When I was in graduate school I remember sitting in our group therapy course bewildered by my expectation of the class versus the reality of what was being asked of us. You see, humanistic psychology knows we must get in to the depths of ourselves before we could ever lead another in doing the same. It seemed so backwards at the time in my young life. After all, we were all in this room going to school to help people get shit together. Naturally in my young mind it was easy to think we should probably already have ours shits together if you know what I mean?

Nope, doesn't work that way. So there I was expecting to learn about how to manage a group therapy but in fact WE, the students, were IN group therapy.

I sat in the same spot every week, a comfy chair in the corner. Yes! There but only as close as I needed to be. We had about twenty or so of us in the room with the professor. The thought of sharing any piece of myself made me completely nauseous. When it was my turn, each week I would carve out a small piece of my box and share it with the group. The smallest amount possible in order to get through this class. I remember feeling what seemed a million eyes on me wanting me so badly to give more. They inherently knew there was more to me than what the world will see.

The truth is I did not make the most of the experience but I took away with it a deep appreciation for authenticity. And in the midst of it was a group of incredibly diverse people, gathered in a safe forum, able to share nothing less than their truest, most purest selves. It would take me many more years to finally figure it out in myself.

I find myself missing that group enormously these days. There were no words such as tolerate or love anyway.
We created a space where acceptance, diversity, respect and love wasn't simply tolerated. It was embraced, celebrated, honored just exactly as the messes we are.

Sometimes it is the only therapy one needs…a place to just be. This is us, I miss you more than I loved you. ❤️

A sweet angel stopped me in my tracks this week. "Mrs. J, I need you to give me your hand." Before I knew it her little hand was holding mine. She was to be writing a story about real life. A teachers hand with hers. I like to think that space carries on with me and every now and again little blessings like this show me that it does.

I love this, I love this, I love this! I love everything about this and I just wish the rest of the world did too.

Loved By Grace,
Aimee

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