Shortly after my sixth birthday, I was sexually abused by a so-called family friend. The next morning, while stunned and overwhelmed, I was berated for not hurrying as we prepared for an ‘important social event’. My impatient parent had no idea of what had happened to me or the turmoil raging inside me. All they perceived was an unusually uncooperative child, yet the association formed in my being was: I am in pain, and I am wrong. It was scary. There appeared to be no refuge, no support, no safety.
There followed years of performing the role of the ‘perfect’ child. Even now, if I sense I have done something wrong I am catapulted into that childhood maelstrom of pain, despair and hopelessness, desperately trying to keep my head above the sense of my own worthlessness and failure.
The deeper the wounds, the more challenging the healing. Sometimes it feels as if the pain has fused itself to the core of my being.
So, what to do? How to manage?
With patience and kindness. Holding that drowning child tenderly in my awareness, acknowledging the hurt, the confusion and fear. And sadness.
I have no idea of when this confusion of emotion may be resolved. All I can do is be with it, offering acceptance and caring, riding the waves of emotion while holding the hand of the frightened, overwhelmed younger version of myself and trusting that healing is happening.
I recognise that I am an adult now. I have resources not available to that child. At times it can be challenging to discern that the pain is the voice of the child, that it is not me now.
Taking time to be with me as I am.
Knowing that I am moving towards the heart.