Seven-year-old Becks has what she needed from the beginning. She has someone who will hold her hand, guide her out of the woods, protect her, and love her no matter what. With that love, safety, and compassion, she is free to heal. As was always the plan, I, the forty-two-year-old, must trudge forward. The narrative that my therapist reads of past abuse and trauma is getting more wrinkled and worn. An additional page or two gets turned now. My therapist doesn’t stop when she finishes reading the seven-year-old’s experience. No, she reads the hurting ten-year-old’s story. This isn’t torture. This is intention.

You see, the seven-year-old struggled immensely in the neighborhood she was growing up in because of the trauma. What choice did the family have but to finally move away when she was nine. Unfortunately, the circumstances were a “perfect storm.” It turns out that little Becks’ family moved to the same school district that some of those responsible for the trauma attended. On the very first day of 4th grade at Becks’ new school, rumors flew. Everyone knew what happened in the woods. This little girl was destined to be friendless and bullied. She was walking around with a target on her back.

The struggle to make friends led her down a path of trying to choose between being friends with the other troubled kids and any popular kid who would give her the time of day. She tried to choose both, and that only made the situation worse. On her tenth birthday, she invited the only friends she had for a sleepover. And as the events unfolded, her body was no longer hers. She was being controlled by another individual and her own freeze/fawn trauma response. It seemed there was no way out but through, so ten-year-old Becks did what she had to do to get it over with. After that, she went on as if nothing had happened, but her body, brain, and heart were further abandoned. She poured herself into achievement as a means to find worth and safety.

As my therapist read my much more detailed recount of this incident, I felt sadness. A LOT. OF. SADNESS. Sure, I felt the obvious shame, embarrassment, and fear, but the sadness was overwhelming. I wasn’t hiding behind the shame or anger of what happened; I was feeling the sadness that I needed for healing. Shame makes us hide, but sadness gives us the opportunity to collapse into the arms of someone who cares and wants to protect us. Forty-two-year-old Becks was sitting in the therapy room with open arms, waiting to hold ten-year-old Becks. She trusted me to listen, show compassion, and protect her, and I was going to do it.

Ten-year-old Becks wanted a friend. It came with a price. It wasn’t that what happened was particularly devastating so much as it was a continuation of the trauma trajectory that reinforced loneliness, fear, secrecy, shame, and fawning. So, the ten-year-old asked me, the adult, to evaluate the friendship now. I am still friends with the person from the birthday sleepover. Am I staying in the relationship to avoid facing difficult emotions and questions? Am I still friends with her because I am still fawning? Am I still friends with her because I like her? Am I still friends with her because I feel bad about what she was going through as a child? Am I abandoning myself by maintaining a relationship with this person?

The individual I am referring to had a different but equally disturbing childhood. I don’t think she was being malicious or trying to hurt me. I think she was doing what was familiar to her. Nevertheless, it happened. But, as I have spent time thinking about this relationship, I think I have gained much more as an adult than I lost as a child because I have watched her grow and change. This individual went on to become a therapist. And I believe she is a great one. She is full of compassion, empathy, and understanding. I truly enjoy the friendship I have had for many years. I think it has been healing for me to see her growth and healing. I think this individual has been good for my forty-two-year-old soul. I can also acknowledge that ten-year-old Becks feels betrayed and abandoned. Reconciling this is my work. Healing hangs in the balance.