When Healing Yields Fruit

It was an ordinary weekday afternoon during winter of 2004 when I decided to make an uncharacteristic leap of faith and slay a demon from my past.

I had the day off from my job as a newspaper reporter and Stan (the paper’s proofreader who quickly became a friend and beloved father figure) and I had just arrived at the mall, on our way to catch a matinee. It was Oscar season and we were eager to see if “Lost in Translation” lived up to the buzz.

As we headed into the mall, I stopped in my tracks at the sight of someone familiar in the stream of shoppers headed through the main entrance.

 “There’s Mary,” I murmured involuntarily.

“Who?”

“Oh…we went to elementary school together.”

“Well, go say hello,” Stan urged

I hesitated. The domino effect of seeing someone from a past I cared not to revisit began its usual sleeper-hold on my confidence.

“I don’t know…what if she’s not nice to me,” I protested.

Stan shot me a baffled look.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Because…she’s a Lake George girl.”

And as soon as the words popped out I realized how irrational they were. I’d worked hard to both clean the wounds from the past and construct a foundation of confidence that every kid should have at the outset. 

A quick debate in my psyche ensued: OK, so the sight of an old classmate momentarily knocked me off guard, did that mean I had to let it derail me? Who’s going to win here, I asked myself…the present or the past?”

The uninvited demon that afternoon was the taunting voice fond of dropping derisive statements into my head:  “the bullies were right,” “you don’t belong,” or one of the most repetitive: “you’re not wanted.” Grade school may have been a blip in my rear view mirror, but some of those toxic, shadowy ghosts from decades ago were trailing me. And on the bad days, they skipped ahead so they could stick a leg out to trip me. Mary had never tormented me in school, but she was friends with some of the girls who did, and the association stuck.

In an instant, I found myself slamming the door on analyzing the past and found myself waving to get Mary’s attention. She smiled when she saw me. We stopped and chatted. I introduced her to Stan, pointing out they’re both Long Island natives, and the three of us had an enjoyable impromptu visit. As we parted, Mary told me she would be at a wellness fair showcasing her massage practice the following week if I’d like to come.

“She was nice to me!” I whispered with delight, as Stan and I strode into the theater.

“Stacey, come on…why wouldn’t she be?”

Taking that risk instead of shrinking back had me dancing on a cloud the rest of the day.

When Mary and I reconnected at the wellness fair, I took an even greater leap – by booking a massage with her. Up until that point, I’d only been comfortable with fully-clothed chair massages. Weighing in excess of 300 pounds at the time, disrobing for anyone was a heart-pounding endeavor. Even though I was shrouded in a sheet during the massage, the vulnerability sucked most of the oxygen out of the room - until I started to let go, remembering there’s always a choice: I could deny myself a nurturing experience based on shame and society’s labels, or embrace an experience that left me with the peaceful feeling that I’d just banked an extra eight hours’ sleep.

It was a risk worth taking in more ways than one: Not only is Mary an intensely compassionate and focused massage therapist, it turns out we had a lot in common, and a mutual interest in wellness was only the beginning.

Slowly, a friendship took root, and over the years, it blossomed. We were both spiritual seekers with a bent for self-development. She’s also a big believer in having fun (something I’ve been adding to my curriculum lately), which she encourages with kirtan concerts, lectures at a nearby arts college, and supporting farm-to-table restaurants as the perfect way to connect and catch up. All those plusses aside, there is another crucial element to our friendship – respect.

Mary had come into my life at a ripe age when I was through apologizing for myself and free of the erroneous belief that I was lucky to have friends at all.

It took a long time to shake that one, but finally, I emerged from the dross with a fresh set of expectations.  Being a practitioner of The Golden Rule, I was really only interested in acquiring new friends who did the same. As a result, my interpersonal liaisons are fulfilling and no longer require recovery time after each encounter. I once attracted menacing alpha-types like flies to honey. No more. My friendships consist of two equals who share similar core values.

I cringe at the memory of encounters with ‘friends’ where I did little more than nod obediently while they prattled on about their issues and dilemmas. But if I didn’t get those lessons, I wouldn’t have the strength and discernment I enjoy today. And I wouldn’t have friends like Mary. We listen to each other. We offer one another life updates and sometimes seek the other’s advice, but with a natural parity that ensures an unstrenuous give and take. There’s plenty of laughter, but we’ve cried on one another’s shoulder as well.

I’m grateful for a friendship like this. Its existence is proof that beliefs about oneself can change for the better. And when that happens, the whole game changes.