Today’s session ended exactly as it started. With me sobbing. Although the sobbing at the end was of an entirely different quality than the sobbing at the beginning.
The beginning sobbing was fueled, at least in part, by thought. And the thought was: “I need to say things to you that I think are going to make you not like me.”
The sobbing at the end was just a full and effortless release of grief. She calls it Grief On The Cellular Level. It is unencumbered by thought or reason and has a life of its own. It comes on instantly, without much warning and might go on for 10 minutes or more. It’s not sadness – it’s just crying. She told me that once when it happened to her, she rolled off the table and lay on the floor in the fetal position, crying for two hours straight, unable to stop even if someone offered her a million dollars.
When I say “she,” I’m talking about AE, the woman who is trying to change my body.
Between bouts of sobbing, the two hours I spent on the table was mostly relaxing. It’s not always that way, but today I drifted in and out of an almost dreamy state. It was during that time that I realized I need to be writing about this experience – this long, confusing process that began almost 9 months ago, when I decided to seek out an alternative approach to address my inexplicable knee pain.
It’s a process that is all about change. The one thing that I dread the most.