Bandaging Our Wounds

I should know better than to have coffee with the hypnotherapist (let's call him Steve) with any expectations of how it's going to go...we ended up staying in his office and I've now committed to being the point person for an upcoming class of his. It shouldn't actually require that much out of me and he's promised to make it worth my while, meaning, I hope, that I won't have to pay for the course and that he'll give my mom another stop-smoking session when she visits in June.

I can't complain about the lack of caffeine stimulation or about adding something else to my to-do list, though, because he helped me immeasurably, just because he's my friend. I was very intimidated to speak to my thesis advisor and mentioned that I was going to see him (my advisor) that evening. I chose my advisor because of my affection for him and I know that he wants me to succeed, but I've been too afraid to speak with him for months. So Steve said to me, " Go and speak to your advisor. Ask for help. And if he wounds you, I'll be here to bandage your wounds."

Wow. He'll be there to bandage my wounds. Someone cares. I needed to hear that.

It's not just a question of him caring, but also that he recognizes the seriousness of the potential wound. He told me about another student who failed their clinical examination and how he sent them flowers to acknowledge their grief. There is so much shame wrapped up in failures of this kind that I think we don't share nor do we know how to recognize these kinds of griefs when they occur. I fear failing my last exit exam, I fear failing my board exams, I fear writing a piece of drivel instead of a thesis and I fear any of these or other reasons preventing me from graduation. Were any of these to happen, I would want to crawl under a rock and hide from the world ... until yesterday. Now I'll go have Steve bandage my wounds.