On Solitude: Love Languages
Dear Mitko,
When your email reached me, I was about to shadow another group therapy in a psychiatric hospital close to Washinton D.C. This internship was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life and I’ve done many things in my life. I had a chance to work with a 7-year-old boy who had difficulties staying in a group or regulating his emotions. He was either hyperactive or extremely sad or angry. “Sangry”, he told me later on, is how he described his feeling. According to his chart, he was admitted due to violent behaviors towards his teacher and peers. He would kick and bite the nurses and staff. I’ve never worked with a kid individually as a dance therapist, let alone a kid like this. I wasn’t sure what to do but I thought I would give it a try. Before all of this, he made a mess in my group session and I had to ask him to leave. “I would love to have you in my group. Even if that didn’t happen today, we can always try again next time.”, I said to him. He seemed to like me after that group session although he could barely stay so my supervisor suggested I could work with him one-on-one.
We played UNO and drew together a lot as I was trying to know him better. He liked to draw, yet he would get extremely frustrated when he made a mistake. He would pound the table and hurt his hand and cry “I’m so stupid!”. And I would say softly, “You’re not stupid and we can always try again.” Trying again needs practice too. I would pull out a stuffed ball so he could at least punch something safely. With each session, I learned more about him. I learned that he was bullied in school a lot. At home, he was laughed at often. That’s why he didn’t want to make any mistakes or show anybody his work in the group so he wouldn’t risk being laughed at. I can understand why he punched his peers. I learned that I was the same age as his mother and he lived with his grandmother and mother. I learned that his mother liked to paint and they used to paint together. We practiced some somatic-based exercises together to help him calm down. Only if he knew when to use it. I doubted if I was offering anything practical but I had to try. We chatted when he was in the mood; we shared the silence when he was medicated and appeared to be very tired. But with each session, he always showed up and we would spend some time together.
Through time, I noticed different moments. Once he got frustrated and pounded the table, softer than before. I pulled out the stuffed ball and he composed himself and said, “No, I don’t need it.” Once he said, “I’m gonna walk you out” when I said goodbye to him after a session like a little gentleman. I became one of the two therapists he liked in no time. Another time with another drawing mistake, he softly said, “I’m stupid” while correcting it. To that, I replied softly, “No, you’re not.” As if to cover up something, he said sheepishly, “It’s a joke” and we carried on. That moment stayed with me somehow. I don’t know why. With each day, the air in him became lighter and softer.
In my last session with him, I gave him an origami I made myself with a hand-written quote inside: “May Art Find You and You Find Art.” He thanked me and, with a solid genuiness in his tone, said, “I like that.” We were sitting side by side, facing the hospital window. He was still drawing something on the paper. I wanted to make every moment as ordinary as possible. Suddenly, he put his little right hand on my left shoulder and, without looking at me, said, “I’m gonna miss you.” That moment touched my heart. Literally and figuratively. I didn’t hug him although my body wanted to do so badly. I didn’t hug him goodbye because I knew it would be too hard not to cry. So I didn’t. I left without saying anything more than I should.
“I’m gonna miss you too.”
A few days later, my supervisor drove me to the airport. Upon saying goodbye, I said to her, “Will you keep an eye on him for me? That boy got me.” To that, she replied, “You got him too.” And I cried. And I thought I’d found the best and the worst job in the world: that I cannot free anyone from their pain. The only thing I can do is to make them feel a little bit less alone, a little bit more loved, a little bit more accepted, and a little bit more encouraged so that they can free themselves from their own pain. And that alone is the best and the worst part. And this is just who I am: someone who gets touched by little moments like this; who feels deeply for other people (without interfering with my work); who cries at the airport for delayed emotions; who made origami for her patient as a goodbye gift, and I’m proud of every part of who I am.
If we ever meet again, the coffee is on me.
Warmly.
“Being left alone seems to be a deep wound of yours. Then you’re on your own. Then you need to protect yourself. And if you leave first, you take the control back to yourself. And you find it hard to let others care for you because you’re always on your own.” He spoke in a way of speculation, not a conclusion.
I already knew all that but this was the first time somebody has said it out loud.
“But protecting yourself doesn’t mean you will be happy. We don’t need to exchange freedom with connections. We can have them both.”
My therapist at 11 a.m.
“Coming home shouldn’t be a practice; home should be a place for resting.”
“And you’ve been practicing your relationship with yourself after all this time.”
“You’re one of the few clients I have that would ask me how am I doing. This is supposed to be an hour for me to take care of you. For you, mutuality is very important in relationships. You won’t be happy if you just let others take care of you. It brings you joy to take care of others too. It has to go both ways. This is the kind of relationship that matters to you.”
“Fear is the enemy of time.”
You can only connect with others at the depth you have connected with yourself.
I was reminded again that my body speaks a different language. When she dodged my hug. When she felt awkward when I took her arm. I cannot imagine a world where affection isn’t spoken through bodies. How do you show love if your skin cannot touch each other? The more I speak it, the softer it gets.
My body remembered the day I saw him for the last time.
I walked myself back to my favorite yoga studio, where she had witnessed the change in me in how I fold and unfold my body on the yoga mat. I am kinder and softer to myself now, allowing myself to slow down, to not push to my limit every time. And that took me 5 years. My body craved being caressed after I was being violated. There were nights and moments when I could feel it so vividly in my body. Moments like this left me stranded sometimes. Not knowing what to do, except to curl up even more.
Why is returning so important? Each time you return, you situate yourself in the same space that the only thing you know that has changed is time and you.
You must leave and return over and over again. Something magical will happen on the way. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I left for so far and so long.
- Tight hugs.
- Peeled shrimps.
- “Give me a call. I’ll turn on the notification.”
- Trying.
- Late-night conversations about anything over fries
- Being observant of someone.
- Tucking the hair behind their ears.
- “I don’t assume.”
- “I’ll quote you somewhere someday.”
- Two pieces of guava, on a blue plate, on my table. Just there.
- “Look at the moon.”
- Listening, without thinking how to respond, but just listening.
- Sending memes.
- “I know you like this so I bought it.”
- Making time.
- “This track made me miss you.”
- Handwritten Post-it and cards
- Sunsets
- “I feel like I can really talk to you.”
- Saying goodbye while looking at the other person in the eyes
- Saying goodbyes
- Writing you down
- Patience
- Sharing silence
- “I’ll feed you.”
- Hands touching
“Do you know that I love you?”
She paused for a few seconds, unsure how to react as love rarely expressed like this at home.
“I know. Why did you ask?”
“Just want to make sure that you know.” I didn’t stop blow-drying her hair.
I want to love the way I wished I’d been loved.
Soft-spoken; never blaming; never hesitating to express gratitude and love; excessive hugs; flowers for no reason; remind them how hard they’ve already worked; make them feel special. They joked that becoming a therapist is a trauma response. Jokes are often half-truths.
“I love you too.”
“I know.”
I hope my letter finds you well, happy and fulfilled. In the past months I’ve considered writing to you on several occasions, but I always found a reason not to. However the thought kept reoccurring and today I decided it’s time to stop fighting it.
I’m writing because recently I’ve come to realize some things and because I have some regrets about the last time we saw each other.
I am sorry that I didn’t get you those tickets back to here, even though I had the money. I regret letting you get in that cab. I regret that I wasn’t mature enough to push forward or do something that would make you stay. I was hiding behind the fact that I was young and that I would have more opportunities ahead.
In the past 4 years I’ve tried to move on, somewhat successfully. However it was not entirely successful. In the back of my mind I always had a “what if”. Anyway, I wish things had taken a different direction and I’m sorry that wasn’t wise enough back then.
But I’m happy I see this now. I’m learning my lessons. I wanted to say that to you because it’s important for me, even though you might not care. That’s OK.
I’d love to talk to you sometimes if you’re still here — coffee, walk, whatever.
If you don’t reply to this letter, I’ll know you’ve moved on. Then I will do the same. I just feel like I need some sort of closure, because the last time we talked wasn’t really a closure.
Even if you have moved on, I would still be interested in talking to you, to see where you are, how you’re doing. You are one of the most interesting people I’ve met and I miss talking to someone in English.
I hope my letter doesn’t hurt you. That’s not my intention at all. I’m mostly writing this because of myself, because I need to move on. I hope you understand me.
Anyway, I wish you all the best even if I don’t hear from you.
Because, somehow miraculously, as soon as when somebody sees you truly and still holds you tightly, everything fades into tenderness.
At the end of the day, there is so much tenderness that even the whole galaxy couldn’t swallow it.
