She awoke at 8:30.
Her arm was sore. Hopefully the
little army of antibodies were doing their job.
After the pills, and breakfast, dishes and sweeping,
showering and dressing it was 9:40. On
the spur of the moment (squirrel!) she decided to go to the Compassion and
Empathy group she sometimes attended.
She could walk there in eighteen minutes, and the sun was shining
and the leaves were crisp. She let the cat
out, and putting on her wrap-around sweater.
The walk would do her good.
At 9:59 she arrived at the door, and took a deep
breath. Entry was always difficult. There would be effusive hellos, awkward hugs,
those moments of settling in.
She tentatively opened the door, put on her happy face and
slipped in. It was a small group of
women she admired and cared about. There
were some new faces but she had a sense of kinship with them; this group of middle aged women all struggling to find their
way, keep their course, sort out their lives.
She settled onto the couch with a cup of chai tea clutched
in her hands. She pulled the colourful
throw over her shoulders and waited.
The group always started with a meditation. It was guided and gave the
participants a chance to check in with their bodies, how they were feeling,
arriving.
While the facilitator spoke she felt the butterflies in her
stomach, the tightness in her chest, the constriction of her throat.
She shouldn’t have come.
She was glad she was there. It
was just so confusing.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I look forward to reading the comments. It makes me feel like I am not just posting into the void.