The silence probably counted as confirmation.
“That belief makes sense given what you’ve experienced,” she said. “But it may not be entirely accurate. Or helpful.”
“People do take advantage of you,” I said.
“Some people do. Others don’t.”
I considered that.
It felt suspicious.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that I learned very early that if I relaxed, something bad would happen. Not dramatic-movie-bad. Utility-shutoff-bad. Unpaid rent bad. Open the fridge and figure it out bad. So now when people say something is handled, my instinct is to assume that means I should probably double-check.”
Dr. Ellie nodded. “Because in your experience, safety was unreliable.”
The words landed hard enough that I looked up.
“Yes,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment. “Was there a specific memory that stands out when you think about that?”
“We got evicted when I was younger,” I said. The sentence came out flat, which felt unfair to the memory considering how much damage it had apparently done. “Not in a dramatic possessions-on-the-lawn way. Just in a landlord-at-the-door, final-notice, this-is-happening way.”
I stared at the wall behind her. The half-moons in my palm were starting to become painful. “I already knew things were bad. I had seen the notices. I had asked about the rent. She kept saying she was handling it.” My mouth tightened. “She wasn’t handling it.”
The room stayed quiet. Calm enough that I could hear the clock on the bookshelf.
“She fell apart,” I said. “I packed.”
I can still see it with annoying clarity. Trash bags. Towels wrapped around dishes. Me taking things off the walls while my mother cried and said she didn’t know what we were going to do.
“I remember being furious with her. I remember feeling guilty for being furious with her. I remember her looking at me like I was the problem for not comforting her fast enough.”
Dr. Ellie’s expression stayed steady. “Do you remember what she said?”
I laughed once under my breath.
“Not every word. Just the general message.” I looked down at the floor. “I was making it worse. I was too hard on her. I always knew how to make her feel terrible.”
The old anger moved through me, sharp and familiar. “Which was impressive, because we were losing our housing and somehow, I still ended up in the role of emotional aggressor.”
Dr. Ellie exhaled slowly through her nose. “That is a tremendous amount for a child to bear.”
“Well,” I said, because apparently even in therapy my instinct was to downplay. “We didn’t die.”
“No,” she said gently. “But survival is not the only measure of harm.”
That shut me up.
“One thing that can be helpful,” she said, “is understanding that the part of you who learned those lessons is still very active.”
I frowned slightly.
“We all carry younger versions of ourselves. And the one in you who had to stay alert that early learned some very powerful rules.”
I looked down at the indentions in my hands. That was somehow worse than if she had said something clinical and impossible to argue with. This sounded usable, which was irritating.
“Such as?” I asked.
