“They both are, to a degree. My brain was injured, but I found comfort in the routine. Soon, I came to depend on it to feel safe.”
“I’m glad you feel safe with me,” Bec said with a smile, but Iris wasn’t looking at her to see it.
“Never said I did,” she answered instead, taking a bite of her sandwich.
“You didn’t have to. The fact that you’re sitting at my table talking to me about it shows me you do.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened to me?”
“Yes, but I promised Selina I wouldn’t ask. That said, I don’t need to know what happened to you to know that I like you for who you are now.”
Iris kept her eyes pinned to the table as she chewed. Bec could tell she was uncomfortable, but she didn’t say anything. It was okay to be uncomfortable in a safe environment. That was the only way to grow and find healthy ways to process trauma.
“It was my uncle. He kidnapped me when I was seven.”
“Iris, you don’t have to tell me,” she said, reaching for her hand. “We’re under enough stress as it is. Don’t stress yourself out more.”
“What if I want to?” She glanced up so quickly that Bec almost missed it, so she was glad she was smilingwhen she did. “There’s no one alive but my therapist who knows the truth now. Sometimes, I think I could help people if I discussed it more.”
“What does your therapist think about that?”
“She agrees but also knows how hard I’ve worked to be able to function at the level I do. She would never advise me to do something that could set me back.”
“That’s fair. As a clinician, she wants you to keep progressing in your recovery, not regress.”
“The thing is,” Iris said, catching her eye for longer before she stared at her sandwich. “I’ve been stuck in the same place of my recovery for years. Remember when I said my therapist says I’m afraid of being afraid? She’s right. Whenever I think about telling someone the truth about what happened or try to think about what using my story to help others might look like, the fear gets too strong to overcome.”
“Iris, look at me,” Bec said firmly, waiting several minutes in silence until she lifted her head to look into her eyes for a quick moment. “You’re stronger than your fear.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
Bec held up her finger. “Were you scared to come here?”
“Terrified, but I had to do it. You needed help, and so did Cal.”
“Which is why I say you’re stronger than your fear. The right motivation makes the fear worth it sometimes.”
“Never thought of it that way. I’ve always thought that talking about it would hurt me again, and I feared that.”
“How would it hurt you again? The emotions would cause too much anxiety?”
“You’re going to laugh and think I’m dumb if I answer that.”
Bec stood and knelt beside her chair. “I would never do either of those two things, Iris. You are the strongest and smartest woman I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of strong, smart women. Whether you tell me anything more about your past or you never say another word, that won’t change how I feel or think about you.”
“I believe that,” she agreed, staring at her hand on her thigh. “The truth is, for the longest time, I worried if I talked about what happened, he would come back and hurt me.”
“Since you were seven when it happened, that’s understandable, Iris.”
She sat there, nodding and staring at her lap, until Bec stood, kissed the top of her head and sat back down at the table. “He’s been dead since the second month of his prison sentence, though. The obvious answer is that I’m afraid of what happens after I tell someone the truth. Will you hate me? Will you think it was my fault? Will you not want to be friends with me anymore?”
“I wouldn’t do any of those things, Iris, which I know is easy to say but hard for you to believe and trust. You were a child, so none of it was your fault.”
“That’s true. Everything I know about what happened before I was taken came from my mother. She had put me to bed and showered while waiting for my dad to come home. She worked the late shift at the hospital, and he was normally home for dinner but had to work late. She finished getting ready for work, and when he came home, he stopped to kiss me on the way to the shower,but I wasn’t there. My window was open, and they found footprints below it.”
“You don’t remember that part?”
“Thankfully, I don’t. The doctor said the damage to my brain was the cause and not repression. There isn’t a single day that goes by where I’m not thankful for that after hearing the truth about what happened. See, my anxiety and OCD are because of the physical injury, not the memories of it since I don’t have many.”
