"The Waiting Game"

"A little girl was standing on the corner of the street; she was waiting for her father to pick her up, and drive her to ballet class. She might have been 8 or 9. She waited. And waited. She was worried - had anything happened to him? The little girl didn't know what else to do but to stay put, if she left he might get worried instead. And she loved her father too much, as children often do, to let him suffer. Being protected from that anxiety and pain, he was also deprived of the moment of honesty where he had to face his daughter for letting her down. 'Cause she waited, like the nice little girl she was, until he showed up. Every time. So many hours.

Her father was the best a father could be. There wasn't a question he couldn't answer, and if not at first, he sought the books and encyclopedias, at home or at the library. He was exciting and resourceful. Understanding and compassionate. Reliable. Hey! Wait a little! This doesn't sound right, does it? How could he let her daughter stand there, alone, waiting for hours? Just because he got so caught up in his job he couldn't leave? Was that being reliable?

Well, the world isn't black and white, and the girls still thinks of her father as the best she could have. She still loves that old man. But he did teach her "the Waiting Game", a cruel game in her life where the rules are set. She waits patiently, and she isn't important enough to be prioritized. When she's then finally met, she'll even supply the excuses for those who hurts her."

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This was one of the stories that came up during the weekend; I have just spent three whole days digging deep into myself and my emotions. But as our course leader is saying: "This is not a therapy group, but in order for you to become good therapists, you need to be able to recognize other people's feelings and traumas as well."

In many ways this week end was a very painful experience. A lot of tears, but also a many breakthroughs. We were asked to search for "the inner child", to remember feelings from long, long ago. I haven't been seriously abused in any way, and I wasn't an unwanted child, nor was I neglected. I was loved, that is a fact I've never doubted, and I've always thought that was all that was needed. The point here is not to prove it otherwise, but that it's possible to still get hurt. Even if your loved. Seeing that, I can finally understand where some of my destructive patterns originates from. And hopefully change them.

As an Angelos therapist you're learning to heal. Yes, it can be taught. It's not magic, although experiencing it truly feels magic. In fact, everybody has the power to heal. Of course you have to believe in yourself and that you can. That is actually the hardest part for me, I have sincere doubts all the way. But to finish it off I'll share with you what happened today, and I must say I feel blessed in away:

For the first time we were going to practice a few basic healing techniques. We were all very excited but also anxious. How on earth were we going to do this? We worked in pairs, alternating being "client" and "therapist", and I was paired up with Chris. I'll skip all the details, but the two sessions we had each were ended by holding the "clients" feet. During the actual healing I didn't feel I was doing much good, pretty useless to be frank, but while holding his feet I got this strange feeling I wanted to give him the sun, and I tried to picture it really bright and yellow. Chris is usually a very cheerful guy, always with a quirky little smile, but for three days now he'd been very sad and down.

After the second round we were supposed to share our experiences, and with a tear in the corner of his eye he smiled to me and said: "Thank you! You gave me the first sunshine I had this whole weekend. You gave me a very sweet memory from my childhood." Wow! Where I had felt inadequate, he had sensed the warm and loving energy that lies within healing. And it came through my hands! Now that is something to be grateful for, don't you think?