I’m not one to skirt around an issue; I plunge right into the jello-y center with a swan dive even Michael Phelps wouldn’t attempt. I don’t know where this comes from—this need to go straight to the heart of the matter—but I’ve learned not everyone handles things the same way. There are the avoiders, the neglectors, the sweep-it-under-the-rug types, and even the sashayers. None of them are invited to my party.
I want the toe-stepper-on-ers. The ones who knock over plates on white-clothed tables and just keep going. The dogged, the gritty, the “I’ll scoop up the bodies later” types.
So, what happened today that inspired this?
In a counseling session, I recapped what I’d heard in my own words. I clarified, repeated it back, and distilled everything down to one sentence: “Without revisiting this conversation, you can’t move forward.” The look of panic in their eyes said it all—they wanted to be anywhere but there. It was like watching a metaphorical ostrich search desperately for a hole to shove its head into. They sighed. They’d been caught, and running away was no longer an option.
Holding their hand from start to finish comes with a mix of emotions: frustration, exhaustion, relief, and joy. We did it.
But it’s not all rainbows and breakthroughs. There’s that moment, right before they lean in, where everything feels like it could tip the other way. It’s a delicate balance, knowing how hard to push, when to pull back, and when to just sit in silence. That’s the hardest part—the silence. When you feel the weight of the moment sitting between you, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. But I’ve learned that’s where the real change happens, in the pauses, in the discomfort.
It’s messy and complicated, but it’s real. And when they finally take that step, when they face the thing they’ve been avoiding, it’s like watching someone come up for air after being underwater for too long. That breath of relief, that small nod—it’s everything. The real work begins after that, but that first step? It’s monumental.
And in those moments, I’m reminded why I do what I do. Why I plunge into the mess with them. Because on the other side of that discomfort, there’s growth, healing, and the chance to move forward—together.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 