I walked into my therapist’s office and made myself comfortable on her cozy white couch. For over two years now I have claimed the exact same spot on that couch — slightly off center favoring the left side (my left not hers). Just walking into the office puts me at ease. It’s a safe place. It’s a place I can bring my worst and always leave feeling my best.
This time I sat down and she asked the question I’ve become familiar hearing: where do you find yourself today?
This time I smiled and said I’m fine. I’m actually good.
After I replied that I’m fine, she quickly followed up with another question I’ve become accustom to hearing: have you been writing?
I smiled again and said no.
You see, when I’m fine I find myself simply existing. I don’t feel drawn to write or to process things through my words.
But being fine is also brand new to me! It is a space I don’t exist in naturally. This has been my work lately.
A few weeks ago I visited my massage therapist excited and anxious to discover what work I needed to do. I couldn’t wait for her to uncover an imbalance in my body. The more she worked on me, the more she kept repeating you’re good. I was shocked. It wasn’t what I was expecting. It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted something to work on.
In my next appointment with my therapist I shared this. She listened and then smiled at me. You have to learn to be okay.
It’s common in people who have experienced trauma of any form. It’s a cycle of hurt and heal that so many of us get trapped in, and I can reflect back on all my adult years and see this cycle. Hurt. Heal. Hurt. Heal. I’ve always looked for my broken pieces, and I’ve dove head first into healing them. I’m always trying to fix myself.
Fixing myself implies that I’m broken.
Being broken implies that something is wrong with me.
Something wrong with me implies that I’m not okay.
And now I’m here.
And none of that feels good to me anymore.
What do you do when you realize you don’t have to fix everything?
What do you do when you realize you’re fine?
I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I can tell you what it feels like. It feels like hope. It feels like presence. It feels like the core of who I am is emerging. It feels like I’m capable of facing life. It feels like no matter what happens, everything is and always will be fine.
At my next appointment, when my therapist asks, I can say yes! Yes I’ve been writing. Maybe writing and fine can learn to compliment each other in my life.