Page 42 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
I wasn’t used to hearing people breathe.
When she let out her breath, she stroked down my back with hard pressure, rubbing oil into me. “Is that pressure okay?”
“Yes,” I said to the donut.
She repeated the motion, going down either side of my spine.
Each time she did it, I sunk further into the table.
And I realized that I was going to be okay. I wasn’t going to be exposed on a table, naked, for anyone to laugh at. Instead, in an intimate room, comfortable, I was covered with a clean sheet.
I was letting someone touch me. I was letting a total stranger lay her hands on me.
Maybe this was part of living in my earthsuit—allowing my body to be touched all over.
While I lay on that bed, she caressed my arms, pushed my legs, and applied her hands to my body.
She made my muscles feel used and moved, but also cared for.
She touched me. I let her.
Even though my body was too big, shameful, and ugly, I let someone touch it.
For the most part, I’d grown up without anyone touching me except in anger. My mother’s hugs were sporadic. Tyler didn’t pay attention.
I was starved for affection.
Until Mikey, the only affection I’d ever received had been from food. Cookies gave me love. Candy bars kissed my lips. Potato chips soothed my soul.
Food didn’t scare me.
People touching me did. While I’d wanted to be touched with love, I never got it. I’d feared my dad’s touches. His physical abuse. His hatred. His anger.
Even though he was dead, I hadn’t let him go. He came to me in my nightmares every night. I had to save my brothers and my mother, every single night.
As Clarisse touched my shoulders, stroking down hard, letting out the tension, I found myself sobbing.
I could be touched in a loving way.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying,” I lied because I was embarrassed.
“Let it out, dear. Let it out,” she whispered. “We hold the weight of our sorrows on our shoulders. I’ll keep working, and you just allow yourself to be in this moment. Let out the tension. Whatever it is you’re feeling, let it wash over you. Let it release. Let out your feelings.”
As she worked on my neck, I released part of my childhood.
The part that hadn’t been touched in love. The part that had been cruelly abused.
I sobbed out my childhood fears—that my dad would come and hurt me when I’d done nothing wrong. That my mother didn’t protect me. That it was up to me to protect her and my little brothers.
The part that shied away and flinched whenever anyone reached toward me.
Because I’d been starved for love. I’d been starved for kindness. For physical attention that I desired—actual affection.
And now I knew that I could be touched. What’s more, I enjoyed it. I felt like a cat getting rubbed behind the ears. My body purred to life.
And an hour and a half later, while I still had the same body, I liked it a little better, even though it was still sore.
And I had no desire to eat for once.
