Posted in Mental Health Files

When I finally become a therapist…

I’ll fluff those pillows and fill the room with beautiful fragrances and scented candles. I’ll listen to you without judgement in my heart, my voice or my face. You’ll look at me and see love. Love, not because you’re perfect, but love because you’re flawed like I am.

I’ll ask you about your day, respecting the one-word answers you throw at me. I know you’ve got a river on the inside of you about to burst through its banks. I’ll be patient, every step of the way. I’ll understand that your ‘I’m fine’ sometimes means ‘I just need a hug,’ or ‘I would like to drive anywhere with a loved one while listening to good music and throwing my cares into the wind’.

I’ll be silent. I won’t make you think my thoughts—those aren’t important. I’ll let you know that you are all that matters: your essence, your existence, your matter, your mass…

If all our lives can be burnt and sealed in a jar, then perhaps, there’s no point hurrying to the finish line. I’ll be there, cheering you on…letting you know that you matter.

I won’t pretend to know it all, even though there’s a tendency to do so after all my years of learning and the experience garnered. I’ll get you to see yourself… the ‘you’ that you are and the you that you want to be. And I’ll help you marry the two until your soul chooses to see the light even in the thickest darkness. I’ll help mend you, because the only damaged thing about is the lens you used to see yourself.

I’ll have you know that you are whole, and your mind is intricate and beautiful. I’ll tell you how I’ve never seen anyone like you; with your composition of unique thought patterns and mind workings.

When I finally become a therapist, I’ll let you know, right now, right here, it’s okay not to be okay. It sucks, I know. I know you hate yourself for feeling this way. I know you’re afraid of what people will say. I know you’re struggling between drowning and reaching out for help. But I’ll have you know, you’re brave. And I’m at the edge of my seat just waiting to see what beautiful butterfly flies out of this chrysalis you’re in.

Don’t be afraid to come up for air.

Love,

M. ❤️

Author:

Writer| Christian| Encourager| Adventurer| Communicator

6 thoughts on “When I finally become a therapist…

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