“I’m ready,” I said.
I was sixteen, and my mom was home from a work trip. The abuse from Andrés wasn’t as consistent when Shawn began coming over more.
“If you keep dressing that way, you’re going to attract the wrong attention,” my mom said. I was in low-rise jeans and a tank top, the only visible skin being my arms.
“I’m literally covered,” I argued.
“You had so much to say about Andrésbeing an abusive man, but how could he not become curious with how you dress around the house? I’d hate to see what you wear when I’m not home.”
I glared at her, stunned. If only she knew he abused me when I wore a Winnie the Pooh nightgown. What I wore had nothing to do with it. “I’ll go change,” I said instead.
“I’m going to stop. What came up for you?”
“My mom said what I wore could attract the wrong attention, and could be the reason Andrés was curious before...” I trailed off. Looking back, I knew she was wrong.
Darla shook her head in disbelief. “Do you still have a relationship with your mom?”
“Sort of,” I responded. “She uses her money to buy my love. She’s still with him, even though my assumptions about him were right. She never truly believed me once they were together again. Her mind was made up.” A single tear escaped. “I told her more when they were about to get married, but nothing changed.”
“I’m sorry the person who was supposed to protect you let you down. The anger you feel is a secondary emotion that can almost act as a protective shield from the primary emotion. In your case, the primary emotion I theorize you may be feeling is hurt. Have you had a talk with your mom about the further abuse that occurred?”
“No,” I said. “I first thought she wouldn’t believe me, but then I became scared. He threatened to hurt my mom if I kept spreading ‘lies’ about him,” I said with air quotes around lies. “I let it happen because I didn’t think I had any other option.”
“Is there any part of you that still blames yourself?” Darla asked.
“I guess I’ve always felt like I didn’t do enough to be believed or should have told someone else, maybe even the counselor at school. I could have gotten help. I was a young adult at that point, but I didn’t know how else to protect my mom from his threats.”
“Do you understand now that it wasn’t your responsibility to keep your mom safe, but rather, quite the opposite?” Her kind eyes met mine.
“I think I’m still protecting her feelings by continuing to have a relationship with her without expressing how hurt I am by her, but I don’t know how to express such hurt. Every time I think it’s time, I’d become so angry and shut down instead.” I rubbed my clammy hands on my shorts.
“Have you thought about providing her with additional details? Do you think she would have a better understanding of how you felt if she knew more of what happened?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know how to bring it up, though.”
“That’s okay, the more we work through your responses to your trauma, the easier it will be to confront it head-on.” She wrote a note in her notebook. “With your mom now married to him, have you been around him much as an adult?”
I shivered, goosebumps prickling my skin “I hadn't been around him since I left for college when I was eighteen. I spent the holidays with my best friend, and when I do see my mom, I'm adamant that I don't want him around. So far, she's respected my boundary.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
She nodded. “That's good. When you do think of the chance of seeing him again, do you feel that anywhere in your body?”
I focused on how I felt. I felt the initial pinpricks throughout my body when she brought it up, but the more I thought about it, the more my heart pounded, and my stomach ached. “I feel it the most in my stomach and chest,” I said.
“What intensity would you say the feeling is, one being low and ten being high?”
My hands trembled, breathing staggered. “Probably a seven,” I admitted.
She nodded with understanding and took notes. “If you are up to it, I'd like to uncover any buried memories. We need to fully break down your emotional response and the true meaning behind your emotions concerning him specifically. Would you be willing to continue forward?”
“I think so. I've always shut down the memories to hide from the emotions, but I want to heal…really heal.”
“Good. The feeling I want you to focus on is your self-guilt. You were the child in the situation. I’ll start again when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” I closed my eyes, and the first year he lived with us when I was eleven resurfaced. I watched a little girl whom I wanted to save. I wanted to tell her she would one day find peace and be okay. She needed to know that an adult staring, touching, or complimenting her body at such a young age wasnotokay. Tears damped my face.
“I’m going to stop there,” she said, handing me a tissue box. “Are you able to recap what came up for you?”
“I am now the adult who would have believed my younger self and would do anything to protect her. My mom’s actions during those years continue to confuse me. I know now I wasn’t to blame, but why did she?”
