When the bad happens

I sat upright in my bed, fluffing the cushions to resemble some sort of armchair. Reaching for my headphone wires that resembled my life (scrambled), I plugged myself in.

It’s 6pm on a Wednesday.

It’s therapy time.

For six years I have worked with the same therapist and due to that length of time, our relationship has altered, deepened, and grown - as much as it can with the one-sided nature of therapeutic consultation.

Over the years, she has observed and traced the hills of my life. From childhood to now, we have explored the peaks and troughs; the darkness of the bottom, and the exhilarating panoramic views at the top. Life in all its beautiful disasters.

Patterns, circles, and repetitions will always show up in life. Crop circles around your being. What is fascinating about the privilege of consistent self-work, is the ability to witness and recognise them, and the clarity it brings with every decision dedicated to yourself.

 The other month, two of my repeating and biggest fears – of which govern many of my life actions and decision making – happened within the space of 12 hours.

 One punch to the stomach.

Bang, go again.

Leave her unconscious this time.

Before this happened, they were just fiction - I had been rehearsing them like a dance in my subconscious. As heavy as lead, as tangible as air.

But that was over. They came to surface. And they came together. A piercing alarm clock to my life.

I have always imagined a spontaneous combustion if my big fears came true. A dramatic bursting into flames; nothing left but dust. My sentence on repeat for the past six years in my therapists office has been ‘I wouldn’t cope. I couldn’t do it. I don’t know what I’d do’

 Guess what?

 I coped.

I am doing it.

I don’t know what I’m doing…but I never have done. But no one ever does.

Through this period of immense pain and growth, I am realising my bones are not brittle. I am no where near weak. I am not delicate.

No longer pretending to be made of glass, I realise I am wax or water. I bend and mould. I fall to the floor, and I rise again.

 I feel it all, but I do not perish. I go again.

And my therapist finished one of the sessions with this delicate question that packed a punch.

“For all these years two of your big fears have finally happened. And what has it taught you?”

“That I can trust myself. That I don’t need to be so scared.”

“Right. And so, you’ve completed it. The anxiety, it’s done. You survived. So you have two options. Find another thing to worry about, or don’t…what will you choose?”

I’ll leave that there, just for you…