My therapist has been working through the layers of me for several months, trying to find who I was, buried under everything that is life. Buried under work, bills, the wife, the family, three cars, two cats, a monthly mortgage. After that I lost count.
I told him that, “I lost count, you know.” In that session, on that day, “I lost count, you know.”
You’d think it would be infuriating, and I’d have pitched a fit, when he said, “I know. That’s why you’re here.” But I didn’t.
“You’ve been coming here for months.”
“Why are you here? What’s in it for you?”
I don’t know how long I stared at my hands when he asked that. I don’t know how long I stopped breathing. Everything froze. Even time, I think.
He didn’t ask a second time. He waited. As if saying, “I have nothing but time. I can wait. When you’re ready, I’ll listen.”
“I lost something.” He knew when to talk, and when to wait. “I’m trying to find what I lost.”
He nodded. The man had a quietness, and more patience than I’d ever seen in anyone.
“What’s in it for me?” I froze up again. I swear my heart stopped beating. Until I hear myself, “I lost me. And now, I’m trying to find me.”
That’s when he told me it would all be OK. “Because, you finally know why you’re here. And you can finally admit it to yourself.”
It’s Week 416 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. And more words in whatever it is that’s writing itself have turned up. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.