by Susan Stockton
I perched on the edge of a slippery chair with my feet squarely under me, ready to bolt. My fingers laced in and out of each other--anxious movements that reflected my nervous state. The sun filtered through the window but failed to supply the warmth I needed.
In the chair in front of me, my friend and psychologist, Mary, sat back with a scowl on her face. She was concerned with my fear, confusion and emptiness, stemming from my recent divorce. Mary felt that my low self-esteem and chronic unhappiness resulted from something or someone in my past that I was unconsciously suppressing, consequently robbing me of relationships with family and external support.
"How do I know whether I can trust you to care about me if I let you know who I really am?" I asked. Panic engulfed my very soul at the idea of my weakness and fear being exposed.
Nodding, Mary replied, "You must face the reality that, over time, things have gotten worse in your life, not better, and realize that in spite of your best efforts, you have not been able to solve this problem alone." She uncrossed her legs and moved to the edge of her seat. Taking my hand in hers, she said very slowly and precisely, "I will not hurt you, and I promise that I will stop at any point that you become uncomfortable with the hypnosis. However," she added, "I am confident that we must search in your past for the key to your present and future recovery."
Sighing softly, I hung my head in consent. Little did I know that the next twenty minutes would change my life forever. The barriers of trust that I so painstakingly erected by denial would finally crumble when I recalled my past.
Mary began, "Close your eyes and take yourself in you mind's eye to a peaceful, quiet, relaxing place. Immerse yourself in that place--smelling all the sensations available to you there."
The room seemed like a "womb"; warm and protective, it enabled me to escape to the place where I could finally expose an "honest memory." My haven was a garden in the country surrounded by lush greenery, magnificent blue skies and an abundance of clean fresh air.
After a while, I became aware of the feeling of my hands on my thighs and the sensation of my feet on the floor. I began to feel what an astronaut must feel like in space--a total sense of weightlessness.
Experiencing these changes, I heard Mary speaking in a barely audible voice that seemed light-years away. She told me to think of a bigger Susan. She said that this Susan was my protector--pure, loving, understanding, and secure.
Floating in fragrance, freer than ever before, I knew I could trust my guardian angel because she seemed full of grace and had clear, loving eyes. I knew somehow that it was indeed safe to remember, safe to reach out.
Mary encouraged me to remember myself as a child. She started to describe what she thought I must have looked like: a little girl with long pigtails tied with ribbons, spider-like arms and legs, running and playing. Suddenly, I began to see this image she had created.
In fact, the image was so real, it was as if I could feel the tall grass and wildflowers brush my legs. I imagined how sweet the honeysuckle would smell and felt the freedom of running and laughing through a meadow.
Mary asked me to describe what I was feeling or seeing. My response came slowly because I was so enthralled with this child, a younger me, running breathlessly through the field. This young girl beamed with happiness and her laughter floated like the sound of wind chimes through the air.
Abruptly, she stopped running, as if she had slammed into a brick wall. Everything changed to a dull gray--no more sunny fields, flowers, or laughter. At a blink of an eye, the image I now saw was the little girl with no arms and no legs. She couldn't run or escape the horror that out of nowhere, with no warning, transformed her life forever.
Wailing with pain, I exclaimed, "I can't! I can't go back!" I leaned over, holding my stomach and rocking. "Please God, help me," I thought. I imagined myself falling at a very rapid pace, as if I were being hurled, almost thrust forward, into the present.
When I opened my eyes, I felt real pain, confusion, and hopelessness. My mentor explained to me that it was important that I understand I was the victim. She thought that the childlike image, with no arms and legs, that I had described represented the fact that I had no arms to reach out for help, nor did I have legs to run away. She was convinced that I had fallen prey to a form of abuse as a child. I had, until that point, denied this abuse all of my adult life.
Sitting on the white leather sofa in her office for what seemed like an eternity, I didn't feel any emotions, or at least I couldn't identify any. Now that I had this new-found understanding, what was I going to do with it?
This event became an important turning point for me. I have continued my therapy sessions with Mary and unlocked many memories. As a result, I have acknowledged the full extent of the wrong done to me as a child.
Lastly, I believe that discovery of "the hidden truth" has been an awakening that "things" or "reality" are not what I thought. The circle of silence, suppression and denial that I lived in for thirty-eight years was not my fault. I became the victim of an alcoholic father. However, I have chosen not to confront my abuser. I have let go of the need for revenge. Bitterness and anger will only give him power to hurt me again. I am finally taking control, forming new relationships and a new life for myself.