I like it when I wake up slowly in the morning with no urgent need to get up. I pull out my earplugs and lie still, relaxed, listening to the birds, tuning into the weather. Maybe I stretch a little, then settle again to enjoy just being there poised between sleep and waking. Thoughts drift in and out of my mind; mostly prosaic (what day is it?) and sometimes profound.
Today I found myself thinking back to imagery I conjured up in my early days of psychotherapy, thirty-odd years ago. At the time I felt, for various reasons, utterly lost and broken. I visualised myself as a mess of runny jelly separated from the shell that had given me shape and support. Without my shell I was vulnerable, formless and scared witless.
At the time we played around with ideas of trying to firm up the jelly so it didn’t need a hard shell to protect it, but somehow it never really resolved into an image that felt completely satisfactory. I’d forgotten all about it until this morning when I suddenly had the revelation that we should have focused on making the shell resilient rather than toughening the jelly!
For some reason that thought cheered me no end. It’s not as if I’ve consciously given much, if any, thought to an unresolved piece of imagery during the last thirty years, but it was still an “Ah ha!” moment, as if some small piece of mental jigsaw had finally slotted into place. It felt profound, though after pondering it on and off throughout the day I’m not sure why.
Is it a sign confirming that I’m now reasonably emotionally resilient? Or is it a nudge to look at some other issue in a different way? A reminder that you need both container and contents to make a whole? Or just one of those random pieces of mental flotsam that washes up in a half-awake mind?