Bubbles in her hair.

a song to set the scene // roses in the rain (lullaby) by christina perri

“What does it feel like?” he asked.

Like a pasta knot.

More specifically, a big wad of sticky fettuccini noodles that needed untangling.

A metaphor for all the problems in my life, I walked into my latest counseling session feeling a bit… overwhelmed.

I didn't even realize it was present at first.

In fact, it wasn’t until he asked me, “how are you really feeling?” that I uncovered the presence of this damn pasta knot.

Mentally, I felt like if I didn’t face this wad of sticky fettuccini noodles that needed desperate untangling, it would only get worse.

Heck, I might’ve even pasta-way.

(pun always intended)

Caught in the whirlpool of work/family/personal related issues, I was feeling somewhat lost and beset with stress.

Perks of working in a family business involve working with the family.

Cons of working in a family business involve working with the family.

Throw my gem in there.. and you get a wad of sticky fettuccini noodles that need untangling.

Sitting there, I felt there were so many things that needed to be addressed, yet I felt stuck. I mean, where does one even start?

So, he asked me if I wanted to try something different.

Different is good, I like different. So I said yes.

Perched on the couch in his office, he asked me to close my eyes and start noticing my breath.

Ah yes, the breath. That thing which keeps me living.

Listening along to his comforting voice, I took a deep breath in…. and a long exhale out.

Deep breath in…. long exhale out.

This went on for some time.

And as I started to let the worries slip away, I felt myself falling deep into the present.

Background noise became just that: background noise.

Visuals: there were none.

Thoughts came, and then they went.

And as time went on, I started to feel warmth spreading throughout my arms as my breath started to feel like waves of sweet honey.

This is nice, I like this.

It was then that he asked me to recall a memory of my younger self, perhaps that scene in the bathtub which I had told him about once before.

I can picture it instantly: 5-month-old me looking longingly into the camera with bubbles in her hair.

And so I go there.

He asks me to imagine this young elan and to go up to her, and greet her.

And so I do.

I kneel down beside the bathtub, watching this sweet innocent little elan look back up at me with those big brown curious eyes and I say,“hi!” with a twinge of nostalgia and poignancy.

There she is, that’s me.

In this intimate moment between me and young elan, I hear his voice encouraging me to talk to her.

“Does she know who you are?” Yes.

“Does she trust you?” With all of her heart.

“Would you let anything bad happen to her?” I would protect her with everything I have.

Tears, sweet gentle drops, find their way out of my eyes and I allow myself to embrace their slow fall down my cheeks.

I go back to little elan in the bathtub and I smile fondly.

I would protect her with everything I have.

Heart filled with this overwhelming desire to comfort, coddle and protect this wholesome creature that would someday experience the life I had so far lived, I realized that if I could keep this pure little girl safe, then why couldn’t I aim to do the same for Big Elan right now?

After all, she is me and I am her.

Sitting in this epipahny and holding tightly to this lovely little me, I then wished her farewell, with the promise that I would be with her always: to comfort and to protect.

After achieving the difficult but necessary act of opening my eyes, which had been glued together with tears, I was suddenly back in the room, feeling tender and raw.

I found my counselor looking at me, empathetically.

“When you’re ready, tell me what you saw.”

And so I did.

Piecing together what I had just went through, more tears flowed as I shared my experience.

I explained how seeing little elan in the bathtub had filled me with this overwhelming desire to keep her safe. I told him how I felt compelled to protect, love, and adore this innocent little girl with bubbles in her hair, unconditionally.

And what I came to realize there on the bathroom floor was that little elan is now Big Elan, and that despite the years that have passed, Big Elan deserves that same love, care, and protection.

Not from outside, but within.

When I’m stressed, hurt, or heartbroken (or, just trying to untangle a wad of sticky fettuccini noodles), there’s a part of me that obviously needs comfort and care. Somewhere, in the disguise of young elan sitting in the bathtub, there lives this craving and assurance that everything is going to be okay.

I think the purpose of this exercise was to not only sit quietly and breathe and to look inward and acknowledge those feelings of being overwhelmed with compassion and grace. It reminded me that whenever I do feel low, I am strong enough to take care of the part of me that hurts, in the same way I would care for the 5-month-old with bubbles in her hair.

In the end, we all deserve the same kind words of encouragement we would say to our younger selves.

And truly, that power lies within.

Sometimes it just takes a little meditation and a big wad of sticky fettuccini noodles that need untangling to realize it.