I'm not a hugger, but when I came into work this morning I noticed a co-worker walking out with a box of tissues and it looked like she'd been crying. I don't know her well but we've talked and we have a lot in common--a love of sci-fi, and believe it or not, we both married gay men in the stupidity of youth. I asked if anything were wrong and she'd just found out her 15-year-old cat had just died. Oh, dear, yet another thing point of congruity--it's something I know I'll have to deal with soon with my own 'babies', who range in age from 12-15. I told her I was sorry and then I hugged her and made sure she wasn't driving whilst upset (she was just out for air). I don't know what else to do, but I had to at least do that.
It does make me realise, though, that over the past couple of years that in going through counselling and getting more in touch with my own emotions, I'm also more sensitive to others'. When you spend too much time in your own world, you cut yourself off from everything, everyone. I was sort of like Pink in Pink Floyd's The Wall, minus the drugs. All my experiences left me rather undeveloped socially and emotionally and stuck inside a wall that was beginning to crumble, leaving me defenceless. Now I've learnt to reach out to others, to be open and interactive but still protect myself without shutting down entirely. And I didn't even have to deal with marching Nazi hammers, although I had my own daemons to deal with. It seems that there's this sort of cycle (but not vicious) where the more you love yourself (as in self-esteem, rather than narcissism), the more you reach out to others, the more you love others, the more they reach out to you, the more you love yourself, you know? Okay, maybe it's not such a profound point, but it's a new one for me.
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