Bullshit
Sometimes, the person we are talking to helps us see the bullshit inside ourselves. When we stop working so hard to make them feel better, we give them more space to be themselves and to trust others. We then find room to do the same—and start trusting each other.
When I finish most of my pieces, I know they’re done when I feel like I'm falling in love. Sometimes, I even forget what I wrote about.
But other times, even after I fall in love, what I wrote opens new doors. It’s like a hidden part jumps up to say, "You left something out."
It’s like they’re sticking their tongue out, and saying, "I told you—you're gonna get slammed in the end. What were you thinking?"
Knowing it’s a child's voice still needing to be heard, I step forward and lean into my compassion—listening to what they want me to hear in my heart.
As I do so, I hear their question, "How can I ever trust a world that will always betray me?"
Catching my breath, I reply, "Thank you, little one, for getting braver and telling me how you feel. I know how hard this is for you."
Then I hear: “Bullshit. Just tell me the truth. You don't need to work so hard to make me feel better. Just let me be mad for a while."
"Wow," I reply, "I thought I was giving you a mirror, but instead you are the mirror for me."
“Bullshit, bullshit—BULLSHIT!” they shout—so loud even I can hear it, and I’m a little hard of hearing.
Breathing deeply, I respond. "I hear you. Stick around for a while. We need to talk some more. You're still my little bullshit detective."
"And that isn't bullshit."
Their anger starts to soften. Then they smirk: “Fuck—you.”
Now I know I’m home—even if no one else is. It's not my job to save the world—nor should anyone else.
Turning to my little bullshit detective, I patiently say, "You're right. But right now my truth is that I need to turn off the news and get some sleep.“
Feeling the tension in my body ease off, our eyes linger as I commit to my words and take in theirs: “We’ll talk more tomorrow—no bullshit."
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.