Sitting in the waiting room at 6 p.m.,
I’m already feeling hopeful.
Although my chest feels tight
and my world a fragile mess.
I walk into your office, wide-eyed with fear
of what we will find behind the closed door;
my self-defeating tendencies, my secrets—
hurtful people and events I can no longer ignore.
You gently guide me through the maze;
the winding corridors, twisting and turning
inward to those frozen memories
that you call denial and repression.
You tell me to move slow.
My worries will lessen with time
if I learn to trust you and grasp your hand
to brace me from the fall.
As we chip away like Rodin
on all those bleak winter evenings,
I start out with nothing but a sigh
and end up with so much more.
All my trauma unravels from a spool;
frayed threads unable to find the needle’s eye.
You teach me that it’s normal to stumble.
You tell me, however long it takes.
You help me rediscover my strength;
new ways to get through the distress.
You say I have it within me to heal;
to move past the doubt, instilling hope in fear.
As your words ring in my reluctant heart,
I move past the darkness of my mind—
the blues and blacks to the peaceful pastels;
and then to the bright, sunny hues.
When the details of my self-portrait are done,
I give you a hug and leave the safety of the room behind.
You promise you will always be nearby;
a phone call if needed, an appointment away.
The Colors of Therapy and its video poem was originally published at LetterPile.com.