I sorely miss freely letting little-me have a voice.
I miss my faux fur weighted blanket that softens the blow of “flight” when anxiety rises. I miss being handed my bunny when little-me is stuck, or crying, or scared. I miss the I Love You All Ways children’s book that gets pulled out when you know I need it. I miss feeling grounded on the repurposed RV cushions, staring at the string of lights hastily put up underneath the closet shelf, and the constant sound of white noise.
I miss the after-session journal: pen to paper, and reading your words to me.
I miss all of these together and knowing we will do whatever I need to do in that space—scream, shake, cry, eat, breathe, yoga, hold hands, push hands, make a fort…and that there will always be hugs.
Most of all, I miss the moment when you know little-me is trying to be with you and you pull me in, letting her know she is so loved and safe.
It has been 11 hard days of wondering if we’ll ever meet in your office, in the closet, with all our things, again. Wondering if I’ll ever feel safe enough to come back. Wondering how this can possibly be recreated elsewhere, and feeling so heartbroken that it is even an issue.