For the past year or so I have been attending a support group. Support for what? Many things, I suppose. Besides my individual psychotherapy, my family, and very few dear friends, this group has been a lifeline in the midst of chaos. It has helped me survive a severe bout of depression, a marital separation, a major move to a new borough (a big deal in NYC), a start of a small private clinical practice, and a huge emotional growth spurt (aka life’s kicks to my ass). I have met some of the bravest individuals in this group, true survivors. Today I wanted to talk about one in particular. Not about her struggles or anything else I have sworn to hold in confidence, but about her impact on me.

 

This woman, we shall call her Elle, is a presence. She is vivacious, articulates herself well, and sits up with her shoulders back and straight, as if telling the world “yep, I know you’re impressed.” She wears beautiful colorful scarves and always wears long sleeves. Sometimes, when she talks with her hands and her sleeves hike up, you see marks on her wrists and arms. Maybe they are burn marks, maybe they are acid burns. I have never had the courage to ask her, but I always wonder what the story behind these war wounds is. She has many stories, as does everyone else in the group.

 

Elle has a way with words. She easily discloses horrific details about her life and does not overwhelm others with the content because of the way she delivers it. She is seen as a leader by her peers and as an example of what it means to not just survive hell, but thrive on the other side. She inspires me.

 

A few months ago after a weekend meeting in the city, I got up to leave the group, while people remained socializing. All of a sudden, Elle interrupts her conversation with a peer and jumps up towards me. At this point I had known Elle for about 11 months, yet we had never exchanged words outside the very clear parameters of the meeting. She said she wanted to tell me something and then she started crying. She said, “I’m so glad you’re not a cool bitch.” I don’t quite remember my response, but it was probably something like “me too…huh?” She went on to clarify stating that up until that day, she had always seen me as reserved and unapproachable. She said that she didn’t know what to make of me and that she had feared that for the past 11 months I had been sitting there in that circle across from her silently judging her. Upon hearing this, I was hurt. I had been so incredibly vulnerable in that circle, and the thought that I was perceived as cold and put together really did not fit with my self-perception. I was ready to blow her off, maybe say something like, “look lady, you don’t know me, so stop being so scared of what you think I’m thinking and talk this out with someone else, because although I am a psychologist, I am not YOUR shrink!” I didn’t say this to her however, because her next words were “you are my soul sister!” Even though this proclamation was a bit sudden and bordering on boundarylessness, I actually understood what she meant and I even sort of agreed with her. We spent the next few minutes understanding the other and by default understanding ourselves. That afternoon, it became super clear to me that even when I think I am being ultra open and vulnerable, I am still quite guarded and suspicious of trusting anyone. I learned that when I am feeling unsafe, I can be irrationally rational and appear to be detached emotionally even if internally I feel small and as if I’m about to be devoured by a hungry lion. I learned that we are all afraid of being vulnerable, judged, misunderstood and that even if I am proficient at acting “cool”, I shouldn’t always be acting. Finally, I learned that I had much more in common with Elle than I had previously anticipated. I don’t wear long sleeves to cover my past, but I do wear my “I’m a cool bitch, don’t mess with me, I’m smart and attractive, confident, and I know everything” mask to protect myself and hide my war wounds. Well, the mask is coming down. And what’s underneath is pretty awesome. My wounds are healing and the scars are beautiful.