Chapter seventeen
Sam
I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my running car, squealing as I watch the video on my phone screen. Adrian played lights out this game, making three incredible defensive plays and scoring two runs before the seventh inning.
The recap video shows him settling into his batting stance in the bottom of the seventh, and I know that another good hit must be coming to have made it into the highlights.
His swing is clean and powerful, and it’s obvious that the hit was a home run before the camera even pans to it dropping in the stands, caught by a young boy.
The shot cuts back to Adrian jogging toward first base.
He kisses his fingers and holds them up in the air, and I know he intended that for me.
I know he’s thinking about me—just like he was when he had an enormous bouquet of stargazer lilies delivered to me at school today.
The vase is in a box that’s seatbelted in the passenger seat next to me, giving the gray interior of my car a bright pop of pink.
I bite my lip, holding back a smile as I watch him run. Until my heart drops and I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. My pulse starts racing as panic parades through my thoughts.
Step out of the spiral. Step out of the spiral.
When the swirl continues, I look all around me, trying to count things I see. My fingers tremble as I fail to stop the escalation, as I feel myself dysregulating.
I place a hand over my sternum and tap my other hand firmly on it in a one-two-one-two-three-beat rhythm.
It’s an old tool I learned from a therapist that I still utilize when the burning sensation of oversized feelings builds up in my chest. By the third repetition, the tension is easing, and I open the contacts in my phone.
Finding the right name, I hit the call button.
It rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Amber Lansing, LMFT with Rose Behavioral Health Clinic. Please leave a message with your name and contact number, plus a short reason for your call, and I’ll get back to you within one business day. Thank you.”
At the beep, I start to leave a message, but I’m interrupted by the sound of an incoming call. It’s Amber, so I hang up on the voicemail and answer her new call.
“Amber, hi! You can delete the message I was in the middle of on your voicemail,” I say.
Her voice is the same as it’s always been—a perfectly cooled cup of hot tea stirred with honey. “Samantha, it’s so lovely to hear from you! It’s been a little while since we talked last. I was typing up some clinical notes and didn’t answer my phone in time. What prompted your call today?”
One of the things I’ve always appreciated about Amber is how she leads our conversations with a gentle yet firm hand.
I never feel uncomfortably pushed but like I’m given a clear invitation into specific topics.
She’s been an anchor for the past twelve years, even if our communication washes in and out with the tides of life.
I’m sensing high tide coming again.
“I was hoping to maybe have a short session with you sometime soon?” I ask it as a question, not wanting to pressure her or put her out.
“Is there a specific topic that you’d like to discuss together?”
Cranking up the air-conditioning, I say, “Yes. It’s just that .
. . well, I’m in a new relationship. Brand new.
And you know how my past relationships have gone, where I ended up mentally.
” My voice wobbles as I continue, “But this one is special. Adrian is special. I really don’t want to mess this one up.
And I was hoping that you could help me make sure that I don’t mess it up with him. ”
Amber is silent for a few seconds, and I can picture the way she’s probably pinching her lips, nodding in thought, possibly adjusting the glasses on her nose. She never reacts—she always thinks through her responses before saying a word.
“Samantha, I understand why you’re feeling anxious about this.
Romantic relationships have been difficult for you to manage in the past. You’ve been able to avoid a lot of those triggering emotions the past few years since you haven’t been dating.
And, yes, it is likely that there are going to be hard things about this relationship.
There may be some things that trigger past insecurities and fears as you grow closer together,” Amber says, and I nod along, appreciating how much better she is at summarizing what I’m feeling than I even am.
“But I also want to remind you that you are not the same woman that you were five years ago. You’ve done the work on yourself and added necessary tools to your emotional toolbox.
Not to mention, the brain undergoes tremendous growth and development between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five, which means you’re operating with more brain maturity now than you were last time.
I can practically guarantee that you’re going to have some hard moments—possibly even some triggering ones—but I can also guarantee that you are capable of handling them with the right support. ”
Looking at the bouquet next to me, I reach over to absentmindedly rub the petals of a lily between my fingers.
“I’m afraid, Amber,” I confess. “I know in my head that I’m not the same person I was five years ago. I know I’ve grown. I know all the truths and tools and affirmations and practices—they’re all right here in my mind.”
I trail off, staring out the window. “But I’ve never put them into practice in a romantic relationship. What if I can’t?”
“It’s going to be difficult, but I believe you can, Samantha,” Amber says. “When we talked a few months ago, you described several very healthy relationships in your life—with friends, with fellow students, with your brother’s girlfriend and her son.”
I cut in with an exuberant “They’re engaged now! They’re getting married in July!”
“Oh, I’m happy to hear that!” Amber replies.
“See? You’ve watched their relationship grow and progress.
You’ve seen healthy relationships modeled.
You have multiple solid friendships. Yes, romantic relationships are different, but you still have the foundational tools you need. I believe in you, Samantha.”
Sighing, I let myself believe it. At least, I try.
“But how will I know if I’m on the verge of repeating the past?” I ask. “I didn’t recognize it the other times. How will I know I’m not falling back into the same patterns?”
After a pause, Amber says, “I think you could have an honest conversation with one or two close friends in your life about your fears. People who are physically present in your everyday life, who would see you and Adrian together on a regular basis. Explain what’s happened in your thoughts in the past. Tell them some potential warning signs to watch out for.
Ask them to be your outside eyes for you,” she suggests.
“Can you think of some people to do that for you?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “My best friend, Alice. She was around last time, so she probably already knows some of what to watch for. And I think Danae—my brother’s fiancée—would notice and be honest with me.”
“Why don’t you start there?” Amber suggests. She gives me a few practical ways to ask them for help, and then says, “Why don’t we plan to check in after a few weeks to talk through how things are going?”
“That sounds good,” I say. “I really, really appreciate your help. More than I can say.”
“I’m always happy to chat with you, Samantha,” she responds. “It’s a true joy.”
When we hang up, I search for Danae’s name in my messages. I’ve learned to take immediate action on the homework Amber gives me before I have time to overthink and second-guess myself. Especially if it involves asking someone for help.