My brother began sexually abusing me when I was 13 years old.
Now, decades later, my husband told my parents. I had told my mother some time this past year, saying that Damien had molested me for years and that Randy, my therapist, described it as sexual abuse. On the phone with my husband, my mother denied that I had said any such thing, claiming that I had said only that my brother and I had had "problems".
My husband told them to expect a letter from me. It seemed like an excellent idea, but I've been stressing over it ever since then.
I was a young 13 year old. Physically I looked much younger. I'd "shot up" over the summer to almost 4'9", and I was a scrawny little thing, just barely beginning to develop. My period didn't start until almost two years later. Emotionally...well, most kids seemed more mature at that age.
Today, during therapy, I turned 13 again. At first, it was just my emotions, but then I morphed back into that little girl. I sat huddled on the couch and asked Randy fearfully if he thought my parents would get angry at me. Earlier I had told him how inept, stupid and ugly I had felt at that age, and how dirty I felt after the incest started...how I knew something was seriously wrong with me but couldn't figure out what it was...how I longed to be invisible. Now I WAS little me back then. I felt it...heard it in my voice. I started crying, and told Randy that I really wasn't a bad girl, I didn't mean to do bad things, I wasn't trying to be bad on purpose. I didn't tell him that I was afraid he didn't believe me, that I was afraid I was in trouble, that I was afraid he was going to get mad at me.
Randy was saying adult things and I couldn't figure out why he was talking to me that way. I told him that I didn't understand, but he just repeated himself. It was way over my head. I felt stupid. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but I was afraid he would get mad at me or make fun of me. I wanted to ask, "Why are you telling me these things? I'm just a kid!" His words didn't make sense. I wondered why he was treating me like an adult. It felt confusing and scary.
Then I remembered that, in another world, I'm supposed to be an adult. I wanted to ask Randy to help me find my way back to my adult self, but I didn't know how, and I was scared.
I forced myself to look around. I looked at my wedding ring and reminded myself that I'm a grown-up now; I'm not that little girl. I took off a ring my husband gave me, one I wear next to my wedding ring, and turned it over in my hands, reminding myself of where I was and who I am now.
It worked, mostly. Randy's words started making sense as he recapped our session. But I didn't feel completely adult. When I hugged him goodbye, I wanted him to reassure me, to tell me he didn't think I was a bad girl, to promise to talk to my parents and tell them that. But I was enough of an adult to keep those thoughts to myself.
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