Chapter 25
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.
“Let’s reframe that thought. Did your mom ever discuss with you what was and wasn’t safe in terms of touch?”
I shook my head.
“It can be confusing for a child with a limited understanding of their body when a trusted adult is the one providing the unsafe touch. Freezing is a completely normal response to the trauma you experienced. But you were the child in the situation, while he was the adult. When I put it in that context, do you understand how your inability to speak up was not your fault?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “It’s hard to understand when it comes to losing my virginity to my best friend. He knew I had a crush on him for the longest time, so when we started to get physical, I was excited. It moved too fast, though, and I froze.”
“That is a typical response given the situation,” Darla said. “You had instances where you did speak up, though, correct?”
I nodded my head. “I had a pretty big argument with my mom when he first moved back in with us.”
“I want you to see that you did try, so let’s think back to that memory and see what else comes up for you. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
I walked into my house after school and saw my mom’s bags lying by the front door, accompanied by someone else’s.
I rolled my eyes. I thought we were done with boyfriends living with me after what Andrés did.
I guess my mom could only be alone for so long.
I didn’t see her car in the driveway, so they must have dropped off their bags and gone to run errands or something.
A noise came from my mom’s room, though.
“Mom, are you home?” I yelled from the living room. There was no answer, so I went over to her door. As soon as I raised my hand to knock, it swung open. I took a step back as my body began to tremble. Andrés stood there with a smug smile.
I blinked several times, hoping I was imagining him standing there. “What are you doing here?” I practically yelled.
“Your mom didn’t tell you?” he asked smugly. “We patched things up a couple of months ago and decided to give it another shot. Wow, look how much you’ve grown up,” he said with a wink.
I clenched my jaw. How could a grown man talk to a fourteen-year-old child the way he did?
My gut twisted. “She wouldn’t do that. There’s got to be another explanation.”
“Fine,” he said, walking back into the room. “You can just ask her when she gets home.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, stomping up the stairs to my room and slamming the door.
There’s no way she got back together with him after I told her what happened, right?
There has to be an explanation for why she would let him back into our home.
I paced my room until I heard the front door open.
I sprinted down the stairs to confront my mom.
“What the hell is Andrés doing here?” I asked as I joined her in the kitchen.
My mom looked at me, dumbfounded. “We got back together, what’s the big deal?”
I gaped at her. “You’re kidding me right now, right?” I couldn’t believe how nonchalant she was about allowing the man who made me so uncomfortable and traumatized back into our home. My home. Was she seriously going to leave me alone with him again? This could not be happening.
I held back tears for the young version of myself who wanted her mom to prioritize her safety.
“You took things way out of proportion. That was over a year ago. He didn’t mean anything by it; it was a mistake.”
“A mistake!” I screamed. “He accidentally put his hands on my body without consent. He accidentally kissed me. I was twelve, Mom! And he was even being inappropriate with me when I was eleven.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she replied. “You act as if he abused you.”
“He did! He is a grown man putting his hands on a child, how could you say that’s not abuse?”
“Andrés is not like that,” she spoke calmly.
How could I get through to her? “You’re choosing his side over mine, and you’re too self-centered to understand what you’re putting me through. I hope someday you can own up to the part you played in my trauma.” I walked away.
Would I ever feel safe in my home again? Will she ever believe me?
“Okay, I’m going to stop. What came up for you?”
I slowly opened my eyes. I told her what memories came up for me and how much anger I still held toward mom for delivering me on a platter to him. She said she believed me. But she still chose him over me. I wish I knew why.
“I’m going to start the machine again, but since your mom is a main contributor to how you feel about yourself, I want you to focus on the anger you felt during that conversation and see what comes up. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“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 Andrés being 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 was not okay. 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?”
“We may never know that, but what we do know now is that none of it was your fault, right?”
I sat up tall with confidence. “No, it wasn’t my fault.”
She smiled lightly. “Let’s stop there today and resume where we left off for the next session. I want to leave some time to get you in a good headspace. Before we do that, how are you feeling overall?”
My lips curved up with a small smile. “How I viewed what happened to me was shaped by how my mom responded to my pain. I’m beginning to understand what happened to me was not my fault.”
Darla smiled back. “That’s an important breakthrough when healing from sexual trauma. Everyone who experiences trauma has their own timeline for when they are ready to share.”
“I think I put it off because I thought it would be a moot topic since it happened almost twenty years ago.”
Darla shook her head. “Your timeline is your timeline. What’s important is you took the plunge to heal when you were ready. Now, let’s bring your focus into your safe space and store the difficult memories for the next session.”
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes to picture my safe place. I lay at the top of a mountain overlooking a forest of trees situated in front of a field of lavender flowers. Off in the distance, the bright sun on a cloudless day made the lavender shimmer. I stored the anger and welcomed peace.
“How do you feel?” Darla asked.
“I feel good, all things considered. That was a lot to process, but I’m proud of myself for finally breaking down some of the walls I’ve built.”
“I am proud of you, too,” she said as she stood up and led me out of her office. “I’ll see you next week, take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, Darla,” I said sincerely, exiting the office to walk out to my car.
I had the urge to hear Grant’s voice. I found his contact on my phone and called him.
“Hey there, pretty girl. How are you doing?” he asked in the softest tone.
“Honestly, today’s session was intense,” I admitted. “But I had a breakthrough so I would say it was a win.”
“Hell yeah, it was,” he said. “I have a surprise for you when you get off work. Would you be up to coming over tonight?”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”