Page 96 of Lily In The Valley
He was quiet for a second, chewing. “I think I missed a lot of signs. Stuff I should’ve asked about. You just…you just always had it together. Me and your mama saw it as a blessing.”
I looked at my food. “We all missed stuff.”
“Yep,” he said, sipping some of his coffee. “You ready for your session today?”
“Yeah, but it might be a little tough.”
“Why is that? Don’t you just sit on the couch and talk?”
“Not quite.” I laughed. “My therapist takes a body-centered approach. You don’t just talk. You feel. Move through it.”
“Sounds hard,” he said, polishing off his plate.
“It is.”
He knocked on the table, like he was trying to enter a door neither of us wanted to open.
“I know you’re angry,” he started. “At me. At your mama. At everything. You don’t have to carry that alone anymore.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. He squeezed my hand, rough and warm. “Whatever comes up today, let it. Don’t try to be strong. Just be real.”
Ms. Reece'soffice was too calm for what I was feeling. Warm wood floors. Shelves filled with worn books and other random objects. A diffuser puffed out something herbal and grounding. Eucalyptus and frankincense maybe. The sun came in through gauzy curtains. In the corner, a faint trickle sounded from the tabletop fountain. Everything in the room said,you are safe.
But my body said,run.
I sat on the low couch, legs crossed at the knees, hands gripping my sides like I might float away. Ms. Reece sat across from me, house shoes adorning her feet like this was her living room and not an office in a medical building.
“How are we feeling today?”
“I’m not exactly in the mood to leave feeling drained, but here I am.” I shrugged.
“Don’t think of it as leaving drained. See it as releasing the old to make room for the new.”
I nodded. “If it keeps me from unraveling in front of people, I’ll take it.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “I think you’ve spent more than enough time trying to be palatable to others. Performing perfection. Let’s get a little messy.” She had a glint to her eyes that made me nervous.
I didn’t answer but my jaw clenched. That was my problem. My life was already a mess. How would getting messier help?
“I want to try something different today,” she said, reaching for a spiral-bound notebook and a thick black marker. “No journaling. I know you don’t like that. But no talking either. Just scribble.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Scribble?”
“Yes. With your dominant hand. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Your only job is to move your hand. Don’t think. Don’t write out words. Just let your body respond.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Good. That means your ego’s on alert. Let’s see if we can get beneath it.”
I took the notebook in my left hand and held the marker like it was a foreign object. My fingers curled awkwardly around the barrel. Ms. Reece waited until I put the tip to paper, then she began.
“What did it feel like to hear your parents fighting through the walls?”
Immediately, I looked down at the paper and marker, a blackened dot growing as I processed the question.
“Stop thinking, Kelly, and scribble. What did it feel like hearing your parents fighting through the walls?”
I glitched, then exhaled, staring back at Ms. Reece. “You don’t have an easier question we can start with?”
“I told you we’re getting to the root today. We don’t have time for easy. Scribble.”
