I liked that she was honest with me. She wasn't calculating or manipulative. In fact, she was using some of my own therapy techniques against me. What she was saying had merit too. I had felt good for the few minutes I spent there, and I could use some of that in my life. Not having to be required to meet any quota or beholden to a rigid schedule lifted my anxiety as well.
"You're good, you know," I teased as I speared salad onto my fork, dipping it in the balsamic vinegar dressing on the side.
Mitzi smiled wide, taking a bite of her salad as well. "Contrary to most of the 'ladies who lunch', I earned my degree in something I was passionate about, Business, and minored in Psychology. Both have served me well, running foundations and caring for kids. I truly believe you will be a great advocate for us, and I think even for yourself. I know the past year hasn't been kind to you, and, believe it or not, I get it. My life might seem like the picture-perfect portrayal that everyone sees. But I've seen heartache at the loss of a child. I've seen betrayal from friends and death of loved ones. No one is exempt or has it all together, Loren."
I was shocked by her words, not that she knew about my life because that had been front-page country club gossip fodder for months, I had no doubt. No, I was shocked that she had experienced some of the same things as me, and yet, I saw her as someone who had a wonderful and full life. I guess you really didn't know everything from the outside looking in. Perspective was paramount. Mitzi took another bite as we both quietly ate, digesting her words.
When she finished, she delicately wiped her mouth before putting her salad to the side. She was naturally the epitome of class and grace—everything my mother tried to be and failed miserably at.
"I know you will understand the next part I'm about to say, but sometimes, knowing and hearing it from someone else can be the thing that alters it for you. It's hard to see past the haze depression coats everything in. I know that. I've lived it. So, hear this, if you hear anything I've said tonight. It's temporary. The depression will lift at some point, and you'll be left with a life that's been on autopilot. The joy from being part of these kids' lives is not a fix for the pain; nothing takes that. But it can be a healing salve, a nightlight in the darkness, and a moment where you can look outside yourself. Think about what I said, dear. Enjoy your class, and I hope to hear from you soon."
She stood casually, patting me on the shoulder, and I watched her leave gracefully out the door into the Chicago cold. Mitzi was a freaking fairy or something with the mind trip she just gave me.
As I finished off my dinner, I let her words permeate and float around in my head. Nothing Mitzi said rang false, and she was correct in her assessment that it would be precisely what I would tell a client in my own care. Therapists really did make horrible clients.
I couldn't dwell much longer on her statements since I needed to walk to Windy City and change for class. But they were there, in the back of my head, planting themselves, just waiting for me to be ready to water and cultivate their growth in my life. Jude's face flashed briefly, and I knew I would be giving her an answer soon, one way or another.
Maybe her words were what pushed me through those gym doors, ready to take on Mr. Surly and his fucking punching bag.
Perhaps it was pent-up aggression for having amazing sex for the first time and knowing I wouldn't be having it again any time soon.
Or maybe, I was just tired of feeling weak and sad and people telling me I could ‘just get over it'.
Do you know what I was going to get over? Their faces when I punched it.
Yeah, maybe all of that was what caused me to go into kickboxing class with a purpose.