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The Blog

Filtering by Tag: poem

Poetry

Emily Porta

I was going through boxes from my old office to throw away things I didn't need. In one box I found a poem given to me by a coworker many years ago. I loved it so much, I carried it with me from office to office. I don't know the author but I find it holds a special place in my heart. 

I hold the hands of people I never touch.

I provide comfort to people I never embrace.

I watch people walk into brick walls, the same ones, over and over again, and I coax them to turn around and try to walk in a different direction.

People rarely see me gladly. As a rule I catch the residue of their despair.

I see people who are broken and people who only think they are broken. 

I see people who have had their faces rubbed in their failures. 

I see weak people wanting anesthesia and strong people who wonder what they have done to make such an enemy of fate. 

I am often the final pit stop people take before they crawl across the finish line that is marked: I Give Up.

Some people beg me to help.

Some people dare me to help.

Sometimes the beggars and the dare-ers look the same. Absolutely the same. I am supposed to know how to tell them apart.

Some people who visit me need scar tissue to cover their wounds. 

Some people who visit me need their wounds opened further, explored for signs of infection and contamination.

I make those calls too.

Some days, I'm invigorated by it all. Some days I am numbed.

Always, I am humbled by the role of helper.

And, occasionally, I'm ambushed.

My job is wonderful and hard. I admit that. I have no problem sharing that with clients either, because their lives are hard too. We are in it together. I am giving thanks today for my new office. I begin this week seeing clients there. It is my home. If you want to venture and grow with me, then you are welcome here. If you are completely scared and unsure, you are welcome here. Everyone that wants to try is welcome here. 

Blessings

Emily Porta

At the end of a sermon in church, sometimes the minister gives a blessing, or in other traditions a well wish. This is where the person sends the other person off with a message of hope. Irish blessings I find to always be the best. Like this one:

Wishing you always...
Walls for the wind,
A roof for the rain
And tea beside the fire.
Laughter to cheer you,
Those you love near you,
And all that your heart may desire

Blessings are about heart. This is about putting your ego aside and getting down to humanity, seeing how we are all connected and all lovely in some way. We are all deserving of some kindness and compassion. From this realization holding hope for the other and sending them out to a better life. 

Therapy is like this for me. The room may be filled with pain and fear. I also know it is filled with hope and joy. Regardless, when someone leaves my office, I hold excitement for their week, knowing that they are changing just as everything around them is changing. So if you go out from therapy...this is my wish for you

May you reap love from your honesty

May you give yourself compassion daily

May you know that the mystery lies in the not knowing

May you know that you're journey is perfectly yours

May you let the good in always.