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Today we met a new therapist, someone to replace the doctor who first outlined the invisible needs of our children’s well-being. It is a unique part of our story, a professional advisor to everyday details. Someone to document the challenges and prescribe care, monitor progress and offer perspective.

I procrastinated change, cautious in my commitment to someone new. Personal recommendations and professional qualifications were balanced by simpler considerations like convenience of hours and the practicality of location. For all my care, the greatest measure of compatibility was the character of a thoughtful listener.

I was a quiet guest to my children’s introductions. I had expected dry, medical questions to flush out diagnoses and personal history, but I was rewarded with a casual conversation sprinkled with humor and reflection.

Intentionally and insightfully, each child identified themselves by defining their relationships and outlining past experiences. I marveled at the grace and maturity of their language as they shaded questions with patient answers.

They did not pretend away difficult memories under the guise of a false ideal or exaggerate details. They were genuine and accountable in their acknowledgment of personal weaknesses and strengths, open and trusting in their welcoming.

I was proud, not for the ease of their answers, but for the sincerity of self. My son’s humor and philosophical rambling. My daughter’s storytelling and mischievous smile.

At the end of our time I was pleased to note that we had stumbled into a safe sharing with a kind stranger and thoughtful professional. More importantly, I recognized my children already possess a place to rest worries and honor complicated experiences, celebrate our past and dream out loud.

Listening to my children I realized we’ve become closer in our shared displacement, more confidant of one another and gentler in our company.

Despite all my worries and imperfect days, we’re ok.

Tagged: Moving, Musings