Soul Compassion

With the simple touch I could focus, even if just for a moment. The gentle pressure of the hand on my forearm and the thumb movement allowed me to breathe in a way that I hadn't before. Though my eyes were closed the world became crisper and I could feel the individual points of tension in my body. I used that touch as an anchor point, lowering my shoulders from my ears, and drawing a deep enough breath to release the tension starting at my toes. The shame, the weight, the overwhelm at bay with the grounding touch. A removal of my anchor point had me floundering almost instantaneously, I reached out blindly, unable to open my eyes, unable to speak, but as a hand grasped mine it all stabilized.

There we sat, my head in my hand, my other hand wrapped in theirs, and me simply trying to breathe. Minutes passed and I worked diligently to release all of the tension, focusing again on that point of contact, grounding myself, reassuring myself through that point that I was ok, I was safe, and I was cared for. When it was time I raised my head and was met with eyes full of care, kindness, concern, and compassion. It was overwhelming to be greeted as such, and nearly enough to make me want to bury my head again, yet I fought through the urge and simply sat there. Safety and security were offered, and upon standing my heart began to pound, clearly the fears not yet passed and my body responding as if I was unsafe and needing to flee. Wrapped in a deep hug my breathing calmed, my heart-rate slowed, and the tension that coiled again slowly dissipated. 

Never could I have imagined that sharing a story would have impacted me so deeply. I did not expect the nearly instantaneous fallout that occurred; the grief that I felt in moments, but it was the overwhelming shame that came crawling out of my body and onto my skin that surprised me the most. It was a story that I had spent a significant amount of time in therapy processing, working through, and healing from. Yet here I was, a mess, but I also knew that this was different. This was not the same intense emotions I had previously experienced with this memory, this was a different set of emotions, and the unique part of this moment was that I was not alone. I was not abandoned, dismissed, or gaslighted; I was supported, cared for, embraced, and given what I needed without even being asked. Safety and security abounded in the simplicity of the touch.

At some point I knew that I was moving beyond a reaction to the shame I had been feeling after sharing my story, though I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of. I knew that the intense reaction I was experiencing was from the caretaking I was receiving. This was new; being raw and vulnerable and then being met with such kindness, care, and compassion from someone in this role in my life. I paced, I dug my nails into my palms, I tried my best to share what was happening internally because I could see the concern growing on their face as they watched me unravel. I knew I needed to breathe, I knew I needed to find a way to ground myself, and I knew I needed to fight against the overwhelming desire to bolt. I shared what I could, that I was overwhelmed with them caring for me, that this was something very new for me, and that I was concerned for them and how they were dealing with this entire situation- from the story I shared to how I was currently behaving.

With words that I didn't know I needed to hear I was told that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that they were not upset with me, and that none of this was my fault. I was offered choices and when I stared at them blankly and managed to say that I can't make a decision right now they were there, giving me the support I needed. It was a series of little things that were done, that both felt so unnatural and exactly what I needed. I was not in a space to ask or even know what I needed in that moment, my brain in flight mode, and what I could manage was breathing. A hot cup of tea, a hug, a hand to hold, and a shoulder to rest my head upon were given freely. A safe space to not only share my story, but then process the unexpected aftermath was gifted to me. I offered apologies that were not necessary, and were thus accepted, but told repeatedly that they were not required. I offered thanks to them for simply being them and caretaking of me in ways that they intuitively knew I needed. 

It was an intense few hours for us both as we navigated this entirely new experience. With the dawn of the morning brought brief moments of embarrassment and shame from me, again the overwhelming desire to bolt from the situation, and again I was met with patience, compassion, and a cup of hot tea. As I clung to the teacup I appeared deep in thought, yet my thoughts were not deep- they were simple: breathe in, breathe out. A focus on the breath to dissolve the tension, shut down the flee response, and focus on the point of security within my view. With a cup of tea in me the world was a little clearer, and I was a little calmer, yet throughout the day I went through cycles of doubt, and each time I was given the reassurance I needed that all was well.

The physical connection, the caretaking, the compassion, empathy, and continuous support provided was overwhelming and yet healing. It is a moment to reflect upon and also celebrate. I know this is another step in allowing myself to be cared for, to be vulnerable, to remove the stress and barriers, and allow another to see me in my most human of moments. It is in these moments that my humanity is on display and my soul laid bare, an offering of extreme trust, one which was accepted wholeheartedly, for which I can do nothing more than smile.