Giving and Receiving
Some gifts take a lifetime to receive. Stay with me awhile… and see what you receive—and give.
When the time is right, find a quiet moment. Read or listen… and there will be more.
Have you ever given someone a gift, but it was never received? Have you ever received a gift and never acknowledged it?
I’ve been thinking a lot about these questions lately. Even though I try to help people get giving and receiving in better balance, I can struggle with it too. I don’t always hear what they’re telling me or find the courage to say what I need to.
I have to admit, sometimes I try to give too much—when it’s not always mine to give.
Yeah, it can be hard when we hold the line. Some people don’t like what we do or say—but that’s a gift too. Instead of worrying about hurting their feelings, knowing my truth and redirecting them back to theirs can often be the most compassionate thing I can do for them as well as myself.
Finding the courage to move forward opens the door of a big room in my museum of you that contains some winding corridors leading into others where I could easily get lost. I have in the past—and still can if I don’t think about where I am… and where I’m going.
I think it happens a lot—not just in therapy. Parts of us that are stuck in the past get blended with what we’re facing right now. I’ve come to see it as a gift whenever we recognize it’s happening. Then we can name it and become curious about what is changing within and between the lines, which often isn’t as black and white as we think.
In other words, we have a sense of where we are on the map, but we need to look at what is stuck or changing inside to help us figure out what we need to see to get back home.
Sounds simple, right? I wish it was, but this map works a little differently than the one on your phone or in your car. To take back your power and drive your own car without getting lost—or running out of gas—we need our dashboard online—all our emotions. That’s our Core Self.
It helps us trust who we are and where we’re going, so we can find our way home if a wounded child stuck in the past hijacks us.
In the moment, I’ll take a leap and let you accompany me into my vast museum, so you can see more of your own. Whether you’re in therapy or not, perhaps it will open a door you’d like to explore.
I see a little boy sitting alone… He looks around 8 or 9 years old. He’s here now even though he may still feel like he’s in the past.
I ask him to come closer and sit beside me. He doesn’t want to look at me—but I stay steady, feeling the light inside me grow stronger, so he can see himself in the mirror I’m holding for him.
Noticing even the slightest breath, I gently lean in and tell him how good it is that he’s here. Placing my hand on my heart, I ask if he can tell me what’s going on.
Both of us breathing more easily… he slowly whispers, “I try so hard to do the right thing and be helpful. But sometimes, it’s not enough—and I get punished instead.”
Shaking my head… giving space to how I feel hearing what he’s saying, I wait to speak... giving him all the time in the world.
After a bit, I just put my arm around his shoulders, and softly say, “That’s a tough one… but not impossible. I’ve been there many times before, and I know that you know in your heart that you have a lot of goodness—and no one can take that away...
The fear is in the past. You’re safe in my heart now.”
The little guy looks at me with sad but loving eyes. He seems to know that I can see him, and that he’s not alone anymore. I feel his body edging closer, and comfort him as I receive his pain… along with the gift of his light, inside and between us.
I think to myself that this is what we both need. We can't change what happened to us, but we can change the meaning of the story and what got wired in.
Feeling a bolt of energy, I say, “Let's get moving. It's a great day to fly a kite. What do you think?”
Almost immediately, I can feel his little body come to life.
We walk into a big field, like the one I used to play in when I was a kid. Suddenly, a big man appears. The little boy is excited to see him again, letting me know that’s “Big Mike.” He’s pretty graceful, running and jumping, as he plays with his boomerang—dancing to the beat of his own drummer.
We reverently sit and watch, amazed by how no matter how far or in what direction he throws his boomerang, it always knows how to get back home... and he always catches it—giving and receiving.
I can feel something relaxing inside, and lean into the little boy to see if he can feel it too. He lights up, and says, “I'd like to try that. That looks like a lot of fun, but I don't know how to do it—and I might not be very good at it.”
I suggest that we ask Big Mike to show us. Without hesitation, the big guy proudly passes me the boomerang, and confidently says, “Throw it with your little one. Don’t worry… you won’t lose it. Just follow your heart, and you’ll know what to do.”
“Don’t forget,” Big Mike says… “Trying is the most important part. You don’t need to be perfect. You’ll get better at it the more you practice.”
Hand in hand, we stand up and take a step out of our comfort zone. The little boy turns to me and asks if I can help him. I say, “Sure, let's give it a try. I’m the man you’ve become… and I’ve got you now.”
Grabbing the boomerang, the little boy’s small hand beneath mine, we cock our arms and let it fly. Surprised at how far it’s going, we watch as it seems to disappear before our eyes… and as promised, it comes back home.
Smiling ear to ear, the little boy says, “That was so cool! Can you show me more?”
As I look at Big Mike, he says, “Sure, I see you have a kite. I remember how much you loved flying them.”
At first the little guy starts running and the kite quickly stalls… never really catching the wind.
I lean in and tell him to slow down so I can help him. “You’re not alone anymore.”
We both grab the spool of string attached to the kite and start to run. The little boy is really fast… and just as I feel a breeze on my face, I sense his little arm rising with mine high into the sky.
I exclaim, "There you go, you got it... I’ve got it now!"
The kite catches the gift of the wind and starts flying high. I tell the little boy to let out the string a little at a time… and let it go where it needs to.
The kite is flying high now, like the eagle soaring above us. I lean in and say to the little guy, who now looks taller and more like me, "You gave the world a gift today... You can do that every day.”
Big Mike is gone now. The little one hears his mom cheering… as he looks up gratefully at me. We just smile with quiet strength as his gift is finally received… He feels it too, inside and out—the balance.
I think it’s starting to rain. No… just a few tears. Wow, that was a big one. It’s our Core Self. It's always been there—even if we only notice a glimmer.
To all those listening or reading this, take a moment… What do you notice now?
… I'm imagining a sky full of kites and boomerangs. We're all feeling free to be different—to be ourselves in the light of invisibility.
Pretty cool, huh... giving and receiving. We’re home now—and know that we always have been.
Maybe you had a Big Mike in your life... and still do. The only time I would see him would be out in the field playing with his boomerang and watching me fly my kite. He didn't even live in the neighborhood…
Maybe he lives everywhere.
Echoing the song below, I can hear my mom saying, “All it takes is a lot of faith and a lot of heart… sweetheart.”
Stay with her until the end… “Stars.”
I’ll be there too.
Dedication: To all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together. Pass it forward.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
Stay tuned for more—as this living model continues to grow—with self-compassion leading the way around the world… and back home.