I’ve Got Her

I wrote a really personal letter to A asking for something I need that felt really, really vulnerable. Usually I’m really open and really brave but today I was so afraid her reaction would confirm my worst fears. And she read it. It took me 30 minutes to let her read it, and I was curled up into a ball at the end, counting in 3s to 300. It’s what I do. And eventually we talked about it (that was her condition for reading it). And she was talking about little me and how that little girl didn’t know any better and about how of course she didn’t understand what was going on and how she had two missions – to keep herself safe and make sense of the world around her. So I (little me) learned to let things happen. And it’s no surprise that continues with big me, when I’ve never unlearned that habit.

A lot of what happened today is personal, but something sticks out. At one point I called myself dirty and stupid and said I deserved this and it was karma and A was like “oh, PD, I want to hold that little girl and pick her up and protect her from those words. That’s your trauma speaking, and you don’t mean those things about yourself. I don’t believe any of those things about you.”

And I said, rather aggressively and with tears, “fine, have her. I don’t want her. You take her, I can’t right now. I can’t do this. I want to give up. I’m tired – and when I’m tired it’s harder to remember why I bother being here. Because if I’m going to be treated like a punching bag and a doormat my whole life I don’t know why I try. Maybe I’m meant to be a doormat. I don’t deserve this care or love and I don’t want to give it to her – I never asked to be her mother. I never asked for this. And I don’t have the energy. I can’t.

And after a long pause A gently said “okay, you leave her with me PD. I’ve got her. I’ll hold her, I’ll watch her while you can’t. I’ll protect her.”

And I feel calmer tonight. Somehow the image of A holding her, holding what I can’t find within myself to hold right now, it’s calmed me. It says a lot that I can allow this imagery to even exist. And I think I’ll leave little PD there for a week or two. Somewhere safe. With A. So I can handle this adult shit and then reunite with her when I feel capable.

Those words. “I’ve got her.” Thank God someone does. I truly feel like I’ve placed the smallest and most vulnerable part of me somewhere safe. Somewhere safer and kinder than with me right now. And I think it says a lot about this therapeutic partnership that I’m confidently able to imagine that being a safe thing to do.

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16 thoughts on “I’ve Got Her

  1. I write to Bea a lot– emails, letters, in my journal– and she usually will read it (while I curl into a ball and hide) and then respond/talk to me about what I’ve written. Reading this, it felt very familiar. I’m glad you wrote that letter and shared it with A. And I’m so glad A has little PD. Bea says a lot of people really don’t like or want that little part of themselves. So you aren’t alone there. You have had a lot going on health wise and otherwise, I’m so glad you have A to help lighten that load, so you don’t have to feel alone. Xx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Alice – it’s good to ‘see’ you 🙂

      It feels so bizarre to have A hold little me for a while. It’s so interesting though because my need and attachment for her clearly comes from that part and it’s quite calming to imagine them together. I think I’m slowly learning that if I want to heal I really do have to acknowledge and love all the parts of me and God is that scary

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Your determination is very admirable PD. It would be ‘easy’ to go into a session and say, ‘no, I can’t talk about it.’ Writing a letter is a brilliant way to express yourself without having to say it out loud.
    Late comment but I was thinking about it last night! x

    Liked by 1 person

    • A welcome comment nonetheless!! Thank you, smile (may I call you smile?). Letters have been a way for me to communicate with A from day one – and sometimes she asks me to read them, and sometimes if I say I can’t and really need her to read them, then I know that I am opening the doorway to a conversation because not talking about it isnt an option if she reads it.

      At the end of this one she said “I want you to know that although this letter brings a lot of fear and heaviness to you, it makes me feel light, because you feel able to share this with me. It’s going to be okay.”

      Like

      • Yes!
        I probably sound a little judgmental but I read things on social media and wonder if they really want to feel better. They don’t seem to push themselves in therapy. I could see how difficult your session was going to be but you found a way to almost force yourself to confront this particular part of your past. The family issues are very much in the present but you have buried the sexual assault as a way of coping.
        I had never considered writing something to read in session because she reads my journal. But writing means that I don’t have to say it out loud.
        It’s incredible and something I have learned from!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Well thank you! Know that people aren’t going to deal with things until they’re ready and it took me a lot of time to be at this point where I’m ready to be making these changes. I needed the right support system, I couldn’t be living in the environment I was living in before, and I needed the right counselor too. There are so many factors. It isn’t easy but when I started with A (she is so expensive) I promised myself I would show up each session for myself and do my best and that’s honestly the biggest driver.

        I’m grateful you’re here 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • True. It has taken me years to get to where I am now. I guess I just hate the thought of other people feeling the way I do/did. It does take time to find the right therapist. I’m lucky that I don’t have to rely on the NHS because they are hopeless.

        Liked by 1 person

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