Getting It

I went for a massage last night. The woman who was to massage me wanted to please. I could see it in her smile and tentativeness. Took her awhile to get started; took ages to gingerly tuck the towel around my hair, I felt anxious with the ineffectual fussing. Get on with it, I wanted to say, in Mandarin. Her fear was not what I was here, nor paying, for. After 10 minutes I lifted my head, shaking it in No fashion. She went and got the interpretor. I explained that I needed pressure. The front desk translator summed that it wasn't enough pressure for me? I said it wasn't any pressure, just flat-handed rubbing. I had specified deep-tissue. They talked and we resumed. Another 5 minutes and I lifted my head shaking No again.
More waiting, then another woman took over. Immediately I could feel her command of her territory: my body. She asked for feedback and listened. I freely told her when something wasn't working for me, risking seeming bossy. After telling her to slow down a few times, she did, then felt where my pain was. She got it. She said so, I felt so. She understood. It took her some time to do so; it took me time, effort, and perseverance. This is what I came for. Was it me, or was it them? I wondered.
I can grant that perhaps I am complex and my painful muscles don't follow the lines of a chart. The first woman rode on my bones, not my muscles! The second one rubbed towards my head, instead of down away from my heart, riding the wrong in-side of the rigid rope, and as I kept directing her to the outside edge of it, that's when she dialled in. Finally. I could feel her hands listening then, and attending to my tightness, she did not need to be told. Tears came for having my pain understood.

Being heard, seen, felt, understood, and not judged is everything to me. It is one of the hardest things to deal with as a teacher, this need. Imagine talking to children who don't listen quite frequently. It drives me to distraction and emotional upset at times, which I override with my adult mind. I know it's not personal, and they mean no harm. Into my emotional center, however, the verbal and inattentive infraction contracts an upset. It's difficult to think when the agenda of others is in my space. I can't ignore the interruption. I'm so ingrained to care about others' thoughts before my own. My very being as a child was viscerally perceived as annihilation, by either being negated and overlooked in my silence, or shut down or taunted when I spoke my truth. Do not underestimate the influence of siblings; no less powerful than the relationship with parents.

Get this: A plant can thrive with only the requisite basic ingredients!
What is important is not going for what's missing, but what is covering, and being given valuable energy toward. The active voices vying for attention, that I pay allegiance to, rather than my true requisites.
More next time on what are my elixirs of water, sunshine, soil, and container.