Timely for me.

She knew there was csa, but just that. No details, not who the perp was, etc.

now, 4.5 yrs later, I'm finally feeling safe enough to talk about it. It took me many weeks of saying I might before I actually did. I projected all my fears onto her: she'd think poorly of me (no, I thought poorly of me), she'd be disgusted (nope, that was me too), she wouldn't be able to handle it, etc. I told her some and then stopped. Waited. Tested her. She was loving and compassionate and my fiercest protector.

Having passed the test, I told her more. Then some of the shameful bits, which were so blandly represented that she had no idea what I was really saying. She totally misunderstood and downplayed it and I felt defeated. All I heard was, "see! it's nothing! You're overreacting. Hysterical. It was no big deal." Instead of saying anything, I shut down.

And for the first time ever, someone came to find me (figuratively). For the next few weeks, she wouldn't let me go/get away with shutting down. She probed - kindly, respectfully. I think I melted. No one cares enough to do that for me. But she did. And then apologized for misunderstanding me and inadvertently hurting me.

She gave me her copy of Trauma & Recovery, which I underlined and we talked about. She asked where I thought I was in the recovery process (based on the book ... was I in the mourning stage?) I told her today that I wasn't even close to being done with the story telling. She looked very sad. Like she was sad that there was so much. And she said very quietly, I'm always here when you're ready to tell me.

I feel like I could write a thousand pages of my abuse and still not be done. And to top it all off, she said, "and you know you're a hostage right in your own home right now." It never ends, does it?