Absentmindedly, I started with “The client…” then stopped. This isn’t a progress note, an account for an insurance company to approve or deny. This is fun. This is where I play and chiropractically adjust my psyche, so delete, delete, delete, and start again.
Work was heavy this morning. The stories of pain hit into my own, of a time in childhood in a too-sterile hospital bed, and the force used against my tiny body, against my screaming will, to get a thermometer in my rectum.
Stories of vulnerability met with lack of consent and abuse of power—ooh, how they get my panties in a bunch. To the point, I want to bazooka all contributing players in the person’s memory into imaginary obliteration.
I’m a fan of anger. Specifically, directing it strongly and accurately at the themes and processes that lead to unwanted experiences. Anger, when used well, isn’t destruction. It’s advocacy. Calling out the sparks that led to the fire settles feelings of injustice. With insight and understanding, our wounds breathe a sigh of relief, thankful to be heard, thankful to be seen.
Unpacking, processing, healing the inner child—those are just a few names for what that is. But to me, it’s so much more. It’s awakening and freeing the parts of ourselves locked in basements. It’s whispering to their weak, zombie-like selves back into existence.
On their own time, they’re called to join us in the here and now. To rejoice at no longer being imprisoned by what was, and to embrace what is and the possibility of what could be.
I love hope, and the way it takes the “never to be” and sprouts it into something possible.
Post sessions, I debriefed with Dave over a large bowl of oatmeal, chunked bananas, and soy milk. It wasn’t too much, I told him, but just right, and still, the content, well, it was intense.
I share this because sharing also matters.
We may have survived alone, but today we thrive together.
Love, Jaclynn