Waiting in the Train Station—Waiting to begin EMDR
I am thinking of my dad dying and how grueling it was for him. He was the first of my immediate family to go. He was brave, though, and went ahead without complaint.
My EMDR therapist says once my therapy begins, it will be somewhat like boarding a train and finding a seat by the window. As the session progresses, the images in my mind will be like the scenery outside the train flying by. I will go through dark tunnels.
I will hold a small device in each hand, and they will quietly vibrate back-and -forth from my right hand and then to my left until the therapist stops them. I can tell her to speed them up or slow them down. I can ask her to intensify the vibrations or to tone them down. If I go into deep dark tunnels, I can tell her I want to stop and get off the train. She says if I do, I might be dealing with the memories I am processing all week. I am determined to be brave and stay on until the train pulls into my final destination. I imagine then I might escape to a safe space in my mind for a bit and find my balance and rest a while. The train has yet to even show up at the station.
I have already met with the counselor three times and have listened to her explain EMDR. I told her my awful story, and we explored goals. I have recalled and written down the most traumatic moments in the breakup of my marriage. She tells me I need to decide on just one safe space...one place I find calm.
This feels impossible. Every place I think of is somehow connected to him. Even a favorite spot on my dad’s ranch in Wyoming is spoiled because we visited there together not long ago. Finally, I think of a couple of beaches he has never visited—”secret beaches” nestled at the end of the peninsula where my daughter lives. Her children, my grandchildren, and I trek down there often to dig our toes in the sand, skip rocks, and discover what the endless waves recently washed up.
I am still in the train station waiting for the train to come—for me to get on that train to reprocess my traumatic memories. It feels like the train will never arrive, and I wonder if this therapy will work for me. I am waiting at the train station, but I have no idea where this train will take me. I am waiting on the train. I am thinking of the line from the movie Little Women when Beth tells Jo, “Now, I am the one going ahead. I am not afraid. I can be brave like you.” I think of my dad. “I can be brave like you.”
