A Different View

An appointment with Ari the Therapist yesterday. I launched into the Dee and Dave story and told him about the dream. I gave into a little rant.

"I'm fidgety," I said. "I've been fidgety all my life. When I was in elementary and junior high, people made merciless fun of me. Because I was fidgeting and twitching - I couldn't sit still, so I'd play with my hair or my eyebrows or my eyelashes. For crying out loud, when I was in the seventh grade, I played with the hair on my knees! Nobody told me not to do these things. I didn't know."

I paused for breath and Ari said, "Well, I think you need to add an 'H' to the ADD."

Apparently, if a mental illness has initials, I have it. They could be my monogram. The world's longest monogram. The world's most medicated monogram.

Suddenly, Ari became very still, quiet and serious. He told me how I'd projected onto Dave any one of the unpleasant things that have happened in my life. "Or he was projecting onto you a situation he'd had. But understand that what you thought happened probably didn't. It may well be that you both misread the situation. And in any case, what does it matter what this person thinks of you?"

I was quiet. I was thinking. I got the message.

Ari's mood of settling calm and quiet remained. "In the past when you've come to me, it's been for...kind of a tune-up. You'll come for a few sessions until you're feeling more stable and then go. I understand and appreciate that, and I know that lately it has largely been due to financial reasons. But what do you think about doing some real, hard work?"

I took a deep breath. There was more coming and I knew it.

"What I would like to see," Ari said, "is Becs loving Becs as she is right now, at this moment. Your appearance doesn't enter into it. Your background is a factor to consider in getting to this point, but it isn't who you are. I would like to see you love yourself, to see yourself as others see you."

And instantly, Cousin Karen came to mind.

Yes, she is very overweight, has a skin condition, doesn't wear makeup, doesn't take care of herself. But that's just what people see.

I know that she is beautiful. I love her. I want her to see how beautiful she is. Her spirit, her heart, her kindness, the vast reservoir of love she has, it makes her uniquely, wonderfully Karen. No one could be Karen but Karen. No one can love the way Karen does, or go all soppy over cats and puppies (Karen just got a puppy. A tiny one.) No one can sew like Karen and put together fabric combinations like she does.

I have tried to help her see this - this wonderfulness, this precious uniqueness that is such a good thing to have in this world. I want her to value it and herself. I want her to see that who she is, is precious and good.

And then I thought - oh. Maybe there are people out there who feel that way about me. Maybe there are people in my life who have drifted away because I haven't seen the uniqueness of Becs and they got tired of trying to make me see it. I haven't loved that precious quality that makes me, me.

I looked at Ari. I began to understand.

"Are you willing to do this? It isn't going to be easy," he said. "Are you willing?"

And I thought of David Copperfield (Dickens, not the magician) and 'Barkas is willing', but decided not to mention it.

Was I ready? Am I ready?

I said yes.