Therapy was sensational. I began by grounding and felt this pressure on my head, like a loving hand or yamaka. Even though I felt a little tired and sad, I felt grounded and resourced. My whole back, butt, and feet felt really stable too; regardless of the whirling dervish of emotions in my heart.
I discovered a vast warehouse of space behind the anxiety in my chest that brought a tingling sensation to my nose.
But no tears.
I described the evening I spent with my separate selves, holding and cajoling them. My therapist cried with me. She said a word that resonated with me deeply:
If I had a theme, this would be it. And it is why I work with the kids that I do. The foster and at -risk youth; the children society has disregarded.
Afterward, I met with Jon, my first boyfriend from when I was 16 years old, at a cafe near me. I asked him to tell me his version of our story.
His was so different than mine. He said I was the love of his life. He had super fond memories of me. He loved me passionately. He told me that I taught him about spirituality and when he left to go back to Vassar College, he wanted me to go with him and go to High School in Poughkeepsie. I have no recollection of this. I remember him cheating on me, abandoning me, and being violent. He said he came back from college looking for me, but I would have nothing to do with him. He would run miles in the middle of the night, drunk, to my house, because I refused to pick him up.
He apologized for being volatile. Said he no longer was.
He saw me as a very aggressive, sexy, and intelligent woman who was way beyond her sixteen years of age.
As I walked him to his car, he said that I deserved to be with someone who was not married and that he was going to fight for this if that was okay with me.
I nodded quietly.
I did not know what to say.