I sat across from *George in the psych office we usually meet in.
I took in his kind eyes, his familiar face and the way I love - and have always loved - how his cheeks bunch up into little...let's go with balloons...when he smiles.
And George smiles a lot.
Part of why I like him and look up to him so much.
Today's session was particularly hard. It reminded me of whenever I show Alun a bruise and the first thing he always does - is reach out and poke it.
George did that today with my emotional bruises.
Curiously poked them.
It wasn't fun.
"You've grown and matured so much in the last year, Janet" He said, smiling one of his familiar wise smiles
I felt really blessed by this assessment. It's not often I get a compliment from George.
"You're finding ways to be more comfortable in your own skin...more accepting... and this is a really good thing" he continued, pressing his fingertips together and raising curious eyebrows slightly over the rim of his glasses.
Ok.
"I want you to think of what you'd say if you met yourself" He challenged.
"Which myself?" I asked "From right now - or in the past? How old is 'myself' in this scenario?"
George smiled and breathed out.
"Let's say you meet you - as you are right now"
Hmm.
I went through about 10 different feelings and emotions all at once - all within milliseconds.
First of all, came the red flags.
I don't want to meet me!
I hate me.
That was the first instinct. The first feeling.
Then, compassion.
You're not that bad.
Hmm. I'm not that bad.
It would be okay to meet me...wouldn't it?
Me as I am right now, though?
Followed by doubt and deep regret.
I'm so fat.
I didn't used to be. I used to be quite the head-turner.
Why did I allow myself to get so fat? When did I give up on caring what I looked like?
Is that what I'd say to me? "You got fat"?
George was talking. I could see his lips moving and hear the warm timbre of his voice carry out across the space between us, but I didn't know what he was saying, because all my attention was on a image forming in my mind.
A very strong, clear image.
A sunny, bright spring day - with the hint of a slight chill in the wind. I could feel the wind gently caress my arm - as if saying "I'm here...but it's okay". I could see a busy but beautiful street and what catches my eye is the sunlight glinting (is that a word? Glinting?) and bouncing off big glass windows.
The windows of a café.
I see the chairs - dark brown wicker chairs with cream wicker bases and dark wood wrapped around itself in curves. The café tables match.
In the background, George's voice "What would you say to her - to this other you that's just like you? Would you be pleased you had so much in common?"
Back to my vision. I see her. I see ME. As I am. With my hair extensions, my face and something that strikes me as odd...
...because I like the warmth in my brown eyes. The sincerity.
Yes, I'm overweight...but looking at me as an outsider - apart from me - I see that I carry it well. I could definitely do with losing 20 kilos. Definitely.
But I'm not ugly.
Not as ugly as I thought I'd be when I met me.
The scene of the outdoor 'alfresco' café tables and chairs has changed to inside the café. Warm and decorated lovingly in brown/neutral tones with books lining the walls, the smell of coffee and old, loved pages, magazines scattered and a long sitting bench - made of wood that's a red/brown - almost 'treacle' colour. So rich and warm.
She and I are standing face to face.
The same height.
The same wariness in our eyes "Who is this? Will she hurt me?"
In the background, George's voice "The wariness is because you don't want to be hurt. You feel exposed so you want to keep your defences up"
...and I realise I must have been talking about how I'm feeling as I'm viewing this scene that's unfolding before me.
George's voice fades again - slipping silently away like a stranger out of an Opera theatre.
We assess each other.
She and I.
Me and Me.
I feel it.
All the pain we've been through.
All the times we've felt unwanted...inadequate.
It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. It hurts to remember...to know.
"What would you say to her - to you?" George is asking gently. So gently.
"I can't" I hear myself saying "I can't do this"
George. It's too painful.
"Would you be friendly? Inviting? Would you want to be friends? To make a connection?"
I picture instantly the me I was in 2009...thin, gorgeous, sexy.
I picture that me looking at me as I am now and shaking her head sadly "What became of us, J?" she'd ask.
I'd look at her slim body, caramel skin, no blemish yet on her leg - no burn mark that angrily takes up most of her left calf. I take in her narrow hips, the sexy subtle curve of her waist and how damn fine she looks head to toe and I wouldn't be able to offer an explanation.
I used to be so beautiful.
2009 me - my favourite version of myself - smiles and it lights up her whole face. Her hair - all natural, lightly brushes her defined shoulders. I can't get over how naturally breathtaking I was. I feel sadness that I didn't know it at the time. That I still questioned myself - even then.
"Would you like the similarities in you and you...or find it...confronting?" George is asking in the background. He's only a few metres away in his chair...but now that I'm looking at a scene in my mind of 2009 Janet walking away with a cheeky wink and a smile...her hips swaying rhythmically as she retreats...George sounds as if he's merely talking through a long-distance phone call to me. Patchy and distant...hardly audible at all.
But there, nonetheless.
Who I am now is the sum of everything I've been through, everyone I know, everyone who's touched my life, inspired me, hurt me, burnt me and rescued me.
I am my brother's utter disdain and deep disappointment.
I am my Mom's high hopes.
I am my Dad's conundrum.
I am Alun's best friend.
I am Jonathan's heartache.
I am ugly.
I used to be so beautiful. (Maybe I can one day be beautiful again?)
I am overweight.
I am going to the gym to change that :)
I am a good friend. Loyal and loving.
I am a bitter, twisted, sarcastic person.
I'm hilarious.
I'm impulsive
I'm both a romantic dreamer and a stubborn pessimist.
I'm a philanthropist.
I'm a writer (a damn good one!), a teacher at heart...and a poet
I'm a DAMN GOOD SINGER.
I'm my favourite person to be with.
I am - at my core - both thankful and deeply unhappy.
This is who I am.
As George's familiar voice rolls over me once again, I see a final image.
I see the two me's - of who I am and what I look like - good and bad - right now - lean towards each other. Brown foreheads touch and brown arms encircle each other.
No words are said.
But we know. We've both been there, and we both understand.
...and you know what?
We're both going to be okay.
I took in his kind eyes, his familiar face and the way I love - and have always loved - how his cheeks bunch up into little...let's go with balloons...when he smiles.
And George smiles a lot.
Part of why I like him and look up to him so much.
Today's session was particularly hard. It reminded me of whenever I show Alun a bruise and the first thing he always does - is reach out and poke it.
George did that today with my emotional bruises.
Curiously poked them.
It wasn't fun.
"You've grown and matured so much in the last year, Janet" He said, smiling one of his familiar wise smiles
I felt really blessed by this assessment. It's not often I get a compliment from George.
"You're finding ways to be more comfortable in your own skin...more accepting... and this is a really good thing" he continued, pressing his fingertips together and raising curious eyebrows slightly over the rim of his glasses.
Ok.
"I want you to think of what you'd say if you met yourself" He challenged.
"Which myself?" I asked "From right now - or in the past? How old is 'myself' in this scenario?"
George smiled and breathed out.
"Let's say you meet you - as you are right now"
Hmm.
I went through about 10 different feelings and emotions all at once - all within milliseconds.
First of all, came the red flags.
I don't want to meet me!
I hate me.
That was the first instinct. The first feeling.
Then, compassion.
You're not that bad.
Hmm. I'm not that bad.
It would be okay to meet me...wouldn't it?
Me as I am right now, though?
Followed by doubt and deep regret.
I'm so fat.
I didn't used to be. I used to be quite the head-turner.
Why did I allow myself to get so fat? When did I give up on caring what I looked like?
Is that what I'd say to me? "You got fat"?
George was talking. I could see his lips moving and hear the warm timbre of his voice carry out across the space between us, but I didn't know what he was saying, because all my attention was on a image forming in my mind.
A very strong, clear image.
A sunny, bright spring day - with the hint of a slight chill in the wind. I could feel the wind gently caress my arm - as if saying "I'm here...but it's okay". I could see a busy but beautiful street and what catches my eye is the sunlight glinting (is that a word? Glinting?) and bouncing off big glass windows.
The windows of a café.
I see the chairs - dark brown wicker chairs with cream wicker bases and dark wood wrapped around itself in curves. The café tables match.
In the background, George's voice "What would you say to her - to this other you that's just like you? Would you be pleased you had so much in common?"
Back to my vision. I see her. I see ME. As I am. With my hair extensions, my face and something that strikes me as odd...
...because I like the warmth in my brown eyes. The sincerity.
Yes, I'm overweight...but looking at me as an outsider - apart from me - I see that I carry it well. I could definitely do with losing 20 kilos. Definitely.
But I'm not ugly.
Not as ugly as I thought I'd be when I met me.
The scene of the outdoor 'alfresco' café tables and chairs has changed to inside the café. Warm and decorated lovingly in brown/neutral tones with books lining the walls, the smell of coffee and old, loved pages, magazines scattered and a long sitting bench - made of wood that's a red/brown - almost 'treacle' colour. So rich and warm.
She and I are standing face to face.
The same height.
The same wariness in our eyes "Who is this? Will she hurt me?"
In the background, George's voice "The wariness is because you don't want to be hurt. You feel exposed so you want to keep your defences up"
...and I realise I must have been talking about how I'm feeling as I'm viewing this scene that's unfolding before me.
George's voice fades again - slipping silently away like a stranger out of an Opera theatre.
We assess each other.
She and I.
Me and Me.
I feel it.
All the pain we've been through.
All the times we've felt unwanted...inadequate.
It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. It hurts to remember...to know.
"What would you say to her - to you?" George is asking gently. So gently.
"I can't" I hear myself saying "I can't do this"
George. It's too painful.
"Would you be friendly? Inviting? Would you want to be friends? To make a connection?"
I picture instantly the me I was in 2009...thin, gorgeous, sexy.
I picture that me looking at me as I am now and shaking her head sadly "What became of us, J?" she'd ask.
I'd look at her slim body, caramel skin, no blemish yet on her leg - no burn mark that angrily takes up most of her left calf. I take in her narrow hips, the sexy subtle curve of her waist and how damn fine she looks head to toe and I wouldn't be able to offer an explanation.
I used to be so beautiful.
2009 me - my favourite version of myself - smiles and it lights up her whole face. Her hair - all natural, lightly brushes her defined shoulders. I can't get over how naturally breathtaking I was. I feel sadness that I didn't know it at the time. That I still questioned myself - even then.
"Would you like the similarities in you and you...or find it...confronting?" George is asking in the background. He's only a few metres away in his chair...but now that I'm looking at a scene in my mind of 2009 Janet walking away with a cheeky wink and a smile...her hips swaying rhythmically as she retreats...George sounds as if he's merely talking through a long-distance phone call to me. Patchy and distant...hardly audible at all.
But there, nonetheless.
Who I am now is the sum of everything I've been through, everyone I know, everyone who's touched my life, inspired me, hurt me, burnt me and rescued me.
I am my brother's utter disdain and deep disappointment.
I am my Mom's high hopes.
I am my Dad's conundrum.
I am Alun's best friend.
I am Jonathan's heartache.
I am ugly.
I used to be so beautiful. (Maybe I can one day be beautiful again?)
I am overweight.
I am going to the gym to change that :)
I am a good friend. Loyal and loving.
I am a bitter, twisted, sarcastic person.
I'm hilarious.
I'm impulsive
I'm both a romantic dreamer and a stubborn pessimist.
I'm a philanthropist.
I'm a writer (a damn good one!), a teacher at heart...and a poet
I'm a DAMN GOOD SINGER.
I'm my favourite person to be with.
I am - at my core - both thankful and deeply unhappy.
This is who I am.
As George's familiar voice rolls over me once again, I see a final image.
I see the two me's - of who I am and what I look like - good and bad - right now - lean towards each other. Brown foreheads touch and brown arms encircle each other.
No words are said.
But we know. We've both been there, and we both understand.
...and you know what?
We're both going to be okay.
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