He asked if I could explain my swirling thoughts.
"I'm waiting to find the words... and the courage to say them."
And then I sat in silence a good long while. He didn't seem to mind. His shared silence gave me a dose of bravery. I took a deep breath, and shook my head, and words clumsily stumbled out of my mouth. I rambled for a few minutes, covering my face at times, wiping away tears at others. My stammerings weren't eloquent or even complete sentences, but he said they made sense.
"I'm really scared actually."
Just saying those words out loud made me, somehow, feel a tiny bit less afraid. Maybe because what's named can no longer lurk in the shadows, like a coat rack impersonating a monster.
"I don't know what to do with all of this..."
His words, full of grace and patience and wisdom: "Maybe you don't have to do anything with it all just yet. Maybe all that's needed is to name what you're feeling, and just let yourself feel those things. Maybe simply acknowledging it, like you just did, is enough for now. "
Maybe it is.
Maybe it is.