With too many volleying through my mind, I latch onto a core memory.
I was still young—overstimulated, and I couldn’t stop crying or hyperventilating. I didn’t understand what was happening, only that my body felt like it had been hijacked and I had no control over it.
My parents hated it when I got upset, but that night was different, because I embarrassed Michael in front of his friends. He told Mom to deal with me, and she took me to my room. She was so angry, she just kept shaking me and screaming for me to stop.
When I couldn’t, she told me to go into my closet, even though she knew I was afraid of the dark. I didn’t want to, but I did it anyway, because I wanted their approval.
I always thought that if I could just be good enough, they would love me. When I was compliant, I was safe from their anger and cruel words. When I couldn’t control my emotions, it ended in conflict and chaos.
That night, I went into the dark closet and cried until I couldn’t anymore. And then something strange happened. A blanket of numbness settled over me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel anything at all. I shut down for the first time, and it got me through those terrifying hours.
It wasn’t until Mom came into my bedroom the next morning that she realized they’d forgotten me there.
I’d peed my pants, but when she yelled at me for it, I discovered that the numbness wasn’t just a feeling. It was a placeI could go in my mind—a refuge where pain and sadness didn’t exist.
From that day on, I learned to panic on the inside, internalizing my emotions so nobody would know.
I studied the language of the strange world I was born into, mastering the scripts, the body language, and the tones.
I became a character on a stage, performing for the comfort of everyone around me. My family never locked me in the closet again. But it came at a cost—my voice and my needs. And, still, I didn’t have their approval.
“Hey.” Eros brings me back, and gradually, I return to my body, the warmth of his hands grounding me.
As the fog in my head clears, another emotion surges through me. Something I rarely show, even though I’ve felt it my entire life.
Anger.
“I remember,” I say quietly.
“Okay.” His fingers graze my cheek, a warm and steady presence. “Now tell me what you wish you had said.”
My mind doesn’t offer up an elaborate speech, but rather a simple response.
“No,” I whisper. “I would have said no.”
“Good. Say it louder.”
A cold flush settles over my skin, and my stomach churns as I battle out the consequences with my lizard brain.
Every instinct inside me screams to retreat to what’s familiar, because that’s what’s kept me safe. But that safety hasn’t protected me—it’s imprisoned me.
Unlearning isn’t comfortable, and taking that first step is terrifying, but I want to do it. So I steel myself and say it again.
“No.”
“Louder.”
“No.”
He makes me repeat it over and over until I finally unleash the anger inside me, pouring it into that single word.
When I let it out, a strange calm washes over me, and I realize just how good that felt. It’s like my lungs have fully expanded, and I’m taking my first real breath in years.
Eros tips my chin up, stroking my face with such tenderness, it feels like nothing less than reverence.
“Your voice might shake at first,” he murmurs. “But I promise you, baby, you’ll learn how to roar.”
I nod through my tears, and he sits with me quietly, rubbing my back and letting me just be in the moment. I could almost fall asleep right here, but I suspect our conversation isn’t over, and he confirms it.
