It's interesting the way that memories and experiences recalibrate suddenly when you have a change of scene, then return to 'normality'. For some people, going somewhere else is better than a thousand therapy sessions. Sometimes, I think therapists throw a bunch of explosives into people's lives, and then simply go home for a cup of tea. It's not them who have to live with the consequences of their sessions. Sometimes, it seems the people whose lives they have disrupted need more therapy to recover. And so on, and so on.Anyway, I am probably prejudiced after having so many conversations with people who have been victims of the fallout from therapy sessions their children or partners have had, and yes I had a very good counselling session at one point, but I think that might be a slightly different thing.
Maybe because I'm arty-farty, the stuff that I do acts as a form of therapy in itself. So I should shut up, really.
What I meant to say is that I've returned from being away with a sense of calm and clarity. Before I left, I felt that someone had attached a drawstring to my face and pulled it tight so my features were scrunched up in a bundle of worry. Everything that passed my senses overloaded them and folded into the confusion. It's easy to forget that you have inner strength; when it comes back, it's a bit like being ironed from within and meeting the world with ease.
I know it won't last long; life will throw its spears again: the most important thing to remember is to get away when it happens, and clear my head. The machinery returns to its 'reset' mode, reboots, and normal function returns.
No comments:
Post a Comment