Talk to me.
That one sentence strikes fear in my heart like not much else. I can’t pinpoint exactly why or when the fear began. But for someone who has spent most of life calculating and measuring words, talk is definitely not cheap. It is extremely pricey.
Talk..real talk…the kind that gets past the surface…is often a one-shot-per-person deal for me. For example, when I first met with my counselor, I was extremely apprehensive about what I expected to be in-depth conversation. When she first said, Tell me why you’re here, my heart felt like it might pound out of my chest. I put on my brave face and started talking…fast and deep. I was giving her one shot, and if she didn’t dive deep with me, I didn’t plan to return. She kept up, engaged by asking thought-provoking questions, and most importantly, didn’t judge. She made it safe for me to talk. Of course, that’s her job.
But there have been plenty of times when that one shot has proven itself too expensive, and I’ve learned to cheapen my talk. I’ve learned that scratching at the surface to reach the layer beneath is often uncomfortable. It’s what I desire, yet the very thing that scares me. I need depth like I need air, but like an asthmatic, I often find myself gasping and groping for what should be so easily attainable.
I’m figuring out that this is a broken part of my heart that needs healing. I’m not sure of the exact incident when the damage occurred, but it was definitely in my youngest years. Approximately 30 years later, I’m ready for healing…for freedom from anxiety when I hear Talk to me.
