I have worked with many wonderful therapists over the years, but this new one is especially gifted.
She smiles at me like Miss Honey from “Matilda” and holds space for all my younger selves, and for my tears, as if I am not a burden, but rather, a flower that only needs some sun and water to finally grow.
When I sit with her, I feel her almost cusping the cheeks of my younger selves and telling us that we are okay—that we are safe now.
I didn’t search for this therapist. Instead, I stumbled upon her one day online.
After searching and searching for the right therapist these last two years, it has truly felt as if she was sent to me from an angel and that all the stars are beginning to finally align.
I showed up to my therapy session today thinking maybe we would talk and do a grid activity she had planned, but the session went a different direction.
Instead, she asked if I would be okay with doing something new.
I said yes, and so she held her fist up to the camera and asked me to envision transferring the pain from my right shoulder and arm into her fist.
I wasn’t sure what we were doing, but I did as she said and began to smile and then cry.
Fisted tightly, my therapist kept her hand up for 10 minutes, guiding me every once in a while to continue looking at it as she looked down and away from me.
As the minutes passed and the tears came, my shoulder relaxed, and there was more clarity to my sight.
Clenched tightly in her fist were my shoulder pain and all the experiences that had caused it.
As I stared at this thing I had been carrying for so long, her hand seemed to grow.
Flashbacks came, as did the pain, sadness, and anger I felt toward this thing she was gripping.
As I stared at her hand longer, I envisioned the face of someone who hurt me deeply.
I could see this person snapping and attempting to grab me, but they were out of reach.
She had them in her fist.
My feet still wanted to run, but my torso felt like mine, and my vision sharpened more.
When my therapist finally peeked up at me, I looked at her with tears in my eyes.
She smiled lovingly at me, and the little girls inside me wanted to hug her.
She then asked what I’d like her to do with her fist, and I said she could let it go.
Slowly, one finger at a time, she began to open her palm until it was free and red.
She then began to move it gently, as if to take her hand back and let the thing float away.
When she looked into my eyes one final time, I thanked her and told her she has a gift.
After I said goodbye, I closed my computer and cried as I took in all the colors around me.
The trees were a vivid green I had not seen in a long time, and I could finally feel all of me present in my body.
Before I got up, I put my hand on my heart and did the breathing my therapist had taught me, tracing up my left arm to my ear as I inhaled and down through my heart as I exhaled. I then held myself and said, “I got you, Rebe,” to the little girl inside me.
Just like Miss Honey in “Matilda,” this therapist has given me sun and water.
And just like Matilda, I, too, will finally grow into the flower I am supposed to be.
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