Confession Room and/or Therapist's Couch

Do we know how these rooms were invented and why?

I am sure there are books on it, but this is not investigative journalism, so I am going to leave it as a question.

I can think that, like everything else in life, it might have started with a good intention before someone came along and said, "Oh, I can use this to my advantage."

But for the sake of this writing, let's focus on the good intention. A place for people to confess their sins and for someone to listen, without any sort of judgment, and forgive them in the name of God.

Pretty liberating, huh?

I have been doing this for years and years, but sometimes I find it the most difficult thing: talking to my therapist. It's scary as hell, and I keep doing it because I know it's good for me. If only I could apply the same philosophy to more things in my life.

Sometimes I try to think this could be the same as using the confession room. To have someone listen to you, be there for you, show you the way, and tell you that you are accepted and loved and forgiven no matter how awful you have been, promises you a clean break, and sends you on your way.

To me, it's not about having permission to do more bad things because you know you will be forgiven; it's about having a place to go if you've messed up and need forgiveness, because you sure as hell are not going to forgive yourself.

But the difference between a therapy couch and a confession room is that it's nearly impossible for me to forget that this person does not judge me. In my mind, not judging someone equals "I don't care enough about you not to think about you," and therefore, I feel judged. And I'm terrified to think this person who literally knows all my dark secrets in life doesn't care about me at all.

On the other hand, I have never been in a confession room, but I was quite religious at one point in my life. And I don't think during that time I was feeling safe and liberated when talking to God or whoever I was talking to at the moment who I thought was more worthy in the eyes of God so he/she could listen to me and be the messenger between us. This feeling of shame and not being accepted for who you are and thinking (falsely) that you are not able to figure out what is right and wrong has always been a part of my life.

For some reason, I keep coming back to Fleabag every time I try to dig deeper into something that is bothering me. This brilliant monologue sums up the need in people to rely on someone else in their lives, be it religion or even sometimes therapy because you want someone else to tell you how to handle your stuff.

Fleabag: I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. No, I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like. What to hate. What to rage about. What to listen to. What band to like. What to buy tickets for. What to joke about. What not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and who to love and how to...tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong. And I know that’s why people want someone like you in their lives, because you just tell them how to do it. You just tell them what to do and what they’ll get out of the end of it, even though I don’t believe your bullshit and I know that scientifically nothing that I do makes any difference in the end, anyway, I’m still scared. Why am I still scared? So just tell me what to do. Just tell me what to do, Father.

What did I want to say? I wanted to say it's an exhausting feeling not to feel safe enough to show people who you really are and what you really think. Don't get me wrong, this does not mean that I lie to people or tell them what they want to hear, but this means I am talking much less than I should and hiding myself more than I should.

I know what I am hiding is not horrible and won't scare anyone away, but I just don't want to risk it—what if it did?

I am curious to know what the world looks like to people who still frequently use the confession room, whether in a church or a therapist's office. This need to be unconditionally loved and accepted did not even last with religion in my life, because the kind of God I was hoping to be the refuge for me turned out to be a misogynist. Well, at least the people representing him turned out to be. I haven't written him off completely yet.

And as for my therapist, I don't exactly know where I am in the process, and frankly, I am scared to talk about it more in here, because well, technically I am opening up to the internet, the worst place on earth to be open and vulnerable. So the fear of being ridiculed and judged are now dancing around in my head. But let me tell you something: writing has been my refuge ALL my life and I refuse to let the demons of shame and fear into this only sacred place I have. I refuse to lose this lifeline of mine.