My Therapist Says (Blog #326)

Last night my hips ached so bad that I lay in bed moaning. I couldn’t sleep for the longest time. Today I rallied the troops in order to go to therapy. When I told my therapist how hard the flu had hit me, she said, “Why didn’t you cancel today?” I said, “No. I need to be here. And it’s good for me to get out of the house.” My therapist said that the flu had hit epidemic levels, that her doctor clients haven’t seen anything like it. She said she had it several weeks ago and still wasn’t back to a hundred percent.

So that’s encouraging.

Before therapy I stopped by the office of the immunologist my internist referred me to, since it’s been five weeks and I haven’t heard anything. It took some time, but the nurse found my referral papers. She then said she needed to talk to the doctor but would call me tomorrow afternoon. I told my therapist about this and that I nearly cried while I was waiting in the doctor’s office. I’m just tired of feeling bad. I’m desperate for help. My therapist said things like this always move in phases–just like therapy. Nothing happens all at once. She said to focus on the progress that’s been made already–I had sinus surgery last year, I can breathe now (that’s something). The next step is this doctor, and if this doctor can’t fit me in, then I look for another.

One thing at a time.

I can’t tell you what a nice reminder this is, to just slow down and breathe. I really do get worked up about this sort of thing. It always feels as if I need to heal NOW, get my life together NOW. My therapist says it’s my all-or-nothing mentality, my need for perfection. Today she said, “You’re already perfect the way you are, Marcus, and you’re always going to have “something” to work on, some challenge facing you. I think your big hangup is that you’re so focused on what still needs to be done that you don’t take time to celebrate all the progress you’ve already made.”

I said, “Nailed it.”

Later I told my therapist that I felt like life had really kicked my ass lately. This last week there was the flu and my car needing some work. “You’ve been through a lot this year,” she said. “You had the car accident. It’s this funny thing the universe does–whenever you really work on yourself, it puts more obstacles in your way.”

“Who made up those rules?” I said.

“Right?” she said. “But don’t worry. It gets better.”

So that’s encouraging.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m at a friend’s, house sitting. It took all my energy to pack and get me here, but I’m all settled in amongst the couch pillows and fast internet. So that’s something. I’m thinking about the fact that I’m coming up on four solid years in therapy and that I really have made a lot of progress. Despite the fact that things don’t always happen as quickly as I’d like them to, they obviously do happen. And if life can take me from where I was to where I am, then surely it can take me to where I’m going.

So that’s encouraging.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

Random Misfirings (Blog #325)

Today is day eight of the flu, and I feel like I’ve stepped into the eighth circle of hell. Not that things have gotten worse–they haven’t, thank god. But they haven’t gotten better either. Indeed, my symptoms continue to drag on, as I do, from one day to the next. My hips ache. I’m exhausted. I’m cranky. I’m generally not amused.

Last week the check-engine light in my car, Tom Collins, came on, so this afternoon I left the house for the first time in seven days to go to the auto parts store for a diagnosis. (They have a fancy diagnosis machine.) Y’all, I hate going to the auto parts store, since I don’t know shit about cars and am easily intimidated by men who have grease under their fingernails. Well, as if this weren’t enough, probably because of the flu, my brain wasn’t working today. As soon as I walked in the store, some burly dude asked me how I was doing, and I started looking around the entire store like I was on Candid Camera. “Uh–good,” I said. “How are YOU?”

It was worse than an awkward first date.

Next I started digging through my pockets for I-don’t-know-what and trying to explain my problem, but all I could manage was, “Car. Engine light.” Well, thank god, the guy figured it out. The next thing I knew he hooked up his handheld diagnostic machine to Tom Collins and had an official diagnosis–random misfiring. “What’s that mean?” I said.

“You probably need to change your spark plugs,” he said.

“What do I need to change my spark plugs?”

“New spark plugs. A wrench.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Fifteen minutes later I was back home at my parents’ kitchen table with six shiny new spark plugs and a healthy dose of optimism, Googling what to do next. Well, the internet said changing spark plugs in a Hyundai Santa Fe is a teensy bit more complicated than the guy at the store indicated. Like, you have to take the engine apart. Like, one guy on YouTube spent an hour-and-a-half trying to disconnect a single hose. (One hose!) Like, most people go to the dealership and drop a few hundred bucks to have them do it.

Shit.

Thankfully, my father stepped in. Apparently he’s got “a guy” who works on cars, so he called him, and the guy’s supposed to take a look at Tom Collins tomorrow. I can’t tell you how much this overwhelms me. I really don’t handle things well when I’m sick. (Don’t let the calm exterior fool you. I’m basket case inside.) Of course, my parents know this about me. When my dad got off the phone with his car guy, he looked at me and said, “Don’t worry.”

After all of that excitement, I took a nap. Now I’m in the living room trying not to compare myself to the Olympic athletes on the television. Like, that’s a nice gold medal you’ve got there, buddy, but I live with my parents and do my own laundry. Mostly I’ve been thinking about the way an illness can sweep into your life and erase days off your calendar. All of a sudden you’re flat on your back–your life stops–and yet the rest of the world spins on. I suppose this happens to all of us, these random misfirings. One day everything is going your way, and the next you’re in need of a tune-up. As ever, I’m trying to be patient, ever hopeful that both Tom Collins and I will back on the road again soon.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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Somewhere In Between (Blog #324)

Last night I slept for twelve hours straight. When I woke up I had beans, rice, and cornbread for breakfast, then went back to sleep for four additional hours. (I imagine this must be terribly interesting to read about.) I understand that I’m sick, but I’m not sure where all my energy has gone. After breakfast, before my nap, I read ten pages in a book, and it felt like running a marathon. Now I’m propped up in a chair in the living room, proud of myself for being semi-vertical. In terms of flu symptoms, my throat is significantly less sore today.

So that’s something.

Almost three months ago I started practicing chi kung every day, for anywhere from fifteen to forty-five minutes a day. When the flu hit, I think I was at eighty days in a row. In order to “not quit,” I’ve been doing a two-minute chi kung routine this week. It’s an actual thing, basically a “when all else fails” option. I’ve been thinking of it like a placeholder, like, Don’t worry–I’ll be back. Well, I’m pretty sure there was a day earlier this week when I didn’t do chi kung at all. This week is kind of a blur, but I’ve been practicing at night, and I think there was an evening when I simply passed out after dinner without practicing.

This may sound silly, and I realize nobody else gives a shit, but the missed routine was a letdown. Just like blogging every day, I’ve worked hard to do chi kung every day. I’ve been really dedicated. It means something to me. I plan to get back with it, but now there’s a certain enthusiasm that’s been lost. I’m sure it’s my all-or-nothing thinking, but I’m not quite as proud to say, “I do this ALMOST every day.”

When I forgot about chi kung a couple days ago, I thought, What if I forgot to blog too? That thought really scared me. Of all the habits and routines I’ve had in my life, this is the one to which I’m most faithful. At least until I get to the one-year mark (and I don’t know what I’ll do once I get there), I can’t imagine skipping. If I did, talk about a letdown. Why I’ve attached so much meaning and importance to this project, I can’t exactly say. It’s certainly not about money. More than likely, it has to do with character, with making a promise to myself and keeping it. That’s probably it. Almost to the one-year mark, I can tell you that something happens when you keep showing up for yourself day after day, even when you don’t feel well. It’s like you start to trust yourself in a different way. It’s like, no matter what, you know you’re going to be there for you.

I hope I don’t miss a day with the blog, but speaking from my experience with chi kung, I know there’s grace available if I do fall off the wagon. I can just get back on again. Plus I’m learning that there’s value in doing some things “almost” every day. Not everything in life has to be all-or-nothing. Most things, in fact, are somewhere in between. That does seem to be where I keep finding myself, somewhere in between all and nothing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Stop buying your own bullshit.

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We Don’t Get to Choose Our Winters (Blog #323)

I’ve officially had enough. I’ve had the flu for six days, my parents have both had it longer, and everybody is over it. And yet, like the unwelcome houseguest that it is, it continues to linger. I’ve spent most of the last twenty-two hours sleeping. I fell asleep at nine-thirty last night after posting the blog and slept until after noon today, waking up only twice, once to eat and take some medication, once to use the restroom. Today I woke up for breakfast then immediately went back to bed. This is apparently my new routine–eat, sleep, eat, sleep some more.

When I am awake, I’m fully aware of my aching body–my aching hips, my aching throat, my aching eyeballs. I’m also fully aware that every body part I possess is capable of sweating, even my kneecaps. My bed sheets are beyond gross. Much like the t-shirt I wore for five days before I showered yesterday, they’re covered in sweat, snot, and dead skin. They look like a dandruff commercial. It’s disgusting.

Much like my physical state, my emotional one continues to drag. I’m irritable, short. I’m finding myself less than gracious. I’m ready to go back to sleep again, to wake up and find it springtime. When will this winter be over?

I’ve been thinking today about my strong tendency to fantasize a better future. I often imagine that “as soon as this winter is over, everything will be perfect.” I do this with my body too, imagine a time when I won’t have any problems. And yet each season has its challenges, just as each body does. My dad has benign essential tremors. Sometimes his hands shake so bad he can’t hold a cup of coffee. Grandpa had them too. (He doesn’t anymore because he’s dead.) I’ve noticed the last few years that sometimes my hands shake too. Not awful, but they do. I’ve been hyper focused on the tremors lately. I’d like them to go away. Still, they may be something I carry with me the rest of my life.

It seems we don’t get to choose our traveling companions, those illnesses and challenges that often shape us and make us who we are. We don’t get to choose our winters, or for that matter, how long they last. Rather, each day we have to choice to continue this journey, to set out once again on the unknown path regardless of whether the wind blows with us or against us, to put one foot in front of the other.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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Taking Good Care (Blog #322)

Today marks day five of the flu for me. My eyeballs still hurt, and my throat is more sore than yesterday. When I eat, it’s like swallowing gravel. That being said, I “may” be getting better. I’m not nauseated. I have more energy than I did yesterday. I took out the trash this evening.

The big news, however, is that I washed myself. That’s right, I took a shower. I even shaved. I don’t mind saying it wasn’t easy and took all the effort I could muster. It felt like a competitive sport. As a matter of fact, since I ran out of hot water mid-shave, I should probably get a medal in the Winter Olympics.

Marcus Coker scores the bronze in bathing!

It’s amazing to me how quickly a person’s standards can change. Like, taking a shower really does feel like a big accomplishment to me. A week ago I wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but a week ago I wasn’t flat on my back with a five-day flu either.

Now I’m worn out. Exhausted. The internet is slow, and my patience is gone. (Way gone.) I feel like crying. Or screaming. So many other things in my world aren’t working, and now this. Sometimes life is too much. I probably need a nap.

When I told my therapist I wouldn’t be in this week because I had the flu, she said, “Take good care.” I appreciate the adjective, good. It reminds me to be especially careful with myself, to adjust to my moment-to-moment needs. To me this means that it’s okay that one day taking a shower isn’t a major undertaking and the next day it is. There’s no point in trying to impose yesterday’s standard upon today because they’re two different days, two different standards. As I see it, taking good care means doing the best you can right here, right now. And in this moment, taking good care for me means wrapping this up, taking a nap, and being more than okay with that.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

"

This Ship (Blog #321)

I’ve spent most of the last twenty-four hours sleeping and breathing through my mouth. Now my lips are chapped, my tongue is raw, and my throat hurts. When I got up this afternoon to eat something, I became so nauseated, I made my way to the bathroom and collapsed on the floor beside the toilet, ready for anything. Now that part is better. Maybe it was the plague, maybe it was the medication, maybe I just needed to eat something. Regardless, my eyeballs still hurt. Who even knew that was possible? Hell hath no furry like the flu.

I’ve been thinking how grateful I am for central heat and air. And Ibuprofen. A hundred years ago this could have been much more miserable. Granted, they did have opiates, but I think I would have died back then. I can’t imagine living through The Grapes of Wrath, especially with “the influenza.” I’m just too delicate. I need indoor plumbing, a thermostat, and–while we’re at it–a microwave.

I guess it’s what you get used to. Earlier today I was thinking that having the flu has become my “new normal.” It’s tough for me to imagine things being any different, things improving. That’s how pervasive this is. I just feel so–deflated. I’m not trying to be dramatic. (I really don’t have to try.) The fact that I’ve been sick for the last four months, I’m sure, is the main reason why getting the flu has really let the wind out of my sails. As the saying goes, when it rains–it pours.

I’m trying to trust that one day this storm will come to an end. I know my body has successfully navigated difficult waters before, so surely it can do it again. Surely this ship wasn’t made for sinking.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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A Salchow Before Breakfast (Blog #320)

The flu is disgusting. Coughing, sneezing, mucus everywhere. I don’t remember the last time I felt this gross. Well, yes I do. It was the last time I had the flu–a little over a year ago in New York City–on Christmas Day. Talk about miserable. And having to travel home when you’re sick–that’s the worst. The plane starts to descend, and your head feels like it’s going to pop. So at least now I’m not on a plane. That’s good. And last night my body didn’t do the hot/cold thing, which means I slept better. Still, everything hurts and I feel like my power cord’s been yanked from the wall.

As Grandma used to say, “I am not a well woman.”

I’ve been thinking that maybe a shower would help. I don’t remember the last time I took a shower. Or shaved. Still, showering and shaving sound awfully challenging at the moment. Of course, it doesn’t help that the Winter Olympics are on right now. Like, Adam Rippon can land a triple-axle-salchow-double-loop before breakfast, and this homo can barely pick up his toothbrush. This is why you should never compare yourself to others.

Yesterday all my friends on Facebook told me about their terrible experiences with Tamiflu. Despite these warnings, I started taking it. I spoke to my internist about it, and she said she thought it would help. It’s two pills a day for five days, and I’m currently three pills in. Thankfully, my insurance paid for all of it. So far I’m not nauseated, bleeding from my nose, hallucinating, or having nightmares. I don’t feel like killing myself or anyone else. But this could all change, of course, so watch out. But seriously, as I sit here now, my appetite is returning, so maybe the pills are doing some good. Tamiflu is supposed to be most effective when taken during the first two days of having the flu, and I started it pretty much within that window.

As always, I’ll let you know how it goes.

This is about all I have in me today, just under 400 words. I’ve been staring at the screen for the last thirty minutes trying to come up with a “life lesson,” but I got nothing. Some days I think it’s enough to simply be gross, to be sick, to not do a salchow before breakfast.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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Everything Stops (Blog #319)

Shit, the flu.

Last night I took Mom and me to a walk-in clinic. We both have the flu. The doctor said I was probably “on the front end of it” and Mom was probably in the middle of it. Later Dad said he hoped that meant he was at the end of it, since he got it first. Anyway, we’re a fine crew around here. Mom and Dad are currently watching Days of Our Lives–hacking their way through every minute of it–and I’m laid up in bed.

Today is definitely worse than yesterday. I spent the night cold and hot, cold and hot, and now am starting to get congested. It hurts to stand up. It hurts to think. The doctor last night wrote me a prescription for Tamiflu, so I may pick that up shortly. Well, my aunt said she would. Either way, I have mixed feelings about it. I don’t always do well with pills and side effects. Then again, I clearly don’t do well with the flu either.

One upside to being sick is that I don’t have much of an appetite. In other words, I already feel skinnier! (Gay guys think about their waistlines constantly, Mom.) My therapist had the flu recently, and as she said, “I’m only two more viruses away from fitting into my favorite jeans.”

I’ve been thinking about how everything stops when you get sick like this. Yesterday I blogged but didn’t journal, something I’ve done every day for the last six months. Likewise, my chi kung session, which is normally thirty minutes, got cut to five minutes. Today I’d planned to do some marketing work, then get up early tomorrow to interview someone on the phone for a writing project. But all of that is coming to a halt for now. My body simply can’t. (Stop, stop, stop.) Instead, I’ll probably finish this blog and watch a movie, maybe try eating a piece of fruit, even though chewing feels like it should be an Olympic sport at the moment.

I’m not exactly sure how to wrap this up. My brain has stopped too.

Shit, the flu.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

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For Anyone Who Suffers (Blog #318)

Last night I drove to Fayetteville to have dinner with friends. I was running late, but that’s usual. They expect that. At least they tolerate it. Hold on, back up. I drove almost to Fayetteville. There was a wreck several miles outside of town. It was raining, and the temperature was below freezing. That must have been it. I didn’t see the wreck, but I heard later it was bad. Really bad. A multiple-car pile up.

For about an hour, I didn’t move an inch. After that, things were slow going. Eventually, I got to a point on the interstate where policemen usually hide and clock people’s speed. A policeman, standing in the rain, was directing everyone to turn around. “It’s completely blocked,” he said. “Go back to Winslow and take the business route.” So that’s what I started to do, but in less than a mile, my car, Tom Collins, hit a small patch of ice on a bridge. I was okay, but it was enough for me to get the message. I called my friends and said, “I just can’t make it tonight.”

Before much longer, the check-engine light on Tom Collins started blinking. I thought, Perfect. Stopping at the nearest gas station, I Googled the problem and found out it could be any number of things. One post said, “Don’t drive more than a few miles, and don’t drive at highway speeds.” Twelve miles from home and pulling back onto the highway, I once again thought, Perfect.

I made it home.

In an effort to stop worrying about potential car-repair costs, I buried my face in a book last night, then took to Netflix and watched a documentary called The Truth About Alcohol. Don’t watch it. They say alcohol is bad for you.

This morning I woke up sick. Bad sick. Like could be the big, bad f-word sick. Mom and Dad have been hacking the last few days, and Mom said her temperature was up last night. When I woke up at seven-thirty (five hours ago), I was freezing. When I woke up four hours later, hot. I’m not hacking, but I’m wiped out, super icky. Just before I started this post I sat on the bathroom floor and dry-heaved into the toilet.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

Now I’m back in bed, vertical, and blogging from my phone, punching out one letter at a time with my thumbs. I’d intended to make this a three-word post (shit, the flu), but I couldn’t help myself. I hope I don’t come across as some sort of blogging martyr. This is how I process things.

That line above–I couldn’t help myself. That’s probably one of the most frustrating feelings in the whole world, to feel like you’ve done everything you can to get your life together but that everything, including you, keeps falling apart and all you can do about it is lie in bed and wait for the night to descend.

I’m telling myself I could have it worse. Way worse. Like those people in the pile up last night worse. I have friends who were stuck in that traffic for three hours, so it must have been ugly. I do think that perspective helps a little. At the same time, perspective has never taken my immediate pain away. Perspective doesn’t help me stand up without feeling woozy or help my head stop throbbing. Still, perhaps it does help me find compassion for both myself and others, for anyone who suffers.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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Our First Job (Blog #312)

Today has been delightful. Simply delightful, I say. Why exactly I woke up on the right side of the bed, I don’t know. But I did, and I’m grateful. Maybe my good mood has to do with the fact that I woke up early, like before nine o’clock. If so, I’d hate that. What if I had to make a habit of it? That wouldn’t bless me at all.

The reason I got up so early was to go to therapy. I guess that contributed to my being so damn chipper. Therapy is almost always fun, and today was no exception. Of course, when I say therapy is fun, I mean my therapist is fun. Today we talked (partly) about fashion. Like, Who are you wearing? My therapist talked about her dress, then I talked about my vintage sweater. She said I looked “glowing.” Glowing–I guess that’s a compliment–although it kind of makes me feel like a pregnant woman.

Now if only my hips didn’t hurt so much.

This lighthearted chit-chat, I think, is one of the benefits of having a longterm therapist. After a while, most the serious stuff has been covered. I always show up with my list of things to talk about and questions to ask, of course, but personally derive a lot of value from beginning our sessions by discussing our outfits or how hideous her waiting room is. “It looks like someone went shopping at a yard sale–two decades ago,” I often say. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she replies. “Look down.”

After therapy I went to one of those restaurants where they expect you to clean up after yourself. You know–sort of fast food, sort of not. Anyway, I didn’t realize the protocol and left my basket and trash on my table. I was halfway out the door before I saw the “put baskets here” section. Well, it was one of those split-second decisions. I thought, Fuck it, and kept walking. (So sue me.) Honestly, I almost went back inside, but saw something that caused me not to. Above the wastebasket there was a sign that said, “Make your mama proud.” Y’all, it just rubbed me the wrong way. It felt as if they were trying to guilt-trip me into throwing my trash away, insinuating that the woman who brought me into this world wouldn’t be proud of me otherwise. Well (obviously), this passive-aggressive marketing wasn’t going to work on me–I’d just come from therapy.

I realize this may seem silly, but I’ve been thinking about writing the restaurant all day. (Sometimes I do this sort of thing. I’m that guy.) It probably has something to do with the fact that I’m currently reading a book about giving excellent customer service. In fact, I was reading the book IN the restaurant, so when I saw the sign on the wastebasket, all I could think was, I’m the customer. If I’d wanted a guilt trip for lunch, I would have stayed at home. (That’s a joke, Mom.) Okay, breathe, Marcus. I get that a lot of places cut down on costs by not paying their employees to wait on people, and this wasn’t the sort of place you leave a tip. I really do think it was just the wording that bothered me, the whole make-your-mama-proud thing. Why not just say, “Please throw your trash away so we don’t have to do it for you.”? Or “Please return your baskets here. It helps us keep operating costs down so you can save.”?

Wouldn’t either of these options be more direct, more honest?

Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

This evening I’ve barely been able to pull myself away from a book about Bioenergetics, a form of mind-body therapy developed by Alexander Lowen. Bioenergetics is related to Reichian Therapy, which I’ve blogged about recently. I’m only a hundred pages into the book, but so far, Bioenergetics makes a lot of sense to me. According to Lowen, there is no difference between your mind, body, and soul. At the very least, there’s no difference between your mind and body. As he says, “A person’s past is his body.” I take this to mean, in simple terms, that every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body, often in the form of tension or pain.

Someone told me once that I was attuned to subtle energies. “That’s probably why you like words,” they said. “They act on the subtle energetic body.” I don’t know if this is true or not, but I’ve been thinking about that word this evening–subtle–and the idea that everything we do makes a difference. Sometimes that difference is huge, and sometimes that difference is subtle, but everything has its impact. (So don’t pretend like you don’t matter.) For example, your clothes say something about you. Everything you put on–or don’t–sends a message. Words on restaurant signs say something about the people who put them there, either, “We want to help you,” or “We want you to help us.” Likewise, our bodies are constantly communicating with us, sending both subtle and not-so-subtle messages whenever there’s a problem. Of course, before we can do anything about anything, our first job is simply to listen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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