I don’t normally plan on doing a lot of self-observations on this board, but something (actually, several things) happened a few days ago that I thought might be of interest to people on this board.  My apologies in advance for how wordy this is going to be, but I'd like to get this out of my system.  Read on only if you've got a lot ot time.

A bit of background before the obs - I’m a New York State LMT, a licensed massage therapist.  A few months ago I got a job at a massage clinic in my area, and so did my female friend J, and we’ve made a number of new friends.  My best new friend is a guy I’ll refer to as T.  He’s considerably older than me…he’s in his mid fifties,  I’m in my mid 20’s.  He’s also quite happily married with two children, aged 9 and 12.  

Despite the difference in our ages, I had quite the crush on T at first - while he does look significantly older than most people I would normally be attracted to, he’s quite handsome in his own way.  He’s also extremely kind (to everyone, but me in particular), and I can tell I’m also his favorite coworker.  Lately, my crush has been wearing off, and I’ve been able to see him more as a friend/father figure in my life.  I’ve also met his wife and children, and been semi-adopted by them - I’ve been invited over to dinner with the family before, and I’m going to see the 12-year-old daughter act in a play in about a month.  T and I hang out all the time together at work, and since I don’t have a car at the moment, he often offers me a ride home.

T is also someone I see as a massage client.  In addition to working at the clinic, he’s starting up a business out of his house.  Once a week or every other week at least, I go over to his house, and he either gives me a massage at a much lower price than he would charge for most clients, or we “trade” services - I massage him, then he works on me.

So about a week ago, I get my usual massage from T.  At the end of the session, he often does a little bit of energy work.  Usually he does Reiki, which is something I’m familiar with (I also practice Reiki), but last time was different.  I didn’t know exactly what he was doing at the time, but he’s also trained in a method called Polarity Therapy.  It often looks similar to Reiki - a gentle laying on of hands, but as a client, it feels slightly different.  He placed his hands over several chakra points, and then moved to my solar plexus.  As he held his hands over my draped abdomen, I suddenly started to feel sad, without knowing why.  A little sob shook my chest, though the sound wasn’t audible.  If he had stayed there any longer, I probably would have started crying at that moment, but he moved on.  I felt a little calmer as he worked the rest of my chakras, and then moved to hold my feet through the blanket for a moment.  As he held my feet, I let out a deep, shuddery breath, but again, there were no tears.  I felt significantly better after that breath.  Later, T asked me if “something came up” during the session.  He said that he felt a surge of energy, and noticed my distress in my facial expressions.  I told him that yes, I had felt something, but I didn’t know exactly what if was from.  He explained that polarity therapy isn’t something he uses at the massage clinic because occasionally people will have an emotional response.  The abdomen work in particular often releases sadness - if the person is carrying around some pain from something that hasn't been dealt with (for example, someone hasn't dealt with their feeling about a divorce, or grieved properly over a death), occasionally the person will feel that sadness during the session or even in the coming days.  If the client feels safe and is ready to release that emotion, a longer polarity therapy session can lead the client to deal with unresolved emotions in the following days or even weeks, occasionally making them completely miserable for a while.

Well, for most of the week I felt pretty good.  But on Saturday, a few hours before the end of my shift, I asked T if he would be willing to stay around about a half hour after his shift to give me a ride home (I had a client request I stay a little longer that day).  T agreed, and after my shift I got in his old pickup truck.  We didn’t talk much during the ride - I was tired, as I hadn’t slept well the night before due to insomnia, and T was cheerfully singing along with the cassette player.  It’s not until we pull into my driveway that we really start having a conversation.  After we finish talking about music, I thank him for giving me a ride so I didn’t have to consider asking V, another coworker.  She lives near me, but I don’t really like her very much.  The conversation went something like this:

T - What, not a fan of V?

Me - No, not really.

T - You know, I’ve gotta say, I know a lot of people, and when you’re about V’s age…she’s almost as old as I am….when you’re that age, and you still don’t know who you are, and what you want out of life, you’re almost a lost cause.

Me - It’s not that part that bothers me.  What bothers me is that she reminds me of my mother.

I let my words hang in the air for a moment.  T doesn’t know a lot of details about my earlier life - most people don’t, save a select few friends.  He does know the very abbreviated version of my early life - a rather unhappy childhood.  A dominating and abusive mother who micromanaged my life. My mother died when I was fifteen, after a long illness.  A neglectful and clueless father who couldn’t even stand up for himself, let alone me or my siblings.    

Me - That wasn’t a compliment.  I actually can’t think of a worse insult.

T (with a smile in his voice) - Oh, I could tell it wasn’t a compliment.  I got the reference.

After I make a rather dark joke at my mother’s expense, which we both laugh at, T then begins talking about various family members of his own and other people he had a hard time dealing with, and how he managed to forgive them.  Most of the next few minutes is mostly him talking, while I interject with a thought or two.  I’m not insulted by the direction the conversation is taking in the slightest.  Unlike other people I’ve talked to, I can tell T’s not trying to shove the concept of forgiveness down my throat.  As a guy who also went through a difficult childhood, and as my friend, he’s just trying to relate to me.  Because I fiddle with things when I’m upset, and because there’s a smudge on my glasses anyways, I take off my eyeglasses, gesturing with them as I respond.  I look over at T occasionally as I speak, but mostly I’m avoiding eye contact a bit, staring out the front window at my garage doors.  I know my emotions are closer to the surface than usual.  It may be in part the effect of the Polarity Therapy earlier in the week, it may be because I trust T, or because I’m just too damn tired to hide my emotions.

Me - Believe me, I’ve tried some of those things.  Most of them, actually.  I mean, I was a Psych major.  But…that’s not really the issue anymore.  I’m not really angry anymore.  I mean, maybe a little, but not like I was.

T (Sounding sincerely happy for me) - Well, good.  And it goes in cycles.

Me - Yeah.  I’m not angry, it’s just…I’m just…

I falter, too tired to think of how best to sum up my feelings.  It’s actually quite simple, and T gets there before I do.

T - Sad.

Me (in a voice, high pitched with emotion) - Yeah…

I can’t continue.  My eyes fill with tears, and the first sob breaks free of my chest.  It’s followed by several more sobs, and the tears begin to spill over.  I quickly rub at my eyes with the back of my left hand, the one that isn’t holding my glasses, even as more sobs and tears come.  I’ve never been the type to let my tears fall unchecked the way some people do when they’re really sad.  Even when I’m crying in private, having tears slide down my face and drip off my chin makes me feel like I’m being a slob, for some reason.  I tend to bury my face in a tissue or a hankie, or just use a hand to brush wetness away.

As I put my left hand down for a moment, T squeezes it and holds on.  Every so often he murmurs, “It’s okay“.  I’m not quite sure what he means…whether he means I’ll be okay someday, or it’s okay to cry, maybe?  It’s oddly comforting either way, even though it’s kind of a nonsense response.

I hang my glasses on the collar of my shirt so that I can use my right hand to rub away tears every so often.  I cry for about a minute, unable to speak, before I try to elaborate.

Me (between sobs and in a quavering “weepy” voice) - I’m already dreading going to work on Mother’s Day.  People coming in…with their gift certificates.  I hated that holiday, even before she died.  Because I knew, I knew she was going to die years before she did.  And even when she was alive, I didn’t have the kind of relationship with her that I wanted.  I was telling J…if I could have given her a gift those last couple of years that summed up my feelings for her, it would have been a flaming bag of dog shit.

I choke out a small laugh, through my tears.  T isn’t laughing, just listening, his expression patient and slightly concerned as it had been since the first tear fell.

Me - You know, I didn’t have that kind of relationship, those warm, happy, fuzzy memories that a lot of people have with their mothers.  I never had that.  And I can forgive her, but it doesn’t change my memories.  

T -  No.

Me - It doesn’t change what happened.

T - No, it doesn’t.  

I cry for another thirty seconds or so before my tears begin to slow to a stop.  I sniffle and rub at my eyes for at least the tenth time since I started crying.  T lets go of my hand.

T (smiling gently) - I’d offer you a tissue, but I don’t have one.  I just cleaned out my car the other day.

Me -  It’s okay.

I pull my purse up on to my lap, tug open a small pocket, and take out a neatly folded handkerchief.  Plain white, natural cotton, with a border of stitching so dark green it borders on black.  Some days I’m too absent minded to remember to carry a hankie - luckily, it had not been one of those days.

T - Oh, good, you brought your own.

As T offers me words of comfort, I unfold the hankie until it’s folded just in half. I use it to wipe the remaining water from my cheeks, and wipe my nose.  I hold the cloth in my hand for a little while, to make sure I’m done crying.  I am, but I need to blow my nose.  It’s a quiet sound, barely audible.  When I’m finished, I refold the hankie and tuck it back into the pocket of my purse.

Anyways, I don’t want to go too much more into the specifics of what T and I discussed (and, to be honest, I’ve forgotten a few details of our conversation).  But that was the end of my crying, and I did feel a little bit better after having gotten that out of my system.

One really sweet thing T did say to me before I got out of the truck went as follows -

Me - I’m twenty-six, and I still want Mom and Dad more than anything.

T - Well, if you want me to act like your father, I could do that.  It’d be weird, though, because it would mean I’d have to grow up.

I laughed at that.

T - But you can adopt people.  I mean, you’ve sort of adopted S [his wife] and I, and we’re okay with that.  We like having you around.

That was probably the most helpful thing he could have said.  I think part of the reason I feel like I'm finally dealing with the pain of having a crappy childhood is that I finally have people (who are slightly older than me) who support me in ways my own parents never did.

So yeah.  That was probably the most healing cry I've ever had, and the most personal thing I've ever posted on the internet for other people to read.  If you made it this far, then thanks for letting me share.  

Last edited by thedreamer (April 2, 2013 4:44 am)