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.

The Elephant.

a song to set the scene // lucky by njomza

I always knew he was old-fashioned.

I mean, it took him three months to kiss me.

Three months!

But see, that’s what I loved about him.

Here was this rare human, straight out of a romantic novel, who was kind, and patient, accepting and chivalrous. And though he bid his time with kissing these eagerly awaiting lips of mine, I loved his gentlemanly ways.

As we often told each other: all good things are worth the wait.

And all was marvelous.

We adored each other.

Life with him was rich and full, and I had never been so happy.

But there was something under the surface that started to pick at me.

It was subtle at first, a mere nuissance.

I told myself that I was over-thinking, that all good things would be worth the wait.

And yet this feeling persisted.

It felt like this thing, this elephant in the room that was becoming so monstrous and obtuse, was holding me back from my truest potential of love.

And then… I was having a panic attack.

On the heels of an already emotionally taxing day, I suddenly found myself chained to my bed, losing all sense of control over my emotions.

Burried in a black hoodie, the panic swooped in and I felt powerless to stop it.

My gem was telling me a story, and as his words became faint background noise to the already overbearing beating of my heightened heart, I peeled my sticky self from the sheets and staggered like a drunk woman into the bathroom.

Sick, I felt sick.

Shutting the door behind me, I collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving.

As I gasped, struggling for air, I suddenly felt my arms give out and I fell to the floor, snot and tears forming tragic pools under my destroyed face.

At some point my gem came in. He crouched behind me, rubbing my back so tenderly and lovingly as I trembled on the floor, assuring me that it was okay, that everything would be okay.

Bawling still, I managed to choke out: it’s the elephant. it’s so scary.

My gem, confused, asked me: elan, what elephant?

And I cried out: i’m so afraid that when I say it, i’ll get hurt.

But I also knew, deep down, that if I didn’t say it, I would suffocate.

Unable to say these words out loud, my gem, my sweet thoughtful gem, asked me if I wanted to write it down.

I nodded my head, tears streaming down my face in such ferocious velocity I felt like I was drowning in them.

He brought supplies and when he saw me struggling to put pen to paper, he left the bathroom to give me some privacy.

I wrote it down once, then twice.

Sitting there, staring at these beautiful but terrifying three words, I mustered up all the courage and strength I had left within me, and slid the paper to him, absolutely petrified.

The next few moments felt like time had been suspended. I felt naked, and small. So so small.

On that piece of paper was my heart, my tender heart that had been shattered over and over again and yet still beat strong. And I was hoping, praying, that he wouldn’t break it like the others had.

I love you.

That was it.

Shakily written and naked to the world were those three little words: I love you.

Tears cascading down my cheeks, I heard him chuckle. He put his arms around me and as I waited, still, he lifted my chin up and looking at me softly asked, do you know how long I’ve wanted to say that to you?

A thoughtful pause, and then: I love you too.

And the elephant suddenly walked out of the room.

Clutching each other in that delicate moment, I peeled away and was shocked to see his eyes matching mine.

Are you crying? I asked.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

As the tears subsided and my body resumed normalcy, I started to open up.

Turns out, we had both been wanting to say it to each other for quite some time now.

Oh the irony.

But the two of us, careful with our love, and ever so protective of our hearts, feared that the other wouldn’t feel the same and so we just… never said it.

Though we both felt it.

(I guess my feelings got a little too intense to ignore)

And though it was only three little words, three itty bitty little words, they held a lot of weight and meaning to me. Mostly because I had never felt that way before about someone. Had never cared so deeply. And admitting that I loved him was a risk I had never taken.

Love is trust. It is patience. It is raw and puts you in the most vulnerable state and at times, it is scary because there is always that innate fear that someone won’t feel the same.

But as I was bawling on the bathroom floor, I realized that not honoring my voice and my truth was scarier than saying those three little words out loud.

And so I bravely did.

I mean, I should’ve known.

I should’ve known that this guy, this gem, is someone that I’ve loved for a long time. And I knew that what I’ve been feeling towards him was always real, authentic, and genuine.

Yeah, it was love.

And it was killing me not being able to share that with him.

Well, that elephant was killing me.

Though it was done in my bathroom, and I had snot and goobers and tears all over my face, and we weren’t in some romantic setting with candles and carnations, I felt that it happened just as it was supposed to.

And my gem, he was right.

All good things are truly worth the wait.