I write to bring myself down. From up the wall. I coax the hundreds of mini wiggling fingers playing pianos on my chest to calm. Counseling got me all riled up, in a good way. My car of a body gets revved up for a variety of reasons, like when we stumble on an insight or when the momentum shifts in positive ways.
After session, I feel a little self-conscious reentering the household. The walk down the hall means I’m leaving behind another person’s world that’s still lingering in me to become somebody’s wife and somebody’s mother again.
Sometimes the excitement comes from years of working with someone and watching them work through a challenge I wondered if they’d ever be able to move through. Those moments are exhilarating. Like a child’s first steps.
Especially because I’ve been with them in the struggle. The weeks of hopelessness. The celebration. The win. The small step for one person, one giant leap for mental health. It makes me want to jump off the roof and fly.
Since that’s not an option, I do something similar to what I’m doing here: work out the energy. A run. A different mental task. A chore.
Now I think I’ll Tarzan-swing my way over to reading time before sleep. I’ll be seeing you later, gator.
Love,
Jaclynn
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