Free Tiger Lily: Part Three by Amélie S. Duncan Page B

focus on your inhalation and exhalation,” she said.
    I raised a brow. “Seriously?”
    She smiled. “Yes. When thoughts arise, bring it back to the inhalation and exhalation. Now, let’s take two breaths together.”
    She flicked her finger against a metal bowl and a sound hung in the air.
    Since she didn’t leave the exercise open for discussion, I closed my eyes and tried to focus. What is this? Inhale. How is this supposed to help me? Exhale. Is this how it’s going to go? Inhale. How long is this going to last? Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. The bell sounded once again.
    “I like to begin sessions with the practice of meditative mindfulness. An exercise in staying present and observing thoughts. Thoughts and feelings are separate. Sometimes our thoughts work against us. This will help you shift through the negative ones that may affect your overall health.” She paused to let the words sink in, and had they ever. I could easily admit my thoughts, at times, were my worst enemy.
    “So, let’s take a step back. How did you feel after the short meditation?” she asked.
    I ran my palms down my jeans and rested them on my knees as I thought on what she had asked. “I feel a little relaxed, I suppose.”
    She smiled warmly, and then continued, “I’d like to go over your goals for therapy and what brought you in today.” She reached over and collected a pen and paper.
    I grimaced. And so it starts. I share and she writes, and after I’m miserable I’ll be handed a few flyers and sent out the door. No thank you. I knew she was waiting for a response, but I didn’t have one. How would I know about goals when I’d just started? Hell, I didn’t even want to be here.
    “What went through your mind just now?” she asked, ending our silent standoff.
    I crossed my arms. “I thought this isn’t going to help me. I’ve done this before. The last therapist wrote a lot down, but not much became of it. Sorry.”
    “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. So seeing me pick up the pad triggered your memory of your past experience of therapy?” she asked, prodding me to engage with her.
    I folded and unfolded my hands in my lap and took a deep breath. I was here, and I promised Jonas I would try. So I decided to share what I could or perhaps confirm what Dr. Steinman had possibly shared with her. “Yes. I went to a therapist and she did the same. She listened, but then…I don’t know. I don’t have many expectations or goals. I came here because my doctor and, well, my boyfriend, recommended I get help after I became ill and underweight from stress. I had been physically attacked and harassed by my ex-fiancé. He escalated after I reported him and, well, now you know everything,” I closed my mouth and pressed my lips together.
    “Seeing me with the pad and paper, ready to take notes, triggered a memory of past therapy and you thought and felt…what?” she asked.
    I frowned. I just told her what was going on and she’s talking about triggers? I sat there and tried to curb my annoyance enough to try to figure out what response she was after. “I felt like you wouldn’t listen and I’d be left a mess of feelings with a bunch of pamphlets telling me information I could easily find on the Internet. I’m starting to feel happy again. I was sad for a long time. I don’t want to start digging up stuff when good is coming into my life.”
    “So, would a goal for you be that I listen and you feel better from what we discuss together?” she offered.
    I shrugged. “If that’s possible.”
    “I believe so, but we have only started. So, my goal is to be mindful of your feelings about therapy and your goals. I’ll check in often or ask how you are to make sure I help you meet that goal. How does that sound?” she asked.
    I licked my lips. “Okay. I’d like that.”
    “You came in feeling good. Let’s talk about that,” she said.
    I smiled and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Yes.