The Bodyworker

She rubbed his head, running her hands through his hair. I remember running my fingers through his hair, just to capture the pain he bottled up in there, pulsating and livid. He teared up as she placed pressure up and down his body, and my heart ached watching. He groaned as she turned him on his side, the upper leg falling forward. She pushed her weight on his hip. Tears slipped down his temples. "I -" he started. She waited. Moments later, she prompted, "yes?" He couldn't say. She prompted again. After frustration and clear derision of his lack of expression, she convinced him that any story, whether true or just a story, had to be let out in order to make room for the truth. He nodded, sighing loudly from his wide chest. Blubbering in pain, he spoke of having little power around women, of being used, deceived - and also, of having no to little access to being fully open with them without resentment and closing off. I choked at this. I've heard the story before. But seeing him, being held down by a petite but strong woman, feeling his body and his pain as he said this, the impact became real to me. I started weeping. Becca looked up. "What's wrong, mama?" I shook my head. She gave me the same frown she had been giving Andrew in his moments of suppression. "Say it now," she demanded with astute sternness. Shortly thereafter, I was lying in his arms - he was putting pressure on me while she put pressure on him. I couldn't stop crying. All of this pain that I've been feeling around him - has been his. I've been feeling his anger. And I've been feeling my own anger - that part of him that hates me because I am a woman - is - unfair. I have been feeling shame around my very own femininity. Imprisoned by his very own containment. And because it has been repressed anger, I've been scared. I've been scared of the discharge that will explode like a cork coming off of a champagne bottle - aimed at my heart. I've been scared that he wasn't taking care of himself. I've been scared that he would tear me apart with his massive hands. Yes, I was angry. But I was also terrified and in love. My body became wracked with sobs I couldn't let out. Knowing this, I now have another choice to make, and one of them looks like I can choose to break my own heart.