school. Family secrets had come out, and I didn’t know how to cope. The modeling, the weight, the drugs were all things I could control. Or so I thought. But I’m not ready to face that yet, or at least not to find the words to tell him. So I nod and vow to try better tomorrow.
The next day comes, and I’m ready.
“How are you feeling today?”
“A little better.”
“Are you ready to talk about why you started modeling?”
I am. “I was twenty-one, in my third year of school and I was failing, but I-I couldn’t tell my parents. Instead, I told them I wanted to pursue this career choice.”
“Why did you feel you couldn’t tell them?”
“They were going through so much with Lynn. With discovering she was their daughter. I couldn’t burden them. I wanted to excel at something. I’m not like the rest of my family, and I didn’t know what else to do, but in the end, I failed at that, too. I failed at everything. I even failed at being a daughter.”
“Did something happen to make you think that?”
“My father left. He left my mom, and he left me when I was a baby. Shouldn’t he have stayed for me? Tried for me?”
“But he did.”
“Yes, eventually. Or maybe he realized the grass is never greener. Maybe he didn’t come back to be my father. Maybe he came back because he didn’t want to be alone.”
“Have you ever discussed what happened with your dad?”
“Why would I? It doesn’t change anything.”
“But it does, Olivia. Don’t you see? When did the drugs start?”
“When I started modeling.”
“And when was that?”
“When I found out. What are you saying? Are you saying this all stems from my parents?”
“You just told me you weren’t enough, right? That you used drugs because you felt inadequate.”
“And you’re saying this started when I found out the truth.”
“Your first thought, the first thing you said was that you weren’t enough to make your father stay. I think it would be good for your healing if we had your father join us. Would you be okay with that?”
I nod, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that something so small could be so influential in my life.
“Olivia, I’d like you to work on a few things today before we meet again tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“First, I’d like to see when your dad is available to come, to join us for one of your therapy sessions. But before that, I’d like you to write down your triggers. Words, feeling, and thoughts, so we can discuss them.”
My scheduled appointment isn’t for fifteen minutes, but I need the minute to calm my nerves. The idea of finally asking my father all the unanswered questions hangs on me. I’ve never confronted the issue. I simply buried my head in the sand, pretending his previous actions didn’t haunt me.
Until now.
Now, there’s no more hiding. Dr. Anderson is right. If I don’t confront this demon, I’ll never actually be cured. It’s time to heal.
When I step inside the room, the air in my lungs leaves my body in shock. Dad’s already here. He’s sitting down, his head in his hands, but when he hears the door hit the wall, his head pops up. He looks tired as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.
I did this to him.
This pain he harbors is my fault.
I don’t even make it a step within the room before I’m pulled into his arms. His embrace wraps around me, comforting me.
“Daddy . . .”
“Sweetie.” He hugs me tighter, and I start to shake in his grasp. Every pent up emotion is bubbling to the surface until the dam finally breaks and tears spring from my eyes.
“Why?” I ask between croaked sobs escaping my throat. I pull back, looking into my father’s eyes. His broken eyes. “Why did you leave me? Why wasn’t I enough for you to stay?”
“It wasn’t your fault, Olivia. It was never your fault. It had nothing to do with my love for you.” A tear runs down my father’s face. “I was a different man then. I was selfish, but it never meant I didn’t love you. When I thought I was losing you and your mom, I came back. I begged and pleaded to come back, because leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life. I have always loved you, Olivia. You will always be my little girl. Never doubt that. Ever.”
I’m not sure how long we stand there in each other’s arms before Dr. Anderson walks in, but when I pull away, it feels as if a burden has been lifted off me. I had never realized how much I needed to hear him tell me it wasn’t my fault, but now that he has, peace falls over me.
I’m lighter.
Content.
Free.
As the weeks pass and the sessions continue, I start to realize so much about my family and myself. Being able to talk to my dad and finally hear what happened was healing and helped me move forward.
Sometimes everything needs to fall apart before you can rebuild and construct a stronger foundation.
I learned that the hardest and also the most important thing is learning to love myself.
I’m still working on that. Day by day, I love myself more and more. It’s been a long time since I believed I deserved love. For years I clung to this, too scared that I wasn’t enough, too afraid to fail. But I’m not scared anymore.
I’m ready to move on.
The week I’m scheduled to leave, Dr. Andrews is sitting across from me, notebook in hand. He places it down on the coffee table and leans forward. “So what do you want to do now? You stated last session you no longer want to model. That it’s a stressor for you. So now that modeling is out of the question do you have any ideas what you want to do?”
“I’m not sure what my options are?”
“Well, tell me something you feel passionate about?”
“That no one goes through what I went through.”
“What do you mean?”
“The drugs, self-doubt. The dieting. I realize now just how toxic being a model was for me.”
“What would you do if you could go back and talk to your former self?”
“I would tell her she was beautiful on the inside and out. I’d like to go up to the model who gave me that bump so many weeks ago and say why? And I’d like to tell the photographer I don’t need to be sick to be beautiful. I already am.”
“So why don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“There has to be an advocacy group for them. You can look into finding a job there.”
“No. I could never.”
“Why not?”
“I . . .” I stare at him for a minute trying to put into words my insecurities. My doubts. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to work in the industry. I need to do something simple.”
“Like what, Olivia?” He inclines his head as he waits for me to answer.
“I could go back to school and become a . . .” My words travel off as I try to think of a career. But nothing of interest comes to mind. “I could open a boutique. I like clothes.”
“Would that make you happy?”
“I don’t think so,” I admit on a sigh.
“Then I don’t think you should do it. I don’t think you should do anything you aren’t passionate about.”
“I just don’t think I’m—”
“You are strong enough. You conquered your addiction not only physically but also mentally. You’ve come so far. You’ve grown so much. If any one can do this, it’s you. Believe in yourself, Olivia.”
And in that moment . . .
In my weakness, I find my strength.