The Cut
Sometimes it’s a cut. Sometimes more. Look closely, and you can decide for yourself.
Read or listen. If you get distracted, try to be open to learning something new.
I cut myself shaving the other day. An accident, I guess. But it felt so bad at the time—the blood kept flowing and didn't want to stop.
I told my wife, and she offered me a cotton pad to absorb the flow. It helped a little—mostly to know she cared and was trying to help.
Eventually, it started to slow down so I could assess the damage. It looked like a surface wound but it seemed to open up something deeper inside if you know what I mean.
I take a moment to breathe and decide if I should cover it up. I'm going to see some folks I haven't seen in a while… and I don't want them to think less of me.
It helps to say that. I know that's just a wounded child part and not who I am now... my Core Self.
I look at my face and decide to put on a dab of all-purpose triple antibiotic ointment. I use it on my toes all the time. It should work for my head too—at least that’s what I’ve been told to believe.
But what about my heart. That wound goes deeper.
The kid is glad I'm here… no longer alone and stuck in the past. I say, “I've got it now. The deeper wound is already starting to heal.”
It’s been a few days already. Hard to tell I had the injury. I remind myself that was a close call—a close shave—and I need to make sure to slow down and get some sleep before I try to get close again.
It’s good to remember that I’m not the only one in the room, and to be careful not to step on anyone’s toes—especially my own.
I’ve learned to give the wound some time and space, allowing the air to do its job—from the inside out.
Nice to have you there too. And to share my story, believing that the cut will eventually heal, and what’s inside doesn’t need to be perfect—just human.
It already knows how to do that—and it won't kill me. The cut is not there to hold the pain but to show me my capacity for kindness to myself and others.
I’ll be holding the light in case you forget… the light of invisibility.
You’ve got it covered too… Where does this take you now?
Dedication: To all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together.
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.