Her words land like a thud in my chest. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes.
I’ve been describing a work situation that has been niggling at me. A man addressing me in a way that doesn’t sit quite right but I hadn’t been able to put into words why.
My shoulders droop with realization. It’s such an old story in my life. Attempting to keep men happy in order to feel safe from either very real or imagined threat. I’m transported back to a time when I was paid for sexual favours, within a situation where I was powerless. A time when I wondered where the hell were the adults and why wasn’t anyone rescuing me.
My body screams at me to run from the room. Panic lodges itself in my chest and rises up my neck. I tell my therapist how hard it is to sit and not run. She encourages me to be an observer of the feelings. My body feels so out of sorts that I check my blood sugar mid appointment. It’s fine. Damn.
The rescuing continues.
~ Hope
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