Balance check.

I arrived home wrung out. like I’d been rode hard one too many times and put away wet as we say in the horse business (hopefully you don’t have a dirty mind, or I’m sure you’re thinking other scenarios). As I have learned on my journey there are moments of clarity in therapy. They are so powerful, they do indeed have a physical and emotional impact. When they happen you know immediately. Not necessarily because of the emotions, since a lot of emotions are present in routine sessions but because there is an almost imperceptible shift on a core level. A loss of balance followed quickly by a check to find one’s bearings. Much like a gymnast on the balance beam when a routine movement ends up off course. the outward thrown arm there to check the balance and enable the routine to continue otherwise she falls to the floor. In the aftermath I usually have a deep bone tired feeling. who know’s, maybe it is from all the time spent holding on so hard. In the split second I answered Virgil I felt the shift. The room rocked. I looked for something to moor on. Anything. The reality, the truth lay clear as day in my deflection. I had not answered her, not really. But it was enough. We both knew what it was that I was saying.

I walked from session looking for ways to ground myself. There was a great yawning abyss waiting. It was leaning hard on my chest begging me to fall in. Pushing at me and I was so very tired in that moment. I could have walked away. I thought of that poor soul last week that paused mid-span on the bridge. I thought about how difficult this journey is about to become. About whether I even wanted to answer the questions once and for all and make decisions based on what I need and WANT, not what anyone else does. I told her I felt like I was hurtling toward something. Some thing. I just didn’t know what yet. It shadows me and I have the sense there are no brakes on this path.

I don’t know where this need to martyr myself comes from. Its power so strong and all-encompassing. For a selfish person that grew up far too spoiled it seems odd. The opposite of what should be. In the end I chose to sit in the truck and write. I dug around and found something and let my mind wander. I wrote. From my heart. The abyss drew away though I could not shrug the exhaustion despite my unburdening myself on those pages. The drive home felt more like a journey than the usual trip. I wanted nothing more than to lay down and rest my mind for a bit. To close my eyes and lose the proximity to all the unpleasantness. I will need a far tougher skin for this work though I realize it is huge that I even allowed myself to go where I went today. In therapy without vulnerability and pushing edges you don’t move on or grow. this was out on the edge for me and I know now is just my recovering from that.

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