“My head is fine. My body isn’t.”
These words were the mantra of a confused thirteen year old girl who faked at being fine most of the time, but occasionally let slip that something was very wrong; something she couldn’t and didn’t dare name. So, she spoke in code, lived in disguise, and managed to mask a broken body with a show of strength and will.
That girl was me. She is the reason I am a therapist. She was smarter than she knew, braver than she realized, and foolish enough to think she could heal without a single person knowing she was wounded. It sometimes feels as if she sits with me and my clients, guiding us toward understanding and compassion. Girls, boys, kids of all genders are wiser than we give them credit for. They and their ever-flexible nervous systems are observing and absorbing the world. They have much to teach us. Our task is first to listen, then to learn, and then to act. It took me longer than I wish to admit to listen, learn, and act on behalf of my younger self. I know now that it is never too late to change.
I am a little older than thirteen now (fifty-three in fact). I live with my husband near Portland, Maine, where we have been since 1993. We raised two kids who are now off on their own. We now keep the company of our two Newfoundland dogs. When you can’t have muddy messy kids why not have muddy furry, slobbery enormous dogs?