How can I try to right the wrong?

“This is one of those moments. Your future may depend on your intuition. On your inner voice. This is when there are no answers, not in your books. When you, my fellow students, future colleagues, are supposed to use your talent. Your gift. So, let’s begin.”

And here I am, completely unprepared…exhausted after so many sleepless nights, emotionally drained after so many fights. I can’t be a good therapist now, when I feel I have nothing left to give. And this professor, he obviously saw the dark circles under my eyes. He probably thinks I came straight from a party. When the truth is…

The door opens and it’s too late for me to walk away. I’m about to lose everything…

I hear rumors around me. He didn’t mentioned that we need to review the chapter about psychosis. Look at the case he brought…he’s doing this intentionally. I wonder if she’s under any medication. 

I try to concentrate on the case. I can’t. All I see is a girl my age, scared, confused, with a teddy bear in her arms. Her name is Deana and she’s telling us her story so that we can present our therapeutic approach. She speaks so fast, laughing from time to time. Short laughs…I wonder if my colleagues see that she’s trying hard not to cry.

And there’s something in her eyes, in her voice that touches my heart. There’s something in that faked laugh of hers that brings tears in my eyes. And I realize…oh, how it hurts…that we’re studying her and she knows. And, for a reason I can’t understand, she’s looking at me. Straight into my eyes, with a trusty smile.

And I hear my colleagues theories and they all deserve the best grade. And it’s my turn to speak. And I’m afraid, not that I’m losing my scholarship, not that I wont pass this exam.

I’m afraid I’ll let her down. I’m afraid that her trust in me is misplaced.

“Will you please present your approach on this (very clear) case of psychosis? So that we can all go home?”

The professor’s condescendent  tone makes me aware that I already lost. So, why wouldn’t I risk it all and just speak my mind?

“She’s not a case and she’s not psychotic. Her name is Deana, she’s standing right here, in front of us, feeling lonely, humiliated, scared and lost. Hearing our theories about her. Listening how we’re going to treat her. Do we really help her now?”

The room became smaller as the silence around me made my knees tremble. Terrified looks, the sarcastic smile on the professor’s face. That’s it. If I’m losing my scholarship, at least I’ll do it with greatness.

The professor stares at me and I feel like I’m the case here. But he asks me to continue so I look at Deanna.

“Thank you for sharing your amazing story, it was very brave of you. Thank you. Deana, from all the people in this room, including myself, there’s only one person who holds the keys to your healing. And that person is YOU. Please tell me how can I help you in using these keys.”

She comes closer and I hear her whispering “thank you”. And, against all the rules, I go there, in front of my colleagues and I hug her.

Someone is applauding and I wonder how much sarcasm I can stand…

“You see, fellow students, Deana is, indeed, not a case. And absolutely not psychotic. She’s just a really great actress (thank you, Deana, for participating to our little experiment). The script was about the borderline behavior. None of you even mentioned this term. Everyone jumped to treat what cannot be treated: life. Except for our idealist colleague. My dear, allow me to encourage your emphatic approach, but the harsh reality is that your hugs wont right the wrongs of life. It’s simply not enough…”

I passed the exam. And it meant nothing.

What truly mattered and still does…

is that LIFE needs to be lived, not treated. 

The wrong needs to be righted, not only observed and commented

and a hug may not be enough, but it surely is essential and meaningful.

So…this is my warm hug. And my way of saying THANK YOU, my wonderful friends from our blogging world. For all the encouragement, for all the healing words, for being here when I’m tempted to give up. For reminding me that kindness is our universal language. Thank you!

 

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Will someone rescue me?

Tell me you wont save him! Look into his eyes, now look at me and tell me you don’t want to save him!

I knew this would work eventually…and it did, like so may times before. We were both eight years old, best friends, even more…Stephan was the kind of friend who would have followed me to the moon and back.

-We’re not supposed to be here, Claudia…I’ll get in trouble because of you. And it’s also dangerous…

In a way, he was right. We were not supposed to be there. In the backyard of this abandoned house where the sun never seemed to shine. It was always dark, always shadowed, and our parents were very clear…

-You know what? If you’re so afraid, just go! But I wont let him die here! Just look into his eyes…he’s begging us to help him.

The white pigeon was fighting for his life. He was caught in the thick bush and, with every struggle, he got deeper. I raised my hand, trying to reach out to him…

-No, please don’t do that! I heard there are spiders in the bushes! With venom…have you heard of the black widow? A child died after being bitten…don’t touch the bush!

Then you do it…

My tactics didn’t seem to function so I changed my tone…

Stephan…you know you’re the bravest boy I ever known…that’s why I asked you to help me. I could have called Christian…oh, maybe I should have done this…but you’re my best friend, not him…Will you, please, help me? Like a real hero, like Superman…

Reluctantly, he got closer to the bush. Another brave move and the white pigeon was in my arms. Stephan had scratches on his arms and a feeling of victory in his eyes…

-His wing is broken. I’d better take him to my grandfather, he knows how to fix broken wings…

-But…can I see him? He’s my pigeon…can I visit him…? 

-Claudia, I…

-Where were you? And my pigeon? How could you take him away and not telling me anything about him? It’s almost a week since I…since we saved him!

-He’s not…

I’m coming to see him! Where is it? In your room? Give it to me right now!

-I don’t have it anymore…He…died…my grandfather couldn’t fix his wing…and I was grounded for going with you to the abandoned house!

Big tears in my eyes…He died…my white pigeon…

Did you bury him? Can I see…the grave? 

-I did not…It’s not my fault! My grandmother made soup…she said it’s good when you have a cold…and I…

What? You…disgusting cannibal! I hate you! I hope the spiders will catch you and the black widow will eat you! You’re not my friend anymore! You’re nothing but a cannibal!

He tried to explain but I ran. I cried all evening. I heard he cried too…

-Do you remember? You called me “a cannibal” and I was trying to explain that cannibal means something else. God, how I cried that day! I was grounded the whole month, no TV, no games, only school…worse than jail! If you knew how I hated you…

-I was so sorry for the way I treated you. I wanted to apologize, I searched for you but then you left…Do you realize that this happen almost 30 years ago? Look at you, you’re so changed…with your white coat, taking care of all these sick animals…

-I know…I recognized your eyes…the same big green eyes…always a little scared, always a little defiant…

-That’s me, the rebel! So, am I forgiven for calling you a cannibal? Friends…again? Hey, Superman…remember?

He laughed and, for a moment, beyond the serious and professional aspect, beyond the gray hair and the eyeglasses I saw the little boy…

-Well, it’s a long time since anyone called me…Superman… so I guess it’s a good start.

 

Who am I without you?

I almost lost her six years ago…

I remember laying in that hospital bed, trying to cry, trying to feel…there was nothing but a dark, deep emotional void. People around me were repeating the same senseless sentences. Empty words, pointless and cruel…

“You need to be strong now…”

“Your crying is hurting her…”

“You can’t see her, if you’re in this state of mind…”

“We have no explanation for what happen, unless…maybe you’re hiding something…”

Hiding something…

I hided my tears and I replaced the pain with anger. I kept acting calm, strong and cold. I asked about my rights. I asked about her options. I started to make accusations. I demanded another medical opinion. I fought.

And in the inside…

The pain was so deep, so huge and so overwhelming that I just wanted to die. I cried till I couldn’t breath. I started to pray with desperation. I stopped believing in justice. Any kind of justice. I felt helpless, abandoned and alone…

And with her…

I held her tiny hand when no one was looking. She looked into my eyes and I knew…our story was just beginning. I told her about a beautiful place called HOME. A place of kindness and gentleness and love…a place where she will be held unconditionally. I promised her that my love will heal every wound. I smiled and it seemed that she’s smiling back.

And now…

I feel blessed for celebrating her 6’th birthday.

I can’t imagine a day without her joy, her beauty, her sense of humor, her sweet and innocent way of discovering the world.

Who am I without her? I’m grateful beyond words that I never had to find out…

 

Do you know what it feels like?

I’m just a few hours away from wearing a mask…

So…in the name of authenticity and honesty, I’m going to find a nice, cozy place, here, in the blogosphere, and tell you all the crazy thoughts running through my mind. Because today…I’m still 36! But tomorrow, oh tomorrow…lucky me…I’m turning 37!

Why, oh, why…can’t I be 36 another year? I don’t like 37. When I was a child, 37 sounded like…ancient. It still does…a little. But let’s be serious for a moment, because I mentioned something about a mask. And of course, there’s a story.

I created “the mask” around 10 years ago when I noticed that the people I love feel very disturbed if I act like myself in two occasions: Christmas and my birthday. (Myself meaning: a little self-irony, a bit of sarcasm, wanting to spend my birthday on the top of the highest mountain or…on the beach enjoying the biggest tiramisu ever, dreaming of a Christmas in a little village with tones of snow and no relatives at all…and so on). So I created a sort of emotional mask.

Other wise, it will be like…

What mountain, dear? You mean you want to be alone? Oh, that’s soooo sad…

What beach, sweetie? Can’t you see it’s raining outside, like every year on your birthday? (oh, yes, the sky knows it too!)

What tiramisu, darling? It contains alcohol and the children will be frustrated because they are not allowed…isn’t it nicer if you bake your famous strawberry cake? Don’t be selfish on your birthday…

A little village? Far away? No relatives? Just you, your husband and the kids you said? Ohhh, how you’re breaking our hearts…

And, of course…Don’t be sad on your birthday, mommy…

and…Are you upset with us?

and…Why are you so sarcastic…we’re all trying to make YOU happy!

Ughhhh…

So,(since I have my mask)  instead of those written above, it will be like:

Walking gracefully wearing a nice dress, high heels and a wild orchid perfume…

Smiling sweetly, saying “Age is just a number!”…

Expressing gratitude for every (un)necessary condescend remark…

Pretending to be happy, filled with joy and love.

That’s the mask…So, in my last moments of freedom, let me just scream from the top of my lungs Nooooo…don’t take me there!!! I don’t want my 37 birthday partyyyy!!! I want back, back to 36…or better…26…or better…No, 16 was awful! And I want my beach! Or my mountain! Or…at least…a little village…can I, can I???

OK, forget the mask! Who needs it anyway? I’m smiling now and it’s nothing bitter in my smile. I already have the greatest gifts anyone can ask for: my children, the love of my husband, a home. Thank you, God, for giving me another birthday!

And, dear Mister TIME…I know we had our disagreements but…could you stop for a second? To say the magic word, to enjoy the magic feeling. LOVE.

Okay, Mister TIME, I’m ready! Let me be 37!

 

 

To show you all the love I held inside…

I am an only child. My mother told me, so many times, that giving birth to me was so traumatizing, that she simply refused to even consider having another child.

I never had a pet, never even dared to ask for a puppy or a kitten. How could I have done it, when they didn’t even had time to breath…with my guitar class and my other passions.

I lived up to my parents expectations and I made them proud. I thought this is love. So, when I didn’t felt loved, I simply knew it’s my own fault.

Guilt can cut into someone’s soul just like a blade. It leaves behind a bleeding heart. It changes the meaning of words. Kindness becomes weakness, honesty becomes a foolish option, freedom becomes impossible.

Until one day…when someone’s words changed my destiny.

“You ask why…you keep asking why. Why, God, why do You give more to him/to her than you’re giving me? Why, when I’m a good person, maybe even better than he/she is? Why, when I pray more often, when I give more to charity, when I live a much moral and decent life? Why, when I’m following all the rules! He has more, she’s more happy…You keep answering to everyone’s prayers except from mines! So, why?”

I let my tears fall down my cheeks. He seemed to look straight into my eyes and continued.

“The answer is so simple: Love. We shouldn’t measure our faith in the quantity of prayers or money given to charity. But in Love. Our Love for one another. Our Love for ourselves. When you ask why…you’re always finding a guilty one. It’s you, your brother or sister, or maybe God. But there’s always someone to blame. And guilt is not Love.”

I don’t remember the rest of his words. I only knew that a beautiful feeling invaded my soul…

My two daughters know that their births were the happiest moments in my life. That’s the truth.

We have a puppy and a kitten. And a lizard, but that’s a whole different story 🙂

My expectations regarding my girls is for them to live a happy, fulfilled life. To follow their dreams, to love and to be loved.

And yes, maybe I’m compensating, but I’m also healing at the same time.

Because when you stop searching for someone to blame, then guilt is replaced by love. And then, with tears in your starry eyes, you’ll say the magic words:

I AM LOVED.

Family, faith, kindness and tolerance

As a child, I always asked myself how it would be if all people would have a magic mirror. To reflect the inner beauty, the unspoken words, all the little smiles hidden in the corners of our eyes. What would my mirror reflect?

Someone told me a few years ago that I’m an “old spirit”. I said thank you, knowing he meant well, but in my mind…oh, in my mind it was a completely different speech. “What do you mean old? I don’t feel old! I’m young, free, ready to fly high, I’m impulsive, impatient and childish at the same time! And yes, I was born in the 80’s but I feel like 24!”. Now I smile knowing that wisdom is such a precious gift…

So, I was thinking to create the magic mirror I always dreamed about. To see myself and to reveal myself in a way I never dared before. Between the lines is all about honesty…I will try, at least, to let you hear my inner voice, to show you the true colors of my soul. And I hope you’ll like what you see between the lines.

Now, about me. Family, faith, kindness and tolerance. Words that defines me and bring a warm smile to my face. My name is Claudia and I’m (almost) 37, I’m working as a psychologist in an Eastern European country. Romania…the land of contrasts. And there are so many things to say about the subject…

I am not a writer and I never learned English in school. Never attended an English class. I just found myself speaking (with a terrible accent) and writing (my grammar is also terrible), so I want to believe that it all came from Above. I also have an inexplicable passion for Dutch 🙂 and I understand Spanish.

So, this is my “about” page, I can’t wait to start writing and creating, piece by piece, little by little, that magic mirror! What a journey it will be! Please join me, smile with me and tell me what you see between the lines!