the psychology of the abused

a letter to God that I wrote on February 15th, 2009.  I remember. I printed out this letter and went to the sea and threw it in the water.

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So it’s true that I no longer feel as close to You as I once felt. I’m doing the obligatory and even the voluntary that I have been so accustomed to doing– but the connection to You is not there anymore. I don’t feel that my heart tingles. I don’t feel the closeness.  It’s as if I am in a dream and aware that I am dreaming – as in, I know that I am in this phase, and I know there is nothing I can do about it.  But deep in my heart I feel that it will pass.  I hope to You that it will pass. But other than that, how can I just force myself to feel closer to you?  [...]
I just read a short segment of a book that talked about women who over think, and the first piece of advice was for women to write down their thoughts.  And so I am writing.
You know, I feel honestly that perhaps the reason why I am so distant right now is because I feel like a horrible person by ignoring his messages and emails.  I do not want to not contact him – I do not want him to feel for one bit that this relationship is one sided.  But, he is the one that asked me to stop contacting him – for our own good.  I truly believe, now, that the reason why I am drifting from You is because I feel like a sinner.  I feel like a person who is so in the wrong, so evil, to the extent that I do not deserve the closeness that I once felt to You.  
Many a times I have heard people say that they are too embarrassed to pray. Or that they don’t know how to face God. Perhaps this is the true reason as to why I feel further from You with each passing moment.      
The thought itself shudders, but I feel like I am allowing the love of my life – the one whom loves me to death by Your grace alone - to suffer right in front of me as I sit on the sidelines and do nothing.  I am watching him ‘die’ without providing him the life support that is so easy for me to give.  It will take no power or energy on my part to press reply, to say that I still feel with all my heart those three words for him.  But I am stopping myself.  I am forcing myself not to.
I have felt depressed like this before when we were not in touch, and I know that writing to him – even if it was a short 2 liner email – would calm me.  But it has never been this long – this much time has never elapsed.  Almost a decade – and it’s never been this cold between us.  That is why I cannot wait till his birthday. So I can send a gift and perhaps a short message - and breathe again.  So I can once again feel like I am doing justice to the love we share and to the many sacrifices we have both endured.  
You know, I even stop myself from thinking of him. Because it pains me to know he is paining; pains me so much to an extent that I resent our history.  It’s as if our connection, our love, has resulted in an emptiness; an emptiness that is forcing me away from You.
God, I love You and I want nothing more than to be in Your favour.  I want to dedicate my life, my existence, my everything to You.  I want to be a source of pleasure for You.  Please allow me to come closer to You. Allow me the honour of feeling Your presence as I bow down.  And, allow me the honour of feeling Your love and contentment and pleasure entering into my heart as I put my forehead to the ground and remember Your majesty.  
You are able to do all things. Please bring me back to You, accept me in Your arms and make me connected to You as I have never been before.

Who is Neighborhood Muslimah?

Who is Neighborhood Muslimah?

Who am I?  This is the question my counselor and I talked about today.  And the truth is…is I don’t know.  We analyzed my life and my patterns.  I am very heavy at the moment.  I coordinate a religious study circle on Fridays.  Three different people asked if something was wrong.... ‘you look burdened’ said one of them.

‘The most formative years of a young girl’s personality are when they are 13, 14, 15,’ Ashley explained. At that time, I became what he told me I was – he would say I was so modest and pious, and I would work to fit that description. He would tell me that I am so loving and caring and even sexy, and I would do what was needed to make that happen.  I tied my sense of self to what he wanted…I tried to conform to what he expected of me.

The next person I grew close to after him was Hope. She filled the void when I left him. And here I reached an extreme – I started doing things that were against what he would have ever been happy with me doing…I started cussing in my language…started driving recklessly….become an avid sheesha smoker and skipped work to go smoke.  I started smoking cigarettes too...even got into a car accident because of trying to light my cigarette while driving on the highway.  I changed my dress code…and just became a different person. 

But was I? Lets look a little closer.

Hope’s friends became my friends.  Hope’s style became my style. Hope’s language became my language. Hope’s smoking became my smoking.  I became Hope. I wasn’t a different person – I just became Hope.

And then it was Heavens. I grew very close to her. I grew attached to her every word.  Her descriptions of who I was, my personality and my resilience, became what I strived to suddenly be…but also who I now thought I was. I relied on Heavens to help me understand my feelings and my life – and I conformed to what was being said.  I once wrote her a poem…'Mike Who? I want to be like you'.  This was the last line of the poem. And although I wrote that almost 7 years ago…as we became close over the last 2 years I have tried to be her.  And she is amazing. What a person to be like!  But is it really me?  That is what I have to ask myself.  I try to emulate her leadership in the community.  I try to emulate her deep thinking.  I try to emulate her worship.  I try to emulate.  I emulate because I do not know who I am.  I don’t know how to be me - or what that means.

This explains many things.  I reached a stage where I was obsessed with Hope. Obsessed to the extent that if I didn’t hear from her every few hours I would be in a state of internal frenzy.  My mood would be off and I was uneasy till we spoke again. When we moved for graduate school, her interests and mine changed, and inevitably we were less in touch.  It killed me. I remember typing on my computer screen the words “I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you” over and over again. They were for her, yet I knew deep inside I loved her more than anything. But I wrote that because of how small I felt inside.  How reliant I felt. How attached I felt. I was angry at myself for being so dependent.

And the same thing has happened now with Heavens as she has moved away.   It has been very very hard. I do not know how to explain it.  When you tie your sense of self and your definition of who you are to a person, and then you feel you are losing them, you lose yourself.  It does not feel nice to feel like a body – arms and legs and head - with nothing that is distinctly you.  It is emptying.  It kills your self-esteem.  And while it makes you very very sad most of the time – it also makes you very very angry.  You feel like fighting the person. You think they are your enemy. And you feel like you hate them. Although you know you love them more than anything.  And you get mad at yourself for having these feelings.  You miss them but you try to not ‘give in’ and at other times you miss them but you try to stay away because you think that is what they want.  You are always thinking of what they want.  It’s a real struggle. It’s very confusing. It may be hard for my readers not to judge this struggle as trivial – but it’s not trivial, trust me. It isn’t.  It’s piercing. 

So, since I was 13, I defined myself by what he wanted. Then by what I thought Hope wanted. Then by what I thought Heavens wanted - by what she thought I was and what I expected that she expected me to be.   When you realize something like this – you just want to cry. Really.  This is a huge realization.

On Monday I made a conscious decision to block everyone out – to deactivate twitter and facebook and instagram and whatsapp and imessage…the works. I suppose part of me knew something was wrong and that I am slowing realizing the extent of effect this past experience has had on me. On Monday I felt good. On Tuesday I felt good. On Wednesday I felt good.  But on Thursday I started to feel empty again. I wrote an email to Heavens…she didn’t reply and now I’m sad.  I messaged Hope…and my conversation with her was only a few sentences long although we haven’t spoken for almost a month. And now I’m sad.  And to confirm the pattern...I have been considering contacting that man just to confront him. To tell him how mad I am. But really, I’m just sad. 

It’s not their fault – Hope and Heavens.  Not their fault at all…this has nothing to do with them.  If it was another friend I’d write to them and say ‘Yo!  Did you get my email???' or 'Hello...don’t ignore me!'

I'm just sad because I don't know who I am. Or how to find that out.

Learning to trust...or being smart?

I'm considering a man for marriage.  I met him only a month ago on a matrimonial website....so he is serious about marriage as am I. He is very nice. His eyes are kind and he has a very likeable personality.  Our interests align and he seems to honor what is important to me.  He hasn't said anything wrong...and his actions - be it his conduct with other people, actions at work, his community service and his personal development - reflect good character.  He seems perfect. But. Is he too good to be true?

We met on a Muslim matrimonial site, hopefully an honest reflection of the importance of the faith to us both.  But the thing that worries me is how much he says. He talks a lot in general...I've had conversations with him where he can go on and on and on for a while, and I'll just listen. I enjoy what he says and although I may get bored (sometimes), it's not like I'm averse to this.  But, at the same time, I feel he says too much.

Yesterday he told me on two occasions that he cried while reading on Islamic history and reflecting on the state of the Muslim world today with it's shiite and sunni divisions.  When we skyped, I could see from his eyes that he was crying.  He told me a story once of how he used to volunteer teaching kids at a local mosque.  He missed two weeks of teaching for various reasons...when he went in on the third week, he stopped at the door while he saw the new teacher with the children.  'The children looked happy,' he told me, 'and so was the teacher...so I just left and thought to myself, God has replaced me.  No one knew I had come in'.  He shared how he went home crying at this realization, and how he spent a few days saddened by this.  He eventually was giving Friday sermons at the mosque...he explained to me how he believes he was replaced, but that now his reach was broader.  He tells me how he goes to pray at the mosque at dawn everyday - those days that he misses the prayer in the mosque, he expresses to me how sad he is and how his day doesn't feel the same.

Worship...in many ways...should be private in my opinion.  Between you and your Lord. So, sometimes I get uncomfortable with what he shares.  Although I like what he shares in principal, doesn't sincerity of action come from it being kept a secret (if not all the time, most of the time)?

Yesterday I got worried when he told me how at university he would be able to get away with many things that other student's wouldn't, simply because of what he would say to his professors.  'It's like magic' - he told me his fellow classmates would say.   He recounted how on one occasion he was over a half hour late for class.  The professor wouldn't let students in when they come in this late.  He wanted in, so he entered the classroom and when the professor asked what he wanted, he said 'to congratulate you on your marriage' (because he had known the professor was recently married).  Having lightened the mood, he asked the prof if he could enter the class and the professor said 'yes yes, go in'.

'It's like magic'.

Magic.  This man in my past was very very slick with his words.  Extremely.  And he lured many people into what he wanted through his personality and his words.  He is likeable.. Many many people like him. Love him. His words are like magic.  When I think of his mouth I liken it to that of a snake charmer.

Must I trust this new man I have met?  Or am I being smart when I wonder about the truthfulness in his words?  How do I find out if he is just trying to please me - perhaps lure me - into this marriage?  And, how do I learn to not worry and believe him, if that is what I should do?  Am I projecting the fears from my past unfairly on this new man in my life?

Fighting.

I've had three bouts three weekends in a row. I've won each one Alhamdulillah.  I have given karate my soul and I cannot focus half as much on my PhD.  I feel this is a time for karate.  I need it. I want it. I crave it when I am not doing it.
But yesterday was a hard night for me.  At each bout there have been professional photographers.  As I see the pictures of myself when I'm fighting...the expression on my face and the passion I know I try to put into each punch...I am saddened.  While training, while leading up to the fight, and even during the fight...I never think of my experience with this man. Never.  Karate is my release.  I think of nothing but the task at hand and trying to perfect my technique as best I can.
But.  When I see pictures of myself fighting...I know where the deep emotional attachment to the sport comes from. It saddened me last night - and has kind of put a damper on my day.
Some things never leave you.  I must learn to accept that.

Dropped the Bomb.

I have been told that I should speak to my family about my experience.  I couldn’t see the point or the benefit in doing that. ‘Why should I?’ I asked, and she replied “so that you can know that they are there for you….so that you can finally feel that they are on your side and you are not alone.  This is their chance for them to be there for you”.  And so that’s what I did.  I dropped the bomb.

I spent this summer with my family.

It was two days before Eid, and it was probably past midnight.  My mom came to my room to fold some laundry and I asked something vague…maybe it was “mom, do you think I have any stress?” or “do you ever wonder why I have so much white hair”….something random like that. She got agitated and I just went out with it. Like a vase full with water being tipped.  I started by telling her, “mom, this past year I was seeing a counselor for about 6 months”.  I then told her everything. How young I was when it started. Who it was. How I felt. How my nightmares when I would sleep would be of my mom entering the house when he and I were in the ‘act’ but instead of her noticing he would hide and she would never notice.  “Why didn’t you ever notice?” I cried to my mom?  “I just wanted someone to know and help me in that mess…I had no one to turn to and he kept on using religion to legitimize everything”.  I told her about the time he raised his voice at me. I told her about what he would say about his relationship with his wife to me. What he would say about my mother. I told her as much as I could remember at that moment and cried a lot. It was emotionally exhausting.  My mom tried to look at me and be strong …she didn’t cry much. What she did do was kept on repeating ‘Allah will hold him accountable’.  Allah will hold him accountable.

I also told her that by age 18 when I went to university, I had endured almost 5 years of trying to struggle with him, and that I convinced myself that this was a God-given relationship and that I convinced myself that I loved him. I told her that I would talk to Hope about him, but not with animosity but with stories of our love because that is all I remembered at that time.  I told her about the selective amnesia and how I forgot the stress of when it began and the early years that followed. 

I then told her that it was August 2010 that I started my blog and started remembering how it all started. I told her how with my blog I was able to write things that I forgot even happened…the times of heightened manipulation. I told her how karate was also very important for me in my journey and how I am defensive over it, especially when the people I love don’t support me in it, bc of what it has come to mean to me.  I told her about counseling and who I have spoken to this about. I told her that when I started my blog I really wanted certain people to read it but that they weren’t able to, and how alone I felt during that time.  At that moment when I wanted empathy, I wasn’t able to get it the way I had expected. 

She hugged me and said it is not my fault. She felt very bad that she didn’t notice.  She began to ask me questions … “when this happened, were you two in the ‘relationship’?” …”Yes” I would say. “what about that time?’…Yes.  There were many signs and many instances where she would have been able to know – but she didn’t expect that that was what was happening. I told her “mom, how could you have not asked me about the jewelry, the electronics. Where is a 14 year old going to get money for that?”

My mom didn’t know how to take it and I know it was confusing for her.  The next day she told me “now I know and you don’t have to speak to anyone about it”. My mom told me that she mentioned this in passing to my father and that he said ‘Okay’ and went about with his day. “Your father is in his own world” she said.

I was extremely hurt by that.  “Yesterday is not the same as today,” I thought to myself. “I have just let out a secret which I have been harbouring for the past 15 years.  I don’t expect things to just be normal so fast. I need to see some reaction from my family”. My father’s nonchalance killed me. 

Then a few days later mom came to me to talk about the experience again.  She wanted to let him know that she knows. And right there in front of me she called his cell and he answered.  She said “the next time I hear you say that ____ (she was referring to my brother) is your favorite nephew,  I will break your mouth. If he was your favorite, you would not have done what you did”.  And she hung up.

As she said those words I felt as if cold ice had just flushed over my heart. It was very very emotional for me and it was something I realize I needed and wanted to hear.  She left the room. He texted me immediately asking “Why is your mother so mad at me?” I was faced with a situation. My first inclination was to keep it a secret and respond on my own.  But I called my mom and shared it with her.  “No more secrets,” I thought to myself.

My reply was: Because she knows everything you started when I was 14. It was wrong and shoulnd’t have ever happened. Don’t message me.

He replied saying from this day forth he will not message and he asked for forgiveness and said I hope if I have done any good you and your mom will use that to forgive me. He said that he had no intention to hurt anyone.  He also told me he was in the hospital for a mild heart attack and feels it’s a punishment (I later found out the heart-attack story was not true). 

That was that. In the same sitting I cried as I told my mom how I was so hurt by my dad’s reaction. I told her that dad has only been there for me as a financial resource and financial advisor…that he hasn’t been there for me emotionally to any significant degree in my life.

My mom told my dad that I said this. I was napping in their bedroom. He walked in and closed the door…and started a rant.  ‘Your mom told me what you said’ he explained, ‘but do you know how much I want my children to speak to me…how bad I feel when I see the relationship that other parents have with their children?’.  He went on and on explaining how bad he feels that his children, especially my brother, rarely talk to him. And then, I suddenly blew up. I yelled at the top of my lungs.  “This is not about you dad, it is my turn now. No one has known about this – I just told mom a few days ago.  It’s not about you. It’s my turn”.   I was hysterical and crying a lot. All he could do was grab me and as he held on to me I explained that the man abused me as a young girl.  Innocently he asked me if he had touched me. He cried as I told him of course he did…”he did everything before intercourse”.

That was another emotional emotional episode, but that was the first time I felt close to my dad. And, he let me cry and told me to continue crying. He said “even if you don’t want to talk about it, your reaction alone tells me that it was very serious”.   I hugged him back.

My dad ended up messaging him and telling him that he is aware of the text message that he sent to me (the one about the heart attack), and that he should not contact me ever.  The man ended up writing two messages to my dad asking for forgiveness and saying how he has been regretting things for the past few years.  He wrote that he knows if we do not forgive him, God will not.

Then. It was my brother’s turn.  After we dropped my parent’s to the airport at night he said “dad spoke to me…it seems it was very serious”.  All I did was cry. For 45 minutes he held my hand while driving with the other, and that was it. I couldn’t say much at all. I did ask him if he ever suspected. And he said he would have never thought this was happening and that he is there for me.  I wanted to put my hand over his – but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. 

During Eid, the whole family went to an Islamic festival – extended family included.  Near the end of the event, the man came with his wife and son. When he came, my parents moved to another area, and my brother didn’t go and greet him. 

Although it was important to get all this out, I did feel very exposed and vulnerable and hit a few lows over the course of the past few weeks.  Now he knows my mother and father know…and now my whole family knows.  My sister-in-law also knows - she used my computer and found me logged onto this blog.  Alhamdlillah, Praise be to God, I’m glad it’s out.

My sister-in-law thinks that I should continue counselling now that I have spoken to my family. I'm not sure if I should. 

when the victim becomes the criminal

a must listen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZG6ibK8mwo.
i wish he hears the part about the abuse within our homes and using religion to justify it.

Fighter.

'The more often people fail to come through for you in life, the quicker you'll learn that you can only truly rely on God'.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxV-OOIamyk&feature=youtube_gdata_player

pain.

...amongst the greatest pains is someone you love being unhappy with your happiness

give a hand...

...and they take the arm?

Just got a text message from him:

I know I have no right to ask but I have always had faith in your prayers and you know that. Please please pray for me for peace of mind

I'm sorry. I can't do that.

his father is dying

If there has ever been a sweet old man, it would be his father. A very very kind soul, a man that everyone loved, and someone who didn't get into anyone's business. He loved his small business, and would spend his days working away, smiling at his customers and trying to communicate with them through the little English that he knows. He loved his grandchildren, especially one of them - a beautiful boy who has developmental challenges.

Today I got a message, from my cousin - the daughter of the man in my story, as well as another cousin, both telling me that his father is in hospital. The father has been sick for a while, but was admitted into hospital late last night for collapsing lungs. At this moment, his lungs are at 10% capacity and the family has asked that he not be put on a ventilator. They say that the hardest moments of a person's life are those last few moments where their soul is pulled away. I pray for an easy transition for this beautiful kindred spirit, and for strength to his entire family.

I was asked to call him - the one whose actions I write about in this blog. My heart eased its way into the bottom of my stomach and although I was hesitant, I knew I had to get in touch with the family somehow. I first called his wife - hoping that perhaps she would answer the phone so I may avoid speaking to him. She didn't answer. I proceeded to make a prayer, and called him. I asked God in my prayer to expand my chest and ease my actions, and to remove the knot in my tongue so that I may pass the message - this was the prayer of Prophet Moses.

When he answered, he said "assalamu alykum aiyni" - peace be with you my eyes. I told him I heard about his father, and he proceeded to tell me what happened. He thanked me for calling. He said he wanted to tell me something. Apparently yesterday the entire family was gathered in the old man's home, and due to the lack of oxygen he would sometimes get delusional and speak of things incoherently. Yesterday, this old man remembered my grandmother for some reason (she passed away last year). The old man then said..."and that girl, what's her name that girl?". The man said my name. His father replied "yes her, I really really like her".

He told me this happened last night and he just wanted to pass the message. I thanked him and he said he would inform everyone if anything happens. I prayed for the strength of the entire family, and told him "Allah Maauk", may God be with you.

Nothing puts the transitory nature of this life into perspective like the ending of another's life. As I dialled the number before I spoke to him, I knew what I was doing was an act that the Prophet Mohamed, peace be upon him, taught us to do. In sickness, we must act with goodness towards one another. God loves good.

Without faith, it is impossible to put aside anger, swallow one's 'pride' and brush away hatred under the rug.

No next-appointment

I don’t know where to start.

I suppose a natural start will be how I started the counseling session. I told Ashley (my counselor) that there are three things that I’ve been thinking about. The first is that when I do think about him it’s because I’m reminding myself that I am not thinking of him. The second is that part of me feels sad that I no longer think about it…that I am moving away from the experience. I told her that it makes me sad because it is as if I am losing part of myself – something that was part of me for almost 11 years of my life. And last, I told her that I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to be mean anymore. I don’t want to be angry.
The discussion that followed was enlightening and motivating.

To my first concern she said that this is a normal part of healing. She said there is a psychologist that conducted a study which asked participants to imagine there is a button that they can press…and if they press it all of their anxiety will disappear. She said most people say they do not want to press it. Moving past a journey is never easy and no one can quite explain why people experience this – it is different for different people….but what is known is that the majority of people experience this feeling.

It felt good to know this – felt good to know that many people hesitate about actually being able to ‘move on’.

I told her for me it’s as if I do not want to admit that I am moving away because then I feel it is as if I am losing part of me. That the experience is something that defined me – especially the changes that I have made this past year (and I see them as positive changes Alhamdulillah), and I don’t want to see myself let all of that go. I told her it was wanting to move away from this experience which has gotten me so passionate about karate, has changed my outlook on life, has made me feel more confident about myself because of the realizations I have made about what I experience and how Allah SWT has made me move past them…I told her I don’t want to lose this. As I reflect back, the experience was my launching pad for so much good Subhanallah.

I also told her it is scary because it was him that filled my mind with a particular image about me. I said that it is him that would tell me when I was 14, 16, 20, 23…all impressionable years and impressionable words…. that I was ‘different’. That I would grow to be a leader one day. That I would be an advocate for woman’s rights. That I would be something "special".

While I am far far from this picture perfect image of a person he created…I told her through this journey, especially this past year and a half, I can see that some of what he would say to me has actually come to be…in some ways I have filled parts of that positive image he engrained in me. I admitted that I am afraid that it will go away. He is the one who built the ‘dream’ way before seeds of its actualization were ever apparent to me...does letting him go mean it will slowly die?

‘He said those things…but you did it. You did all on your own. It as all you.’ These were her words.

She said that just because he said those things it doesn’t mean it is the reason I am who I am now.

And it is true. It is Allah’s will - Allah’s facilitation - that has brought me to where I am. Alhamdulillah.

I told her I’m afraid that maybe the reason why I don’t think about is because I don’t have much time to think. I told her how I’ve kept quite busy – so much so that I don’t have many moments just to think.

Her response – ‘stop over analyzing’. She admitted that some people do that – they fill their lives with things because they do not want to think anymore, but she said that she doesn’t feel it is the case for me. It is true. I am enjoying the ‘busy-ness’. She told me the energy that I had when I conducted the karate class (I've started classes at the club for women) last Sunday was all positive.

She is right. Sometimes we just need to tell ourselves to stop over analyzing.

About not wanting to be angry I told her that when I speak to people about the experience people often get so angry on my behalf – some even swear. While I understand why, I told her I don’t want to be angry anymore. I just want to – and I shrugged my shoulders – I guess I want to just let it fall – like it no longer bothers me. I remember once I wrote a tweet about uncurling my shoulders. That’s what I want…for it just to fall off my shoulders. I don’t to be consumed by it anymore.

I explained that while this is what I want, my brain doesn’t understand why I want that. Why don’t I want to be mad anymore – isn’t that weird? Sometimes I feel I should be angry…that I MUST be angry. Does me not wanting to be angry actually mean that I’m okay with the wrong that happened? This is perhaps a worry that I have.

Ashley snapped me out of it in the way I liked to be snapped out of things. She said if you move away from it, it doesn’t mean that you are okay with the negative. She said it is just your way of healing. As if I was a young child unsure, I asked her if she was sure….if she was sure it is okay for me to not want to be angry anymore.

And again she made me realize. ‘Why not? Who said you have to be angry?’

Ashley said if it is my way that I don’t want to be angry, then let it be. It is my way of healing - there is no manual on how one MUST heal. ‘Let it be’ she said. And it is true. It is okay if I do not want to be angry anymore. I told her it is tiring to be angry. Exhausting to be mad. Painful to carry negative emotions all the time…I just want to…and as I type this too – I shrug my shoulders. It is something that happened, something that has shaped who I am…like other experiences have shaped me…but I don’t want to constantly revisit it.

I explained how when I prepared the speech that I thought I would give at the karate event, especially a section I wrote where I explained I wish I started karate when I was in high school because of the internal strength I feel it gives – the section where I explained that it was during those years that I felt most dependent and most helpless – I explained to Ashley that as I wrote that section I never once replayed the incidents I went through. I knew what I was referring to but I didn’t really think about anything in particular when I wrote those words. As if my body knows it is part of me but that I don’t need to relive it to realize it. This is good I feel.

It was a special day. After almost 6 months of seeing Ashley, she asked me ‘Where does this leave us?’ In the bottom of stomach I hoped she wouldn’t want to schedule another appointment. And this is what happened. She told me that her fear is that my counseling sessions are becoming the trigger of why I think about him. And come to think about it – this last time it was the case. I was fine until I realized I was seeing Ashley and that’s when all the thoughts came rushing in.

I told her I am scared though. I told her I feel like I am on a bicycle and have taken the training wheels out. She gave me another analogy. She said through this you have been taught to swim and now you are on your own…but she is not worried. Why? Because she said I know how to swim. She said since I have been coming, she has served only as a sounding board because I come each time with so many of my own reflections and thoughts. Almost as if the healing happens before I enter her room. She told me to just trust myself. She told me to stop relying on other people to have to validate what feels right to me.

And it’s not like I can’t go back – I can go back if I need to. I hope I don't need too.

Thank you for being my invisible readers through my journey.