, , , , , , , , , ,

The best part of my day today was stopping in to see the fellow who was my physical therapist all year and from whose care I have now graduated. He cocked his head and looked a little embarrassed, incredulous maybe, when I told him on Day One that I was seeing a psychotherapist to help me identify the ways I have of neglecting my foot, so effective were they, that they were the reason I needed surgery instead of just physical therapy. I suppose few people admit to deliberately seeking professional help to understand themselves, but I am too something to hide the truth of who I am anymore. In the long run he barely batted an eye. I’d had plenty of practice neglecting myself, I told him, and having it end with this yearlong stint of twice a week foot massages with him, although possibly sounding wonderful, was disappointing. Don’t get me wrong, we had a lot of fun over the course of the year because of all the joking around with everyone from tiny old ladies who’d hurt themselves falling down stairs to the tatooed policemen injured while actually fighting crime. Silliness is the norm there with plenty of jokes about the exercises he had me doing that looked like sobriety tests, and my stationary bike rides to dream locations. Who knows what he was actually thinking when I stopped in bearing cookies today, but the look on his face told me that even after a year of listening to all my foot confusion and lack of body awareness, allegedly the result of a childhood full of denial now being teased apart through psychotherapy, we’d become friends. Seems like addressing my emotional issues head on in front of this guy was worth the risk of revealing myself, because I felt what seemed like a genuine acceptance and appreciation of Jane that I truly wish I was cultivating more often.