The more I talked, especially in group, the more I admitted to myself the truth. That was scary, seeing as how for years, I was exhorted to NOT tell the truth in order to keep the myth of my loving, caring, Christian family of origin intact. Which was all complete bullshit.
I think the turning point came in group one day when I told what I knew to be the truth about my origins and my memory of being told to never tell anyone where I really came from. Up until that point, I had, in the way that we all hang on to childish beliefs, clung to the idea that my guardian was right in that I was inherently a bad person who should have been ashamed of how I got here and that I was lucky she had deigned to take me in. The price for her munificence was to go along with everything she meted out without complaint, backtalk or revelation of our true circumstances to anyone for the rest of my life. Which was all complete bullshit.
And in a few moments with the therapist and the group, I came to realize that that entire scenario was craziness. All the covering up I did was insane and had nothing to do with me or my worth as a person at all.
You don’t need talk therapy for everything, but dammit, if it helps with busting up even one block like that, it’s worth it.