Today I needed a real, genuine, unforced, pull-me-in hug.
The only non-strangers I saw today were my mom, who barely said 5 words to me at a distance, and my husband, who just wasn’t aware.
The little girl in me is wondering if my mom even loves me—it doesn’t feel like it.
And everything with my therapist being up in the air, day-by-day, is unsettling. I can feel walls coming up. I can feel the panic of the little parts of me—afraid the separation from our space in her office is unrecoverable.
I got a manicure today; an out of the ordinary event, for an upcoming wedding. As the nail tech was holding my hand, I was taken back by how intense his touch felt. And I realized it’s the little part of me—feeling hurt my mom doesn’t get how to love me coupled with the separation I’m feeling and fearing from my therapist—desperate to be held.
I’m afraid a bunch of tiny cracks in the windshield are going to join together, creating one giant unrepairable crack.
And that doesn’t feel at all good to any part of me, but especially the little parts that just need space to cry and be held, securely, safely.