Chapter 36 Congratulate Me
“HOW DO YOU feel?”
Dr. B.’s question does not come as a surprise.
I’m sitting on the comfortable couch in his office.
Honestly, I’m so excited to tell my therapist about all of my recent progress: that I’ve made friends, that I overcame a panic attack on my own, that I met the guy who brightened my evenings with his voice, that I’m navigating college better than I expected.
I want to tell him that he’s been right all along, that yes, I will make it through this.
It may not be easy, but it is possible, just like the genuine smile that forms on my lips as I answer him.
“I’m… I’m good.” For some reason, my voice breaks because it’s been so long since I’ve been able to utter these words. I feel tears welling up in my eyes.
Dr. B. smiles warmly. “I’m so glad to hear that, Klara.” He hands me a box of tissues. “Those tears of relief, of joy, feel good, don’t they?”
I nod silently.
“I imagine you have a lot to tell me. What do you say we celebrate with a hot chocolate?”
I nod again and he stands up to prepare it at a machine behind his desk. The smell of hot chocolate fills the office, and a minute later, he hands me my cup and I take a sip before I begin telling him everything.
Dr. B. listens attentively, writing notes here and there. His face occasionally lights up, especially when I tell him about the panic attack I had at the soccer game.
“Bravo, Klara. Have you stopped to acknowledge your accomplishments and congratulate yourself, to say out loud how proud you are of yourself?”
“Not necessarily—at least not out loud.”
“It’s so easy to say the negative things we think about ourselves out loud, but not as easy to say something positive to ourselves or to congratulate ourselves on an achievement.
Do you know why? Because after spending so much time in that place of sadness and fear, you get used to highlighting the negative, to expressing only the bad.
Somehow, you forget that positivity has just as much right to be expressed.
It’s important to smile at yourself in the mirror and congratulate yourself on what you’ve achieved. ”
“I don’t think I could do that without crying. I’m so sensitive.”
“Well, then cry,” he says with a shrug. “Tears are another way of expressing our emotions, our deep feelings, which are sometimes difficult to translate into words. Your emotions are valid, your tears are valid, and so is your laughter, your smile. Everything you are as a person is valid and wonderful.”
“I still can’t believe I’m getting better, that this is possible.
The world”—I think of Yana and her friends—“is scary sometimes, but being able to take part in that world is very exciting. It means that”—I think of Kang, my friends, even campus—“I’m not as terrified anymore, that I can leave the house more often, that I can be… normal.”
“You’ve always been normal, Klara. But you’ve had your battles, you’ve had to fight to regain your mental health.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” I admit, wiping away a rogue tear.
“No one said it was. You’re a warrior. I am so proud of you, Klara. Think of the girl who came into my office almost ten months ago, trembling, clutching her sister’s hand.”
As he says this, I picture myself walking in that afternoon, scared to death of being away from home.
“And now here you are telling me that you can go out alone, that you have friends, that you overcame a panic attack all by yourself… You realize how proud you should be of yourself, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to go home after this session and congratulate yourself on everything you’ve accomplished, okay?”
“Okay.”
As soon as I get home, I go into my room and close the door.
I look around lovingly, remembering when this was my safe place, the space I so rarely left.
I remember pacing back and forth. I remember sitting on the floor in the corner, crying, hugging my mother’s picture.
I remember lying in bed with my headphones on listening to Kang’s show, unable to look at myself in the mirror because it made me feel so awful about myself.
I walk now to the mirror and my reflection greets me like always, but it no longer makes me feel bad.
“I…” I begin, following Dr. B.’s advice, “I’ve done a good job.
” My eyes redden. “I’ve overcome a lot—I’ve fallen, I’ve gotten up, it’s hurt, it’s burned, but I’m still here.
” I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks.
“I’m strong. I’m proud of myself.” I take off my wig and run my fingers through my short hair.
“I’ve conquered so many of my fears, and now it’s time to work on my self-esteem.
I won’t hide anymore; my scars, my suffering, are nothing to be ashamed of.
” I put my hand on the mirror. “I’ve made it out into the world.
Congratulations, Klara,” I say, voice breaking.
“Mom, you must be so proud of me.” I look at a picture of the two of us and I flex my biceps.
“I’m strong,” I say loudly. “I’m so strong, Mom. ”
My mother’s smile in the photo fills me with peace and tranquility; I can almost see her there in my reflection, smiling and planting a kiss on the side of my head. “You’re my champion, baby.” I close my eyes, remembering her voice.
“If only I could see you again, Mom. Feel your warmth, smell your scent.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to remember the last hug my mother gave me, imagining it filling me up with energy, giving me strength.
I don’t want my memory of her to bring only sadness; I want it to be something that gives me strength, that gives me the courage to go on, because my mother deserves to be more than a sad memory.
She was an amazingly wonderful woman who gave me and my sister a great childhood.
She deserves to be honored in a positive way.
“I will never forget you, Mom. You will always be here in my heart, with me through every struggle, every victory, every defeat, because you are a part of me, even if you’re no longer here.”
“Klara?” Kamila knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
She enters carrying a box in her hands. Andy is behind her with another, larger box.
“What’s that…?” I start to say, brows furrowed.
Kamila hands me the smaller box and I open it. It’s an instant camera. Andy puts the bigger box on the bed and I open that next. It’s a corkboard in a wooden frame.
“A few days ago, you said you’d like to take pictures of your progress and display them somewhere where you can see them,” Kamila says as I admire the camera. “So we wanted to surprise you with this.”
I smile and hug her. I couldn’t imagine a better sister, someone who remembers everything I say.
“Thank you,” I whisper before releasing her to hug Andy.
Excitement runs through me as I look back to the camera.
I can’t wait to start using it and hang the photos I take with it.
This will be my first art project in a long time.
My first step back to art. Another step in the right direction.
Transformations don’t happen overnight, but I know I will keep moving forward and the day will come when I’ll hold a paintbrush again.
Kamila sits on my bed and Andy leans against the doorframe. “How’s it going?” my sister asks as I sit down on a springy chair in the corner—the newest addition to my room—to open the box with the camera in it.
“Good…” I have to tell her that I’m meeting Kang, and I can feel myself turning red. “In fact, I’m going out tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kamila sounds surprised and I can’t blame her. “Where are you going?”
“To the movies,” I murmur.
“Who with?”
Andy seems to notice the red in my cheeks and he clears his throat.
“I’m sure she’s going with her friends.” Andy has the ability to read my mind; he can always tell when I don’t want to talk about something.
He’s much better at picking up on my cues than my sister is, even though she’s a psychiatrist.
“Friends?” Kamila asks excitedly, “Can we meet them? You can invite them over if you want, I’ll make dinner—”
“Kamila…” Andy interrupts.
“Sorry, sorry… I’m being too intense…” she apologizes. “All in good time. We’ll meet them when you want us to.”
She and Andy complement each other so well.
Kamila is too much, as my mother used to say, too analytical, always overthinking everything, while Andy is practical, straightforward, a laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy.
I’ve never met a couple who balance each other out as well as the two of them.
I guess some people are just meant to be together.
“Well, we’ll let you do your thing.” Kamila stands up. “I can’t wait to see your pictures.” She smiles. “What time does the movie end?”
“A little after ten o’clock, but we’re going for ice cream after, so I’ll be home around eleven-thirty-ish.”
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call and I’ll come and get you right away, okay?”
I know that “anything” means “panic attack,” that she worries I might feel the need to rush home from wherever I am. Basically, my sister is telling me that she’ll come running if anything goes wrong, as usual.
“Okay.”
Kamila leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you,” she says.
I wrinkle my nose in a mocking grimace of disgust. “Sickly sweet, how do you put up with her, Andy?” I joke.
He shrugs. “It’s not easy.”
“Oh, no, she called me sickly sweet.” Kamila pretends to be wounded. “She must be allergic to love.”
“I’m not allergic to all love, only yours.”
We laugh and they leave as I begin to hang my corkboard and decorate it with colored paper and some of the old Christmas lights from my bed.
I can’t wait to print and hang my first photos.
I stare at my work and turn the camera to me.
Taking a deep breath, I smile and take my very first picture.
I wait for it to develop, and when it does, I chuckle.
I look messy and pale-faced, but I like it.
I place the photo on the corkboard and stare at it a bit longer.
Gosh, my hair looks so disheveled; I need to shower as soon as possible. Humming, I head to the bathroom.
After showering, I get ready for my date with Kang.
I put on black pants and a long-sleeved purple shirt.
I towel dry my hair. It’s growing quite fast, already covering the back of my neck with a few longer strands down to my ears.
I look in the mirror and my lips curl into a smile of acceptance.
Loving myself will take time, but it’s a start.
“What a dazzling smile you have, Klara,” I say to myself.
Dr. B. recommended I give myself compliments.
He says that the hardest thing for many people is to accept their body as it is.
“If only I were taller…”
“If only my eyes were a different shape or a different color…”
“If only my hair was straight. If only it were curly…”
“If only I had bigger boobs or more butt…”
“If only I were pretty, then people would like me…”
“I want to be like her. She’s perfect; I’m not…”
Unfortunately, we live in a society in which we are bombarded by images of beautiful people and made to believe that beauty is only one thing, and that if you don’t fit those beauty standards, you’re flawed.
There’s not much we can do about that, but my mother always said that every change starts with the self.
It’s hard to admire your own beauty. Dr. B.
illustrated this one session by pointing out how much easier it was for me to see beauty in other girls and let them know it.
And I thought back to all the times I’d complimented another girl.
“All the girls I know are beautiful; they all have something unique about them.”
Dr. B. smiles and says, “Now I want you to imagine that you see yourself walking down the street. What would you think is pretty about that girl?”
I struggle to come up with something, but eventually I do, and my answer surprises me. “That she has a beautiful smile and very pretty eyes.”
Dr. B. seems pleased. “It’s easy to see beauty in others, but when it comes to seeing it in ourselves, it sometimes seems impossible.
Do you know why, Klara? Because we tend to be our own toughest critics.
No one will judge you or criticize you more harshly than you do yourself.
No one will be as cruel to you as your own thoughts.
It’s hard to have good self-esteem if we’re always hearing that relentless critic in our head.
I want you to pay more attention to the things you think are beautiful about yourself.
You told me that you like your smile and your eyes.
Okay, so compliment yourself on those things in front of the mirror, every day.
It’s incredibly therapeutic to look in the mirror and say out loud ‘I love my smile.’ You may not believe it at first, but over time those positive affirmations will change the way you see yourself. ”
My phone vibrates and I pick it up.
Kang: I’m outside your house.
My heart starts beating wildly and I take a deep breath.
Me: I’ll be right out.
I stand in front of the mirror to position my wig, but Dr. B.’s words spring into my mind. I smile and remove the wig, letting my short curls tumble down over my forehead and ears.
“You have beautiful curls, Klara,” I say to myself before I put on my jacket.
I’m afraid of Kang’s reaction when he sees me, but I’ve made up my mind not to let fear rule my life.
As I walk to the front door, I picture my mother beside me, Dr. B.
winking at me as I pass, and Kamila and Andy clapping.
I take a deep breath and pull the door open.
The cool night air greets me. Change does not happen overnight, but step-by-step.