The Therapist.

At home, Gabriel only ate the red M&M’s.

The other colours all terrified him.

His exasperated mum wrote it off as ‘just another of his autistic quirks.’

He couldn’t tell her that the angry lady with the piercing eyes, always ate the red ones during his ABA sessions; ‘rewarding’ him with the other colours when his fear finally forced him to follow her barked commands.

The other colours were the currency of her grudging satisfaction, and only when she slid them across the table at him, one by one, did he not have to look into her eyes.

To Gabriel, red, was the colour of freedom.

Woman, you are not a number.

You are not a dress size,

or a number on a scale.

How dare you

reduce yourself to a


quantify your very essence?

You are hips,




A womb,


You are arms that create

a safe space for the ones

who look at you with love.

A heart that swells;


making room for more,

to love.

You are vibrant life.

Courage unfettered.

A relentless hope,

singing in the dark.

You are spirit,

and flesh;

exquisitely crafted

from heaven’s breath.

Hear me now!

All that is you,

can never be contained

in a number.