Today, my dear patient came in angry and confused by our last session. She couldn’t remember the mantra that she was supposed to take away and left feeling even more confused and agitated. Over the week, she eventually realized that what she felt at his core was a shame that had been building subtly and inexplicably over the past many weeks. Maybe it started after she had forsaken her abusive father, now apologetic, but enfeebled in his advanced age. But, this explanation didn’t quite settle her.

So, we reconstructed our conversation in the minutiae.
Then, we recalled a repulsion to whining and neediness,
fended off with barks of nastiness and meanness,
which, sure, sounded like her father,
but also sounded
very much like
herself…

In this swirling vortex of shame,
she in turn assumed that
others were mean and nasty back
—her fear of always being one disappointment away
from rejection taking purchase again, like a tightening claw around her throat.

She didn’t want anything to do with anybody
and was reprimanded
for being
impatient,
rude
and condescending.
She dreamt of being trapped in a tiny room with me,
wishing she could shove me out!

She cried out in confusion, panic and redoubled shame
at the return of such depressive agitation.
She begged me
to tell her what to do
, but knew she would resent me if I answered.

Instead, I beckoned her to sit on the balcony overlooking her shame.
I showed her how
the inside mirrored the outside, and
the outside rattled the inside.

I showed her how
her divided
self
apparated like swirling reflections
in a haunted
house of mirrors,
at times, projecting the whiny self
while embodying the resenting self,
at other times, projecting the critical self,
while filling herself with shame.

Out of the blue, she declared
with streaming tears and quivering lip,
“Sometimes, I think I was bad
because
I was hoping that my father
would notice.”

And, I can’t help but let slip, “…beautiful!” as I look over the dawning light dissipating the fog.

I tell her that the mantra to remember is this:
and I put my arms up as if
holding my baby
patting his bottom,
saying, “there, there…
It’s ok.
It’s ok.
”