Have a Seat

Today I got a phone message from my acupuncturist asking that I bring my own chair to our appointment tomorrow morning. This, in and of itself, isn’t an odd request because most times when visiting her I bring my own folding chair, as it is more sturdy and comfortable than many chairs I encounter out in the world. On occasion, as with our last appointment, I didn’t bring my own chair, and instead used hers (which had felt sturdy, though not comfortable enough for me), before sitting on the floor to do our treatment.

In her message she explained the chair I had used broke shortly after our appointment and that the legs had snapped off. She said, “I have to go out and buy a new chair, which I haven’t done yet, so it would be best if you would bring your own chair.”

Instantly I felt that familiar shame. Which I hate. I hate feeling shameful for the fact the world doesn’t have a place for me. I hate internalizing oppression. Before I could even come to earth about how I felt, I was picking up the phone to make it right with her.

In my message back to her I said I was very sorry for breaking her chair. I explained I would like to cancel our appointment tomorrow and instead send her the money I would have spent on the appointment to help purchase another chair. At the time, this felt like the honorable thing to do. And the safe thing to do. If I was going to be seen as the chair destructing fat woman, well, at least I will be thought of as an honorable fat woman.

Then a little later, after getting more grounded, I started imagining all the other ways the scene could have played itself out. “Was it passive aggressive for her to leave a message like that?” I wondered. I thought back to the times I had been in her office and couldn’t remember her agreeing it best I bring my own chair. I never heard a warning that she thought her chairs weren’t sturdy enough. And when she left her message, she never said she believed me to be the cause of her broken chair, but I assumed that’s what she meant. She never asked that I help her pay for the chair, but I felt as if she wanted me to.

Now in hindsight, I wish I would have been present enough for myself to have a conversation with her about it. Point out, perhaps, the opportunities she had, if concerned, to make her thoughts known. I wish I would have asked her why, when treating an obese woman for obesity, would she not create a place for me?

The common answer to this many would offer, is that she wouldn’t want to embarrass me by addressing the issue. But I ask this. If you can’t talk openly and honestly with your healing professional and your healing professional can’t talk openly and honestly with you, is it possible for that relationship to truly be healing?

Add a comment March 25, 2008