“Can you just give me a hug?” I say as I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins. I feel tears coming. I feel scared. I feel grief taking over my body. I feel anxiety. Sometimes, anger and frustration.
What I can’t feel is where I begin and end. I imagine not having edges and my body becoming round but unstructured; a blob.
She lets go after awhile and I don’t trust my self-hug to hold my body together. I am positive I will turn into a puddle and I struggle to quiet rising anxiety the moment I can’t feel her arms around me. My chest drops into my stomach: I’m still not okay.
“Uhm, can you not… let go?” I stumble, worried my needs are too much. She doesn’t hesitate and the second time around I can feel my whole body calm. I can feel my boundaries. I do begin and end and it isn’t too much. My breathing starts to match hers. I feel safe. Safe and loved and ready to keep trying.
This gives me permission to feel my emotions. To talk. To allow my authentic self to emerge. To heal, and to have support I totally trust.