The Space in Which to Feel our Deepest Pain.
She’s incredible. If you were to meet her, you’d never understand the depth of the emotions that she’s feeling.
Most of us, almost all of us, would have crumpled to the floor with the weight of all that she carries, yet 99% of the time she smiles, serves others, and carries herself with a grace and composure that is beyond my understanding.
I stand in awe of her.
Yet when she entered my office earlier this week, it wasn’t 99% of the time. As she laid on a therapy table, you could hear her weeping gently over the sound of the rollers and the vibration.
As the timer concluded, and the table fell silent, she arose from her rest, and with tears running down her face, she took a tissue from the counter and asked one simple question that has moved me more than any other asked in my office.
“Why is it that I always start to cry when I come in here?”
In her own inimitable way, my sweet wife, who runs our front desk, simply looked back at the woman holding a tissue to her face, and simply answered her with “because you know you can”.
I stopped, and tried to hold back my own emotions, as my sympathy for this woman who carries so much mingled with a deep sense of gratitude that we are, in some small way, holding a space of kindness in a world that seems so bereft of it.
I walked forward, and held her as she cried.
The hardest part was knowing that there is almost nothing we can do to help, except extend our love and be there in any way that we can. The burden she carries, as time ticks forward, will only get heavier.
In the coming months, she will live through an event that at this time seems as inevitable as it is heart-wrenching. Although many stand ready to assist and uplift her, there is nothing that any of us can do to stop that which will come to pass.
Except hold her, and hold a space for her to cry.
As I took her back into the room for treatment, she sat quietly and we talked for a while. With a voice strong despite her tears she spoke to me, and I did my best to help her. I offered my thoughts, and asked her gentle questions.
In our brief time together, we spoke of the things that she is doing to prepare, and I asked her quietly about how she was looking after herself.
Because someone who is so totally focused on the needs of others has a tendency to neglect the needs of herself.
Our conversation moved gently through the things that are in place for the events of the future, and suggestions of things that may yet prove of worth.
She was gently weeping as she left my office, but I hope that in some small way, our conversation, and more importantly the space in which she felt safe to cry, were of help to her in a time that can feel so helpless.
Because sometimes, there’s nothing we can do, except be there in the darkness with someone, and help them to feel less alone, and give them a place to freely feel that which they are feeling, knowing that instead of judgment, they will receive love; instead of condemnation, they will receive understanding; and that instead of platitudes, they can be held in silence.
And given a gentle place to feel.
(In case you’re wondering, I did ask her if it was okay to write about this, and being the amazing person that she is, she willingly gave her consent. Like I told you, she incredible).
— Dr. Alan Barnes
@maddrbmusings