Everything hurt. My shoulders, my neck, my feet, and my forearms. It was unbearable.
Then, Rachel (the masseuse) went to work on the small of my back and my gluts. I yelped....she didn't stop. I started having emotional flashbacks of pain...
- The time I ran over a broken bottle with bare feet - and had to have stitches in the bottoms of my soles when I was 5.
- The time I was strapped to a gurney in a hospital corridor, waiting to have minor surgery when I was 4.
- The time I got separated from my mom at Sears and I ran up and down the parking lot aisles because I was convinced she had left me. I was 6 years old then.
- The time I was attacked by the neighborhood beagle.
So there I was, on the table and I started crying. And in the back of my mind I became aware of the mountain of emotion that I have stored up inside of me. Old hurts, new hurts. Then I realized that I don't allow myself to cry much with my mom living with us...because I have to be the strong one, despite the blood...her tears and accusations...her distress over selling the house...and her panic attacks over the thought of dying in "a place like that."
This entire process of caring for her and attending to her ills has been enormously heartbreaking.
All of this was flashing through my mind and tugging on my heart when I sensed that Rachel was watching me. I became embarrassed over the tears...didn't really want to explain them...so I quickly shut them down.
So here I sit...literally throbbing from the the outer physical pain from the massage, and trying to deal with the bottled-up hurt that had surfaced...but was abruptly capped.