Will Session

The next morning comes around and I’m pretty excited to go to work. Maybe today I’ll get to put some of what I’ve learned from Julian and Mara into practice. My first client session of the day is with Will, the depressed twenty-something. Will walks in, and I can immediately tell that things are even more out of whack than they were last time.

“How have things gone since we last talked?” I ask, after we have settled in. Will hesitates. “My mom isn’t doing well”, he admits. I nod solemnly. I’m in a pretty normal state, with only a hint of Stillness and I’m a bit unsure how to relate. Will continues. “They’re talking about next options”, he says. “Mom has to decide whether she wants to do another round of chemo. But she’s not sure.” I nod again. 

The air feels heavy around us. Heavy with the topic, but also energetically heavy. Like air filled with water on a muggy day. “I think she should do the chemo”, Will continues. I nod. “Why do you think that?” “Well”, he explains. “Because she doesn’t really have a choice, does she? If she doesn’t do it she’s not going to be okay. She’ll die.” I nod again. I feel uncomfortable, ill-equipped to help. It seems to me that maybe his mom does have a choice in the situation. The choice to not force herself through more chemo. But it doesn’t seem like Will is thinking along those lines, and I don’t know if I should say it out loud. The air has become even heavier. Leaden. Like a weight in my chest, pulling me towards the ground.

As I take a breath I remember my intentions for the session. My intentions to lean into the energy healing space. I look at Will, taking him in. My heart hurts for him. He seems like he is radiating pain, but also at the same time weirdly unaware of how much pain he is in. I am reminded of grandma, of opening myself to her energetically. Maybe something similar could work here. Except that now I’m a bit more trained, which should make things easier. I take another deep breath, letting myself sink into the space where I can take Will in. The space where I let his pain be my pain. The weight of the air increases even further, pressing down on me from all sides. For a moment I panic slightly, worried that I won’t be able to breathe. That the leaden air will be too heavy to pull into my lungs. Then my body breathes and the panic lifts. I let my body breathe on its own accord for a few breaths. Will keeps telling me details about the situation as I feel the sense of burden that we now share.

“I don’t know how to comfort her”, he confides. “She just seems so ephemeral. Like she’s already half-way gone.” I let my heart break a little at his words. Let his situation be my situation. Let in the uncertainty weigh on me. The leaden air has taken on little spikes that feel sharp as they press towards my body. On my scalp, and on my shoulders. The spikes are black, like thorns. They’re painful. Except that they don’t hurt my actual physical body but my mind body. My emotional body. “What do you want”, I ask the spikes. “Hurt”, the spikes say. “Hurt.” I don’t like that the spikes want to hurt me, but at the same time I get why it feels appropriate. Maybe it would be bad to go through what Will is going through and not hurt. So I let myself hurt.

I let myself hurt for a while, as Will keeps talking. “I just don’t know what to do”, he says. “Like, what can I do to make it better?” “Hurt”, I tell him. “I think you need to let yourself feel hurt.” He just looks at me. “It won’t make her better”, he says. I nod. “No”, I say. “But it’s what is required of you. It’s the next step.” He makes eye contact with me. Then he buries his face in his hands and starts sobbing. The thorny spikes are hurting me too and I, too, cry. I let the tears stream down my face silently, so as to not disrupt Will’s emotional experience. A green mist slowly falls around us as we cry, covering the thorns. It doesn’t make them go away, but it softens them somehow. 

I move over to Will and touch him lightly on the arm, negotiating with his energetic boundary. You’re usually not supposed to touch clients as a therapist, but I just don’t care today. Will sobs a little louder as I touch him. The thorny spikes are still there, and seem, if anything, more aggressive. Like they’re bigger. And spikier. Or maybe it’s just that the air has become less leaden, giving the spikes room to expand and maneuver. I can feel both Will and I tense against them. “What do you want?” I ask the spikes again. “Truth”, they say. “Tell the truth.” I look at Will, making eye contact. “Will”, I say. “Your mom might die. Even if she gets more chemo she might die.” Will tenses, then starts shaking as the thorns are driving themselves into his body. 

I can feel the thorns in my body too. I let my body shake, matching Will. “I don’t want her to die”, Will sobs. “She can’t die. I need her to not die.” He has his arms wrapped around his body now, rocking back and forth. Where his hands are touching his upper arms the spikes have started dissolving. I can see the blackness dissolving into his bloodstream. I mimic his rocking, feeling the spikes dissolve in my body. The air around us is filled with green mist. It heals us where it touches us, somehow transforming the pain into something bearable. Like it helps us breathe with the pain. My heart feels cold, like it is filled with green ice. I wonder if the ice is somehow generating the mist around us. Will has moved from sobbing into simply crying. “I love her so much”, he says. “I would miss her so so much.” I nod, touching his arm gently.

When Will’s session ends I get up to hug him, unpromptedly.  Will’s body feels a lot more relaxed, as if he’s been shedding muscle tension by crying. Yet at the same time he seems more upright. There’s a strength in him that’s new. Will hugs me back. “Thank you, Leia”, he says. “Thank you so much.” Then he walks out the door.