Welcome

I would stumble into your room, shell-shocked. Sit and try to breathe. Let your calm regard draw me out of my pressure suit. And vomit a bucket-load of pain at your feet.

In an hour I would go from wound tight and immobile, to open, to distraught, and to calm again.

And that was what we did. I did tears, and you did soothing. And you played goalie, and blocked my more savage attacks on my self.

But after the opening and in between the tears and while blocking shots, you planted seeds, with names like Acceptance, and Hope. And you carved a little sign and planted it on your consulting room floor, saying “You are welcome here”.

And then another, a little bit smaller, saying. “Yes, you. I do mean you.”.

One day as I was leaving you said: “You know you are welcome here, don’t you? The real you?”.

“Yes”.

“So I don’t need these signs anymore, do I?”

“No”

“I know someone who does.”

You gave those signs to me, and told me to plant them in my heart, so I would know I was welcome there too.

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