Last session, my therapist told me to be nice to myself. But before I could clarify what exactly that meant, it was time to “release our shared space for the moment.”
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My first guess was that being nice could conceivably mean a carte blanche trip to Donut Dip.
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After I regained consciousness, I tried buying myself a little something nice and ordered a case of freeze-dried emergency rations to tuck away in a closet, just in case.
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I even tried putting those cucumber things on my eyes and relaxing with a good book.
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I realized that I didn’t have any idea how to be nice to myself. Nonetheless, I blindly took one last wild swing at it with a Costco 3-pack of whipped cream.
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I dragged myself outside to walk it off. At the least, I figured, it would be good to take a break from trying to become successful enough to prove that I’m worth the food and electricity I consume.
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Fortunately, the walk proved enough of a distraction to give me a little break from my unprocessed feelings and enduring childhood traumas.
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The fresh air, movement, and wonders of nature helped me calm down a bit and even enjoy a glimpse of hope!
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I felt open and expansive which flooded me with grief for all the lost years that I spent feeling anxious and clenched instead.
My longing was deep and emotionally eviscerating. But it also felt curiously good and somehow authentic.
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There was an immediate release in surrendering to the pain that I usually battle to keep at bay. And afterward, I felt awake and replenished. Maybe simply feeling my feelings, I reasoned, was a very nice thing to do for myself.
That, and a nap.
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