Me
Maybe…
Grant
I’m sure I could figure out a way to change that.
Me
I’m heading to therapy. I might have to talk about the guy whom I can’t stop thinking about.
I left the conversation there as I drove to the therapist’s office. I turned my phone off so I could be fully present in my session today.
I sat in my car, absent-mindedly twiddling my fingers on the wheel. Today, I’d talk to Darla about the sexual trauma I’ve endured and how I didn't want that trauma to prevent me from having something real with Grant. I finally grew the courage to walk into the building.
I always smiled when I entered the waiting room because it was where I met Grant, and he’d been a sprinkle of happiness when I felt lost.
“Hi, Serenity. Come on back,” Darla said. I followed her back to her office and took some deep breaths, sitting on the couch.
She settled into her own chair, pulling out her notebook. “How has everything been since I saw you last?”
I grabbed my favorite yellow pillow and held it on my lap, so I had something to do with my hands. I played with the yarn strings on the pillow’s edge. “Life has started to really look up. I was promoted at work, my roommate—who’s also my best friend—has been extra supportive with my healing journey, and I’ve been dating someone new who is unlike anyone I’ve dated before. We are taking it slow, but I think our relationship is starting to really flourish. With that, I’m having fears about ruining it when we become physical because of my sexual trauma.”
She gave me a soft expression. “Are you ready to discuss some of that trauma with me today?”
I took one deep breath. “I am. I haven’t discussed it in full context with anyone before. But I think my trauma continues to control my actions and responses in my relationships. The guy I’m seeing now has shown patience and understanding with the pace of our physical relationship, making me realize how I have picked partners who wanted a solely sexual relationship without commitment or love. I believed sex equaled love, and that narrative has never proven true.”
She clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chin. “That’s great to hear,” she said with a bright smile. “For EMDR today, I’d like us to start examining the memories from the early interactions with your mom’s boyfriend. Do you think you’re in a place to do that with me today?”
I was as ready as I had ever been before.I am stronger than my trauma.“I’m ready to heal.”
TWENTY-FIVE
PRESENT
Darla set up the machine and handed me the tappers. I leaned back onto the couch and crossed my legs. I took three deep breaths. “When you think of the first encounter with Andrés, do you feel any discomfort in your body?”
I nodded. The pit in my stomach grew, making it difficult to take in a full breath. “My stomach and chest.”
“How intense is the sensation, with one being low and ten being high?”
I thought back to when I was twelve, when Andrés first put his mouth and hands on me. “It’s high. Maybe an eight.”
She made a note of my response. “Okay, I want us to break those feelings down, but if at any time you need to pause, raise your hand. Let’s start by thinking back to the first instance when he made you feel uncomfortable and see what else comes up from that memory. Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll start the machine.”
I took one last deep breath. “I’m ready.”
I thought about the day when I was twelve, when his touch came as a shock. How strong I was at that moment to run away and tell my mom. It was the only time I was strong in his presence. Ever since, I hid away from the truth and pretended I wasn’t someone so damaged.
The memory morphed into when I lost my virginity to Shawn. I didn’t want to compare the two, but my body felt used. The confusion immobilized me. I wish I had spoken more; maybe what followed would never have happened.
“Okay, I’m going to stop,” Darla said. “What came up for you?”
I recapped the memories with a shake to my voice.
“What were your feelings when replaying those memories?” Darla looked at me intently.
I looked away. “How I wish I had spoken up. I was always so frozen and afraid.” I picked at my nail cuticles.
