Picture this. You enter a room you’ve never been in and meet a stranger who tells you to take off your clothes. You comply and this person you don’t know touches your most private parts. While you might feel uncomfortable, you don’t say a word.
Sounds unlikely, right? Well, maybe you’ve never been to a doctor. There’s another version in which you’re expected to do something similar. But this time, it’s not your clothes you’re removing. Instead, it’s the defenses you use to keep yourself safe…to keep anyone, including you, from knowing who you really are.
In this magic room, a therapy office, the ordinary rules of privacy change. People may reveal thoughts they have never spoken aloud and participate in exercises they would refuse almost anywhere else. Relaxation and imagery can sometimes produce surprisingly powerful experiences. But what happens in the magic room isn’t always what it first appears to be as shown in this vignette from “A Silence That Moves.”
***
“‘It’s simple,’” I said. “Just lean back and take a few slow breaths.”
“Close your eyes. Let your breathing stay slow. Picture your morning before you came in.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“Just walk through it,” I added. “Step by step.”
“Allow yourself to return to a pleasant memory. One that feels vivid.”
The room was still. She removed her purse from her lap and sat back.
I relaxed along with her as the tension from earlier in the session dissipated. I said, “You might close your eyes so you can get a clear picture of it.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I took an advanced placement calculus class in high school…”
A smile began to blossom as she described the day she got the top grade. “The teacher was tough. She complimented my work. I’d never heard her say that to anyone.”
I followed her tone. “What do you notice around you as you’re receiving the grade?”
By now, the smile was full. Her legs uncrossed and her arms opened. She said quietly, “The sun. The warmth. I can almost hear birds outside.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“Happy. Warm. Like I’m right back there.”
I hesitated —then pushed forward. “Touch the back of your left hand with your right index finger. Just lightly. Let that feeling settle there.”
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking as she regained her bearings. “Wow. I feel terrific. I felt awful when I walked in. Now I feel… good. Really good.”
“It’s a positive sign. What do you take from the experience?”
She sat up straighter. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been so busy trying to be the perfect version of me that I forgot who I am.”
The insight came too fast, too clean. I noted it without comment.
“And what does that do for you?” I asked.
“I feel free. I can’t believe how tied up in knots I’ve been.”
“Are there situations where you might act differently now?”
“I’m sure there are. I’ve been so dumb.”
“Do you want to use what you learned to punish yourself?”
She laughed softly. “No. I get it. No more compulsive people‑pleasing.”
I nodded, though something in me tightened. “Over the next week, just observe yourself. No judgments. Notice what you do and how it fits into your life. We’re not making big changes yet. We’re just learning about Linda.”
She smiled again—grateful, trusting. It should have felt like progress. Instead, I felt the ground shift beneath us.”
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