Page 55 of The Other Side of Wild
I didn’t hear anyone knock; I’m semi convinced there’s no one there. Curiosity wins over, and I look through the peephole. Sitting in the middle of the hallway is a bag and. Lord almighty! Freaking coffee. I swing the door open and grab the bag and coffee before the door slams shut behind me. I do a little shimmy happy dance at the first sip of liquid gold.
I start to open the bag when I notice the piece of paper stapled to the top. I stare at it for longer than necessary, convincing myself I’ve all of a sudden forgotten how to read. Because there’s no way this piece of paper says what my brain is telling me it says. “Thinking about you, Kitten.” It hasn’t even been twenty four hours since I saw him at the lighthouse.
My arms brace on the kitchen island; my head hangs heavy in front of me. I grab my phone and check the time once more. I have an appointment with Megan in about an hour. I can make it until then without losing my sanity. At least, I think I can. I feel like I’m on the precipice of something life-changing. This is the moment I finally let it all go; I can either spread my wings and fly or crash and burn. Guess we’ll find out soon.
I empty the contents of the bag; of course, there’s a blueberry muffin. But what warms my shriveled raisin of a heart is the smaller bag of pumpkin dog treats for my girl. It would be so much easier if I could just hate this guy, but he’s too good of a man for me to feel anything but adoration for.
Handing Harley her treat, I devour the muffin and get ready for therapy. At this point, I desperately need it. My mind is a mess; I’m somewhere in limbo. After my session I have to talk to Nora. Strangely, I feel nothing but peace about it; she’s not a cruel boss. While I know there will be disappointment, I know this is the right move for me.
“Have you been eating?” I don’t even have both feet inside Megan’s office before she lobs that question up and smacks it down like she’s serving in a volleyball match.
“Hello, so very nice to see you as well. It’s beautiful outside. November in Florida is my favorite. It’s not as humid, so I can make it more than two blocks without looking like I lathered myself in bacon grease.” Her left eyebrow arched in question. I drop myself in the egg chair I’ve claimed as my own over the years. Pulling my legs in, I get comfortable because I know everything else is about to be anything but. “Yes, I am eating.”
She hasn’t picked up her pen or her notebook yet, and the way she’s cataloging every part of me is unsettling. “There’s something different here. It’s your eyes.”
I snort, “Gee, thanks. I felt like going with light makeup today. Guess that was a bad decision.” One hand starts to pick at the skin on the thumb of my other hand.
It's quiet for a second; I look up a second before Megan squats before me, placing her hands over mine. “No, Hannah, you look beautiful as always. But there’s life in your eyes. I haven’t seen that in a long time.” I drop my head again, trying to accurately piece together the words to describe how I’m feeling. I mean, how do you describe the freedom you feel almost a decade after losing your dad? How do you explain how genuinely happy you feel after going home? How it felt to have friends show up because they were worried aboutyou?
She doesn’t move from her place in front of me, and I couldn’t tell you how long I sat there after the tears started. She holds space for me to process in a safe environment. It’s as refreshing as it is healing. To know there’s no judgment, there’s no “pull yourself together,” or my personal favorite, “I didn’t know you were so weak.”
“I don’t even know where to start, Meg. I’m like one of those rubber band balls. But I’m being pulled in 20 different directions at the same time.” She sits on the floor in front of me, hands still grasping mine.
“Okay, what’s the most prominent emotion?” I shake my head slightly, running my tongue across my upper lip to catch some of the tears that are falling.
“I don’t know. It changes depending on the day. It’s a battle between anger, disappointment, and the most shocking of them all, hope.” The signature therapist hum leaves her as I finally look at her, and her eyes are filled with compassion.
“I understand the anger and disappointment you may be feeling, but would it be okay if we unpacked the hope? That’s a positive emotion, one I know you try to keep locked up and thrown in the dungeon.”
I’ve never met anyone who loves fantasy books like Megan. They’re all over her office; I’m pretty sure she was in on that whole vampire and werewolf trend back in the day. “I didn’t know dungeons and dragons were in my cards today, but sure. However, it might be more of a battleship situation. See how many buttons you can hit before I explode.”
Her smile blinds me, “There she is! Hope let’s hear it. What makes you feel hopeful? What are you actually hoping for?” She pulls her knees up, crosses at the ankles, and wraps her arms around them. Smiling at me like we're long-lost BFFs and not in therapy.
“Uhh...” I blow a piece of hair that fell out of my bun off my face, and at the same time, my leg starts bouncing.
“I have hope that I’m making the right career decision, I really enjoyed the entire process of the carnival. Megan, it’s so much more fulfilling than any other job I’ve ever had.” I may have gone to school to be a journalist, and I may be dang good at it, but I always felt something was missing.
I proceed to tell her all about the fallout with Greyson and my trip back home. I’ve been walking around with the weight I was never meant to carry, a weight I didn’t realize wassoheavy until it was lifted. I felt like I could take a full breath; I felt like I could be me.
The real me, the me that loved to laugh before I was told how loud and annoying it was. The me that loved to dance before I was told how awful I was at it. The me that knew how to have meaningful relationships before I was told I wasn’t good enough for anyone to stick around.
“It was like a game of connect the dots. I don’t know how to have a good relationship with men because I never felt love or acceptance from my dad. I don’t know how to have friendships with most people because I was always told I wasn’t good enough to keep around. But before I went back, I simply slapped the ‘that’s just how I am’ or how it’s always been band-aid on it and kept moving.”
She nods; the look of pride on her face fills me with pride of my own. I finally did it. I finally had a breakthrough that I’d needed for years. I’ve finally woken up from the almost thirty-year-long nap I had been taking, and I feel like I can start to live.
She gets up and walks over to her desk to grab her pen and notebook. Rolling her chair to sit closer to me, she puts her glasses on and points the pen in my direction. “Explain. All of it, what does the real you feel?”
A real, genuine smile touches my face when I answer, “Strong and free.” Tears build up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
“I feel strong, Megan, for the first time in over a decade.” I pause letting that revelation sink in, “I feel like I have this tenacious fighter locked inside me. One that wants to hop on the back of a hypothetical bull and fight like never before to stay on those eight seconds. But more than that, I feel like I could. And that in and of itself is freeing.”
“I feel like I can simply exist. Without expectations, without having to be something or accomplish anything. I feel like there’s actually something to look forward to. There’s hope that I’ll finally realize Iamworthy enough for the right people.”
––––––––
“You are worthy enough. You always have been. The retraining of your brain is the hard part..” She adds.
My hand freezes, head snapping toward my therapist, who just dropped a bomb on my head and then gave me no steps to disarm it. “Okay, how do I do that?”