Story and Space

a poem about holding and healing

This week I am writing from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where I have been for the last several days participating in the Next Level Private Practice Summit. As the emcee and one of the keynote speakers, I helped guide and stir stories for over 100 attendees at this incredible event created for therapists and private practice owners.

Any time I stand in front of a crowd my nerves kick in. And every time I walk away from a gathering I am amazed at the power of connection and the way stories bring people together. This morning as I prepare to head home, my voice is fading and my heart is full.

Over the next few weeks, I will share more about this experience and the stories I shared while here. For today, I offer a new poem. Read and listen to me read it below.

Story and Space
©Rebecca Wilson, September 2025

maybe you roll out the red carpet
maybe it’s yellow or purple
not a carpet at all
a diving board or twisty slide
a soft blanket 
or quilt your grandmother made
   each square a piece of your unique fabric 

maybe you light a candle 
that smells like pine needles 
gentle breeze, coconut beach, baby powder 
or pumpkin spice
   if that’s your autumn jam

maybe you turn on the corner lamp
the one with the cracked vase
broken cord
wrong watt bulb 
   or use the flashlight on your phone 

maybe you get comfortable with the darkness
let shadows inspire 
more than intimidate 
   fumble around on purpose 

maybe you open your heart
emotions the jar
experience the ink in the quill
   filling the page

maybe it comes to life with voice
a whisper in the mirror
or deep breath at the top of the stairs
   as you realize just how far you’ve climbed

illustrations 
like those in the Sunday comics
you looked forward to every week
   used as wrapping paper for special occasions 

maybe it becomes a novel
poem, prayer
a song sung in the shower 
a speech, dialogue 
letter, screen play
   a tattoo on your forearm 

a piece of art for the refrigerator 
or painted on the wall above the sofa
where the plaster has been peeling
   since before you were born

framed by the chapters you’ve struggled to recover
characters you’ve fought to name
the arc that was straightened 
or plot line lost
   the ending you write for yourself

however it comes
hold space for your story to breathe
to feel gentle air blowing
   on freshly healing skin

Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10CAMELS

Invitation to Reflect

• What story is your heart holding?

• What story is asking to be told?