Late that afternoon, Sarah sat across from him. She didn't speak at first. She just gripped her bag, her knuckles white, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an exit from her own skin.
Sarah’s shoulders dropped an inch. "I feel like I'm screaming underwater," she whispered. "Everyone tells me to just swim to the surface, but I don't know which way is up." Being Empathic: a Companion for Counsellors and...
He took a breath, anchoring himself in his chair. He didn't mirror her anxiety; he provided a container for it. Late that afternoon, Sarah sat across from him
Leo looked back at the book on his desk. He realized that being a companion to his clients required him to first be a companion to himself—to understand his own capacity for feeling so that he could keep the door open for others. Sarah’s shoulders dropped an inch
"It feels like everything is moving too fast to catch, doesn't it?" Leo said softly.
As the session went on, the "companion" in Leo’s mind reminded him to check his own boundaries. To be meant feeling with her, not becoming her. He felt the weight of her grief, but he kept his feet on the rug of his office. This balance allowed him to stay steady enough to guide her.
The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the window of Leo’s small practice. On his desk sat a well-worn copy of It wasn't just a textbook to him; it was a map he consulted when the fog of other people’s pain became too thick to see through.