There’s Sam, the man cheated on by his wife before she divorced him, and Clarence, the quiet old man who always smiles when someone’s talking and barely ever says a word about himself. Harper is my favorite, mostly because she always sits next to me and leans in to offer her commentary on everyone’s problems.
I could go on and on, but the point is that I know everyone in this group.
Except for the new shadow.
I wait for myself to feel something about him, about his newness, but all I can think is that he’s very tall, very lean, and very sad.
The last fact is as obvious as the color of his shirt.
I’m still watching him when our group leader, Jackie, clicks the top of her pen and holds the notebook in her lap by the serial binding, her usual cue that we’re about to begin. With one last, curious look at our new addition, I turn my attention fully to her, and straighten my back, meeting her smile with my own.
“Hello, everyone,” she sings in her calm, soothing voice. “Welcome to group.”
There’s a murmur of hellos from the group — from everyone except our new shadow.
“So, before we get started, I want everyone to get comfortable in your chair, and then I want you to close your eyes.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I close them as she instructs, reminding myself to remain open to the energy she’s trying to give off. That’s what my personal therapist always says. She knows how I’ve felt in the past about group therapy, about therapy in general, and she always reminds me that I’m on the road to healing, and if I snub my nose at everything I pass on this road, I’ll just end up right back where I started.
Once our eyes are closed, Jackie leads us through a breathing exercise, reading off some calming mantras as we tune into our breaths. The more we breathe, the more she speaks in her soothing tone, the more I relax and drift into the open space she wants us to be in.
But suddenly, I feel like someone’s watching me.
I creak one eye open, and then the next, glancing around the group at all the other members who have their eyes closed. Jackie is still speaking, and I frown, not knowing what made me feel uneasy and snapped me out of the moment.
Until I lock eyes with the shadow.
He’s still in the same pose — long legs outstretched, arms folded across his chest — and his eyes aren’t closed like Jackie instructed.
They’re wide open, and completely zeroed in on me.
I blink at the boldness of them, of him — his gaze and his demeanor. His eyes are a bright, Caribbean water blue — almost see through, almost green, almost gray. They’re light and playful as they take me in, and just as Jackie signals for everyone to open their eyes, he smiles at me.
Just a tiny curl of his lips, but it does something to my stomach that I do not like.
“Alright,” Jackie says, and I tear my eyes from the shadow and back to her. “Who would like to start?”
The group takes turns sharing, then — tentative hands raising before something good or bad from the week is divulged. Jonathan had a phone call with his daughter, though it was short and he could tell she didn’t want to talk to him. He felt like it was a step in the right direction, but was seeking advice on how to bridge that conversation gap between them. Kendall had a breakthrough when she was shopping with her sister and resisted the urge to steal a pair of earrings.
It goes like this for nearly an hour, and I listen to everyone speak, nodding in empathy and offering words of encouragement when it feels right. I really do like being in the group, for as much of a fit I threw about going in the first place. I might not be the most talkative, but I do like helping others when I can, and I like feeling like I’m not alone in my struggle to move past all my own shit.
“Erin, what about you?” Jackie asks toward the end of session. “Anything going on with you this week?”
I take a deep breath, adjusting my legs to cross the opposite way as I balance my notebook in my lap. “Well, school is back in session,” I remind her and the group. “And sorority life, too. So… it’s been interesting, adjusting to having classes and responsibilities again. But it feels good. I’m redoing a wing of our sorority house and helping some of the other sororities plan their philanthropy events. Being president keeps me busy, and I’ve found when I’m busy, I don’t have time to dwell on everything that makes me sad.”