BIG FEELS ON LIVING LIKE TREES:
You don’t have to hurt yourself right now.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself lately when my mind circles back to stressful memories, unresolved feelings. A mindless picking at an old scab.
You don’t have to hurt yourself.
I find these thoughts, intrusive, creep up on me in moments of peace (in the silences held in brackets of contentment).
I got a new family doctor. I walked in and she said, “You’re very healthy!” I felt relieved, giddy.
Oh my god! I’m healthy!
An abrupt and confident answer to my question all my life of, “am I okay am I okay?” Here she was, in all her broad, blonde abruptness declaring that yes, I’m okay. Healthy, even!
It wasn’t until later that I questioned, “Why did she say that? How did she know?”
And also, “Why did I believe her?”
I’m trying out a new therapist. She is very kind and speaks slowly. I want someone who will move slow. I’m tired of the feeling of rolling down a hill headfirst. When I talk, she types fast. I wonder, “Is this what everyone talks about? Does she think I’m a weirdo?”
I used the word weirdo on the phone with my nephews the other day. They are four and six. They hadn’t heard the word weirdo before, but immediately they could tell how satisfying it would be to say. Like the first crunch of a bright apple, they sunk their teeth into it singing, “Weirdo, weirdo!” with absolute delight. I felt like I had slipped them contraband they weren’t meant to have, and felt bad for my sister, even though I could tell with a blink she had already forgiven me whatever hours of careful explanation and important lessons on “rude words” lie ahead of her.
I got a new therapist because the last one kept telling me how wise I was. I started to feel like I was meant to show up with only solutions. Now I feel full of problems again, trying to grasp them in one big bunch, like vegetables from the garden. I’m not sure which armfull is heavier to carry, all the problems, or all the solutions. I’d like to bury every last one back under sun-stripped earth, pretending I never ripped them from their dark home.
I wrote a love note yesterday, in an effort to break the habit of heaping hurt on myself, and instead, interrupting the thoughts to let the moment be as slow, kind, and joyous as it wants. It read:
You were meant to live like the trees. To be. To stretch out when there is sun, to brace yourself when there is wind, to absorb the rain, and turn it into more branches, so you can take in more sun again. That is all. That is all, my love.
Talk soon,
Natahna
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The Recommends: The show, Starstruck, on Crave (or HBO Max).