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“How are you feeling about returning home?” Delia, my therapist, asked me.
“Nervous. I’m worried I haven’t changed enough,” I admitted, picking my nails, something I hadn’t done in two weeks.
“What do you feel would be enough?” she asked, redirecting the question back to me.
“I guess I still don’t know who I am. I might have a tattoo and pink hair now, but on the inside, I still feel like that girl who’s afraid of burdening people, who feels she needs to be constantly grateful for being alive.”
“The gratitude shackles.”
“Yes, exactly. I don’t think I’ve lost them yet. I feel stronger in many ways and know I can’t run away forever. The seventh inning stretch can only last so long.” I smiled, laughing at how even when I was on my own, baseball still snuck in.
It felt nice, though. Like using a secret language I had with my family. Which instantly made me think of Dad and his baseball theories and wondering if there was one for this situation. I’d assumed life had thrown me a curveball, but perhaps it had been a changeup all along.
Was I striking out because I’d been reading the pitch wrong the whole time?
“What did you just think about?” Delia asked, bringing me out of my head.
“My dad has this theory that baseball can solve any problem. Either by attending a game, hitting a few balls, or the rules themselves. I’ve been thinking I had to swing at each option presented to me without focusing on everything else around me and waiting for the perfect pitch.”
“It sounds like you’ve found some solace in your dad’s theories; a bit of comfort?”
“Yeah. I think I have.”
“And what did you discover? You had a smile on your face, and I watched your whole body relax immediately as you realized something.”
Her question made me blink, not having known that much had been going on in my body language. “I realized I was returning home because that was the plan. I had two weeks off from work, and that’s my ticket’s return date.”
“But?” she asked, smiling at me, knowing I’d gained some insight.
“But…” I grinned. “Just because that’s what is expected doesn’t mean I have to do it.”
Damn, that felt good to say out loud.
“What is it you want to do?”
I smiled with my whole face, not even having to dig deep for the answer this time. “No, I want to stay. I like who I’m becoming here, and I’m not ready to stop that growth yet. I have enough savings to stay longer, and if my job won’t hold my position, I’ll find something else. It’s not like I enjoy it, anyway. Emory has asked me to join her while she’s at Fête de la Fraise, and that sounds a lot more fun than counting numbers.”
“And what about this? Do you want to continue our work?”
“Definitely. We’re just at the tip of the iceberg, Doc.”
She chuckled, her eyes soft as she looked at me. “Shall we role-play telling your parents, then?”
I nodded vigorously with my eyes wide, making her laugh. We both knew despite my desire to stay and feeling it was best for me, I’d still struggle to tell my parents, especially if they protested to any degree.
Baby steps. I just had to keep moving forward. One base at a time, as Dad said.
As the session ended, Delia stood and walked over to her bookcase. She picked up an old film camera with a purple strap that had seen better days.
“I uncovered this camera over the weekend while cleaning out some boxes. It’s been well-loved, but it still functions. I’d like for you to take it and use it as a homework exercise.”
“You want me to take pictures?” I asked, my forehead creasing. It seemed like an odd request.
“Yes, and no. I want you to take pictures of things that make you smile. Things that make you sad. Things that move you in any way. Find the beauty in the mundane, in the brokenness. Then I’ll show you how to develop the film. If you hate it after a few tries, then we can try something new. But I have a feeling you might like seeing things from a different perspective.”
Taking the camera into my hands, I felt a sense of rightness as I held it. Excitement to take pictures and learn a new skill bubbled inside me, eclipsing the fear of telling my parents I wasn’t leaving today.
