“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.”
~ C. JoyBell C.
“I’ve canceled all of your appointments. Wiped them from my schedule, indefinitely. It’s what you wanted.” Her voice was stern, piercing, cold and angry.
A cannon went off in my head and shattered my heart.
I kept walking next to her, questioning myself, is this the talk, I waited a week for? It was on the way to her car.
“No, that’s not what I meant. This isn’t the end!” My voice wasn’t solid. The panic was rising and I started to separate from my body.
“That’s what you wrote to me last week? That’s what you meant.” Her words sliced through my panic and an avalanche began.
My mind became distorted as I pieced her words together.
I asserted, “Yes, I did write but not to end our work together. I want to define where you and I begin and end. It’s about boundaries. Your stuff is coming up in my sessions. I can listen to you outside of my sessions.”
I was clinging for hope, a spark, the connection and friendship I thought we had.
In my mind, I scanned the introduction to my letter sent a week ago. I questioned if she really read it. If she noticed how carefully I put it together with humility and above all vulnerability. I wondered if she understand what I truly meant. I sincerely cared for her and would listen to her issues outside of my session. As delicately as I could, I wrote I can no longer balance your stuff while my own are brimming to the surface during my session.
In a nanosecond, my final analysis had been assimilated: she didn’t comprehend how difficult it was to write a letter about professional boundaries. She was considered the professional in this situation and I touched a raw, dangling nerve.
Our footsteps quickened over the unsteady bricks. There were pieces of me trailing behind like breadcrumbs.
Maybe the birds will gather them and bring them to me as soon as this dreamlike-nightmare ends.
Yet my heart spoke louder, I knew this conversation wasn’t getting better but worse. This was a battle of hurt and embarrassment. The semi-professional had crossed the line into a dark void. Her black cape swarmed and buzzed in my ears like cicadas.
Between two parked cars the berating conversation continued. I retreated further and further away from the scene. I disassociated into the tread on my tire. I kept most of the tears at the tip of an already full glass. Surface tension allowed for some spillage.
I don’t remember at least 98% of what she said, except it was mixed with poisonous darts and an occasional positive phrases: this is good….we need a break….you’ll be fine but the tone was confusingly suffused with anger and tainted with flames as her words hit my watery existence.
Minutes were suspended and then it was over as she purposefully walked away muttering something about tending to horse shit.
I vaguely remember getting into my car believing my foundation had been removed. I cried for the decades of no boundaries. I cried for subjecting myself to this sort of abuse. I cried because I trusted someone so full of potential and yet so damaging, calculating and readily able to dismiss me like refuse.
I was sabotaged.
In this therapeutic relationship, the boundaries began as a stable rock. The sun, wind, rain and storms eroded the rock. Her stuff, innocuous at first, seeped into our sessions. Her stories and thoughts took a little longer to share. Gently, I mentioned my concerns. Are you okay? Take care. Get some rest. You are dissolving from this space in time. My words were vaguely acknowledged.
In the past, a no-show session was conveniently attributed to Mercury retrograded and miscommunication—a phrase I later learned she abhorrently didn’t like others to use. Another time, my session was double booked: It was meant to be this way. Don’t take it personally. Come back in an hour or two.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t drive home if I wanted to I was breathing through a panic attack. She wasn’t trained to deal with this but pretended to be a therapist. (The unethical implications are a separate article to pursue.)
In our time together, we navigated a delicate dance and her steps were far more precise than mine. She lived in the shadows and knew how to dodge most bullets. Her expertise in most areas were focused and refined…yet she would come out occasionally a confused, hurt and angry child. It baffled me and brought out my empathy.
In hindsight, it was a mirror of me.
I symbolically took a pebble from the parking lot as a reminder this is where it began a year ago and where it ended.
That’s how I felt a few weeks ago—but now I see it as new opportunities because more doors are being opened to the next chapters ahead. I understand I have the tools to continue my yoga practice and meditation. I’m seeking help using several modalities of professional healing. Each person specifically trained to do what they say—I’m not relying on one person to be everything.
My story continues. My old patterns are changing. I’m no longer the person I was but I am finding who I am. My boundaries are becoming clear. I am compassionate, empathetic, caring, and loving.
I will not be mistreated or abused. I will listen to my intuition. It’s my choice this time to walk away.
Do no harm but take no shit!
I’m letting go of giving and caring for anyone who can’t be cared for and it’s okay. It’s more than okay. I am done protecting, promoting, rationalizing, defending and coaxing a person who is masquerading as powerful but is a bully in disguise—the trajectory was set in motion from the time we had met.
There are lessons to be learned from all who cross our path.
“You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.”
~ C. JoyBell C.
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Ed: Bryonie Wise