Countdown….
The waiting room was hot, but I just couldn’t get warm.
My hands shook.
I wanted to throw up.
I should just leave.
Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here…I shouldn’t be doing this…
I was about to break the HUGEST rule of my entire life…the thing that had been most strongly and constantly drilled into me — keep SILENT…protect the family from outsiders.
Was this what it felt like for someone in the Mafia to break the rule of Omerta and speak? That was a betrayal of that ‘family!’ Well, I was betraying my family. Would this spin out of control and hurt them? I should just leave.
The clock showed 10 more minutes until my appointment.
I’ll just keep it just between me and the therapist…
Maybe this won’t take too long to fix. If I work really hard, I can fix everything in me quickly and just go on with my life.
My family doesn’t need to know.
The minute hand on the wall clock pounded out the seconds. Just a few more minutes. If I was going to leave, it had to be now.
I couldn’t move.
I hope this doesn’t hurt them. Do I have a right to risk that?
I’m too sensitive.
I don’t want to hurt them…But I just can’t carry this any longer.
Two minutes more…
Dad will be furious…and hurt…
I will just have to do this fast…
The moment of no turning back…
The receptionist called my name and ushered me into an office. The doctor was waiting for me. A man. Curly hair. Mustached. Jacket and tie.
My throat closed up. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was so ashamed. Afraid. Shaking. No words came out.
He spoke softly. Reassured me I was safe. Told me to take my time.
I tried again, a couple of times.
Finally, the word I had just learned from the movie tumbled out of me. Just a shaky whisper. The therapist leaned closer to hear me.
“Incest…my father….I…sexually abuse….”
The MAN’S reaction…
It took all I had to say it. I was afraid of this man. What would his reaction be? After all, he was a man. Would he side with Dad? Would he judge me?
Those thoughts were cut short rapidly.
He asked me questions about how long it had gone on. He was absolutely enraged when I told him. But not at me. He was ANGRY at DAD and spoke in VERY certain terms of how horrible my father had been for doing these things to me. Spoke firmly that I had not deserved this, and IT DEFINITELY WASN’T MY FAULT. Spoke defiantly about how my father was totally wrong and….
I was in shock… surprised. Reassured. After all. This was coming from another MAN. I figured if I told a woman therapist, she would, of course, tell me he was wrong. But this was coming from another man! He wasn’t defending my father, a fellow male of the species. He was absolutely destroying any illusion that my father acted out of love. And very plainly laid out how much this was abuse. And how I had been harmed and DESERVED better. It was mind-blowing.
I stopped shaking…then started again. I wasn’t afraid of the therapist any longer. But now, given how strongly the therapist reacted about my father, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to “contain the fallout” from my choice to speak.
Can I contain the fallout?
I wondered how I could keep this a secret between the therapist and me…how to hide this from my family. Not hurt them. I knew Dad would blow a gasket.
The therapist, though, was all about protecting me and standing up to Dad. Stopping this in its tracks and letting Dad know in no uncertain terms that he was on thin ice and from now on I had a right to…in fact, I MUST draw a boundary for myself.
I was shocked.
The therapist said we could get him in there with me. Confront him together.
I was TERRIFIED AND REFUSED. In looking back I still remember the gut-level fright about that. I wasn’t sure I could stand up to him, so intense was my fear of his seeming power. Apparently I was not alone in reacting that way. Jen Cross, in her book, Writing Ourselves Whole, said:
“My stepfather had tried to occupy every fragment, every nook and cranny, every inch of my psyche — he believed, and trained me to believe, that he had a right to every thought in my head, every emotion, every instinct.It took almost a year after that terrifying conversation with my stepfather before I could let myself believe that I would not be physically harmed if I told my story to a therapist…”
Anyway, the therapist then assured me that we could do this as slowly and in whatever way I needed.
He would work with me over future visits to help me calm. Reinforce I was absolutely NOT to blame. That I wasn’t dirty, or the cause. That I had been abused and was treated horribly. And then figure out what to do next to help me heal.
Leaving his office that day, I was reeling. When you live for 28 years thinking your life is “normal” even if unpleasant, then see how powerfully appalled someone else it by your story, it just takes time to absorb that reality.
But at the same time, I was comforted. Amazed. Scared….so many things all at once. Then…concerned. I suddenly realized this was not going to be such a quick fix. How much was this going to cost me? COULD I afford the help I needed? Money was really tight with my mortgage
Money and time…
I stopped in at the cashier’s office. I knew I needed this. That if there was any hope for a future for me, I had to do this. Maybe I could work out a payment plan?
The advisor was a blessing. Gentle. Reassuring. The first thing she told me was not to worry. That because I was an employee and my services were being done through the hospital, they would cover any costs that my insurance didn’t.
I was in shock. And grateful. What a gift. For sure, that is not how places operate today. But my God, what a stroke of luck then. That sealed my fate that day. With money off the table and a kind, strong, affirming therapist, there might be hope. No matter what, I was going to see this through.
And of course, I would work really hard so I could “fix me” fast.
Yes, well….
Soul Mosaic 
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