“Eh, I was on my own for a while, but I’ve got people now. A cousin who I share an apartment with. A boss who’s flexible when I need to take time off to prioritize my therapy and self-care, and this place. When you share what we do week after week, it’s hard not to develop a certain kinship with each other. Although we might not all be the closest friends, we all have each other’s back.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is. Messy, but amazing. We don’t always get lucky with who we’re born to or who we fall for, but sometimes we get a second chance to choose our people. And when you find them, you hold on.”
The facilitator entered, and based off my first glance I understood what Talia meant. He radiated a calm and soothing energy, greeting a few people by name as he took the last empty chair.
“Welcome, everyone. Let’s take a seat, get settled. As most of you know, I’m Elijah and I help run this session. We maintainan open forum discussion, but I ask that when someone else is speaking we listen and remain quiet. Secondly, this is a safe space, so please be respectful to everyone here. With that I’d like to start our session by saying I’m so glad each of you are here. Showing up is an act of courage. So thank you, and congratulate yourself for being here today. We do have a new member with us tonight.” Elijah gestured to me. “Oliver, if you’d like to introduce yourself.”
Talia glanced at me, giving me an encouraging thumbs up.
“Um. Yeah. Hi. As Elijah said, I’m Oliver.”
Elijah nodded. “We’re glad you’re here. Would you like to share anything else? Or would you prefer to listen first?”
“I think I’d rather listen, if that’s okay? Maybe I’ll go after a few other people have gone.”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Elijah said. “There’s no wrong way to be here.”
A woman with streaks of silver in her brown hair leaned forward in her seat. “I’ll go,” she said. “I made a breakthrough in therapy this week. I was able to say for the first time out loud that I’d been abused even though he never beat me. He was controlling. Controlling in a way that bled into everything. What I wore. What I ate. When I slept. Who I could go out with and when. How I spoke.”
There were nods all around the circle and some murmured sounds of agreement.
The other guy in the group, who’s name tag identified him as Cameron, spoke next. “I got triggered last week when I walked past a guy who wore the same cologne. My whole body went cold, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe for an eternity. That’s the part people don’t talk about, things can be going fine and then something as small as a scent can bring it all back.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Trauma responses are like party favors that no one ever asked for but keep showing up at every event you attend,” Talia quipped.
That earned a resounding chuckle from the circle.
“It’s true, healing never happens in a straight line. However, those moments where you are triggered don’t erase the progress you’ve made. Can you tell me something you did this past week that was positive for your recovery, Cameron?” Elijah said.
“Well... when I went to the store I bought my own toothpaste, instead of the kind he liked.”
“That’s huge,” Elijah said. “It may sound small to someone who’s never had their choices taken from them, but in this room, we know better. We know what it means to reclaim a decision, no matter how seemingly ordinary it is. That toothpaste? That’s autonomy. That’s agency. That’s you reminding yourself your preferences matter, your comfort matters. It’s one of the ways we start relearning that our lives belong to us. Thank you for sharing that, Cameron. That’s a powerful step.”
The session wound on, others sharing their updates. For this first visit, I’d planned to simply get aquainted and listen, but before my brain could issue a veto, before the thousand internal alarms could scream don’t, my hand lifted.
“Yes, Oliver, go ahead,” Elijah prompted.
“I wasn’t going to say anything tonight, but I’ve been carrying this... this fear that I don’t belong here. I worried I’d walk through that door and every person in this room would look at me, see I’m a man, and think I’m a threat. My friend, Luke, the one who helped me get connected with this group, told me there were places like this that would accept someone like me. I wanted to believe that, but there was still this voice in my head telling me that my presence would make people uncomfortable.”
I looked up then, glancing toward the members of the group to see many of them nodding. “So I want to say thank you. Thankyou for not doing that. Thank you for letting me be here without suspicion and sit among you like I belong.”
The first woman who had spoken earlier chimed back in. “I can relate. For the longest time I didn’t think I belonged here either. I told myself I shouldn’t be taking up a chair when I didn’t have bruises to prove anything. I worried people would hear my story, scoff, and think I stole help from someone who’d actually been hurt. I didn’t understand that control can be just as harmful, even if it doesn’t leave marks on your skin.”
“I worried about being a man in this group too,” Cameron said. “I thought people would think I was pretending to be a victim to gain access to the space and hurt people.”
“Yeah, you’re not alone in those thoughts,” Talia said. “I come across tough. I’m loud. I’m opinionated. I’ve got this demeanor that makes people assume I don’t take shit from anyone. When I first came here, I thought people would see that and say I was faking it. That I was some dramatic chick trying to call every bad night abuse.”
The last of my nerves dissipated. Hearing that so many struggled to believe that they belonged in a space like this put me at east.
“Thank you, Oliver, for your courage in speaking tonight,” Elijah said. “And thank you to everyone who responded so vulnerably. These moments, where we recognize ourselves in each other’s fears, are vital to our healing. I want to reiterate something I hope will settle deep in each of you: you belong here. Not conditionally. Not tentatively. Not only when you check the ‘right’ boxes, but fully. There’s a reason we gather in a circle. No one is in front. No one is behind. There’s no hierarchy of pain. We meet each other here, side by side, exactly as we are. Your presence here is not borrowed. It is not something you must earn. It is yours.”
I didn’t speak again for the rest of the session, but I relaxed into my chair. When it ended, and people began to say their goodbyes, Talia bumped her shoulder against mine.
“So, on a scale of one to emotionally obliterated, how you holding up?”
“I think I can save hysterically crying into my chamomile tea for a later date.”
