Samantha
Chapter thirty-three
My knee bounces up and down as I chew the inside of my cheek. Adrian reaches over, clasping his hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
He’s solidly proven that he loves me. He chased after me. He listened to the most painful parts of my story and didn’t run away. He told me he still loves me.
And he’s sitting in my therapist’s office, getting ready to meet with Amber together.
We sat in the tree house for a long time last night.
I told Adrian more about my past relationships, filling in some gaps, better explaining some of my insecurities.
He reassured me of his love twice as many times as he made threats to Ryan’s life.
I might send an anonymous postcard to Ryan suggesting a cross-country move to ensure he never makes the mistake of crossing paths with Adrian.
And when I was completely drained from the conversation, we quietly watched for shooting stars.
And kissed some more. There was a fair amount of kissing.
When we finally came inside to go to sleep, I found a note from my mom on the counter letting me know that while I’d been napping, she had scheduled an appointment for me to see Amber. Adrian read over my shoulder and immediately asked if he could come with me to talk to her together.
I feel so loved by him coming with me. And so very terrified to pull him into the deep end of all that is so messed up about me.
As if reading my thoughts, Adrian moves his hand from my knee to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me to him and kissing my temple. “I love you, Samantha. This isn’t going to change that. This is going to help me learn how to love you better.”
Sighing, I lean my head against his shoulder.
My knee keeps bouncing.
The door between the waiting area and the hallway to the counseling rooms opens, and Amber steps out with a warm smile. She has new glasses—a bright teal pair this time—and her curly red hair is longer than the last time I saw her. Rising to my feet, I give her a hug.
“Thanks for squeezing me—us—in,” I say. “Sorry to make you start your day earlier than planned.”
“You will not apologize for that because I am not upset about it, Samantha,” she says, giving me a look that’s equally loving and chastising. I smile.
Turning toward Adrian, I introduce them to each other.
We follow Amber back to her office, sitting together on the loveseat as she sits in an armchair across from us.
Amber moved into this office when I was seventeen, so I’ve spent innumerable hours in this space.
The walls of this room have absorbed so much of my pain and healing, my anguish and hope.
As I sit on the familiar pale-blue loveseat with Adrian’s broad, strong frame next to me, I try to let myself be comforted in feeling small, just like sitting under the stars.
But nothing about this conversation feels small.
My knee starts bouncing again.
Amber suggests, “Why don’t we begin with you each telling me what you hope to gain from our time together today?”
Adrian is quick to answer. “I want to understand how to love Samantha better. How to support her when she’s sad or upset. I’m not naturally very good at knowing how to do that. I tend to avoid uncomfortable emotions if I can.”
I notice Amber’s eyes spark with interest, knowing she just took a mental note to circle back to. But first, she looks to me.
“I’d like my brain to not be broken anymore,” I state.
Amber pins me with an admonishing look as Adrian exclaims, “You are not broken!”
“What?!” I interject. “You asked what I wanted. I’m trying to be better about saying what I need.” Another mental note ticks in Amber’s eyes.
Pivoting, I give her a short summary of all that transpired yesterday, bringing her up to speed on the exact catalyst that brought us here.
When I’m finished explaining—with a few details thrown in by Adrian—Amber asks, “Could I start with a basic overview of the brain science of childhood trauma? Adrian, are you at all familiar with that terminology?”
Adrian nods. “Not a lot, but a little.” He looks to me.
“Have you told her anything about Jason?” When I affirm, he looks back to Amber.
“Griffin has explained a little bit to me about some of Jason’s explosive behaviors coming from trauma responses.
I don’t know much, but I’m assuming that what Samantha experiences is similar. ”
“Except I’m a grown woman who shouldn’t be acting the same as a child,” I grumble, frustrated with myself.
“Hey, now,” Adrian starts, turning to me.
Amber cuts him off and says, “Samantha. We’re not going to chase unhealthy thought trails for this session.
We can meet again soon if you need help redirecting intrusive thoughts, but I want this time to be productive for your relationship and communication together.
I know you know the brain science, but it sounds like you could use a refresher too. ”
Crossing my arms, I lean back against the couch. Adrian places his hand palm up on my thigh, leaving the open invitation. As Amber begins her summary, I can’t resist placing my hand in his.
He gives it a gentle squeeze.
Amber shares a very simple overview of how childhood trauma changes the neuropathways in the brain, making emotional regulation more difficult and producing exaggerated responses to perceived threats, using my reaction yesterday as a practical example.
She talks about neuroplasticity, how the brain is capable of rewiring and forming new connections through coregulation, secure attachments, and a variety of therapeutic techniques. I fidget with the fringe on a throw pillow as she talks. My attention alerts when she says my name.
“Samantha has done extensive work herself and with the help of her family to reorganize her brain’s connections and to create as many new healthy neuropathways as possible.
And she has made tremendous progress over the years.
Do you want to share some of the techniques you’ve utilized, Samantha? ” she asks me.
Darting a glance at Adrian’s face, I see him looking at me intently, but not intensely.
His eyes hold openness and compassion, so I sigh and start listing things off.
“Amber has been here with me through hundreds of hours of talk therapy, on and off over the years. There have been seasons I’ve been on different medications.
I worked with an occupational therapist for a year to learn how to recognize where I was feeling certain emotions in my body.
She taught me strategies to calm my reflexes when I could sense tension getting triggered. ”
The longer I continue recounting everything I’ve done, the more and more embarrassed I feel at just how much help I’ve needed.
I slowly shrink into the loveseat cushions and watch my fingers twirl the throw pillow fringe as I continue.
“I did neurofeedback therapy with Amber for several months before she referred me to an EMDR specialist. I learned grounding, breathwork, and progressive relaxation techniques through yoga. Filled a million journals with years of feelings. And more talk therapy along with my parents.”
Sighing again, I ask Amber, “Did I forget anything?” She shakes her head.
When I finally dare to look back at Adrian, I prepare myself to see warning alarms going off in his eyes.
I’m not at all prepared for the awestruck expression on his face.
He leans over and wraps me in a hug. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met, cielo.”
Confused, I lean back so I can see his face. “What are you talking about? Did you not hear the forever-long list of supports I’ve needed to make me functional?”
“You did those things, though,” Adrian tells me.
“I hate that you had to. But you did it when none of that could have been easy. Talking about all that pain. Fighting to rewire your brain. You did all that work, trying to undo the effects of someone else’s choices. I’ve never admired a person more.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I look over to Amber. She’s smiling.
Her gaze shifts to Adrian, and I see her mentally unpinning a thought. “Adrian, I’d like to ask you a question.”
He swivels to face her again.
Amber says, “You mentioned earlier that you’re not good around negative feelings. That you tend to avoid uncomfortable emotions. Could you tell me why that is?”
Adrian’s eyebrows furrow, and he pauses before saying, “Uh, I don’t really know. I just . . . do?”
Oh dear. I know what’s coming. I lean forward and rest my hand in the crook of his arm, giving him the comfort of physical touch, ready for the unraveling that’s about to happen as Amber pulls on threads.
“How long would you say that’s been your default?” she prods.
Shifting in the loveseat, Adrian says, “I don’t know exactly. As long as I can remember, I guess? Since I was a kid for sure. Is that bad?”
Amber holds up her hands. “Of course that’s not bad.
It’s completely natural to not want to experience uncomfortable or painful feelings.
Very human. But some of us feel more acute discomfort sitting with those emotions.
Let me ask you this: when you start to feel sad or painful emotions—or even when you see someone else experiencing them—how do you respond? ”
Adrian takes a deep breath before answering, “Make a joke. Change the topic. Suggest a fun activity. Do something to distract my thoughts from dwelling on it.”
“So you avoid or deflect the negative emotions as much as you can?” Amber clarifies.
“I mean . . . yeah?” Adrian says. He glances over at me. “I know that’s bad. I know that’s part of the problem, that I’m not responding the right way when Samantha is upset or sad. That’s why I’m here. So you can tell me what to do instead.”
Amber gives Adrian a compassionate smile. “I’m afraid before you can truly change the way you respond for Samantha, you might need to understand where your reactions stem from. I’m curious if there’s something in your life that has made you particularly avoidant of sadness.”