What’s it like to sit next to someone you can’t see? Not only can you not see them, but they aren’t actually there, yet their presence is felt and very real. I sat hovering under a cloud of shame, attempting to stay present, as my therapist read only a small portion of my trauma narrative. I looked out the window as cars passed by and birds glided from one tree to the other, taking note of each movement, but my brain was also picturing, no, living in the words piercing me. And my body was tense, braced for impact. Yet, as I listened to the red-winged black bird, I knew I was sitting in my therapist’s office. Why? Because my therapist asked me how the 25-year-old was feeling and what she needed. There was an immediate fracturing. The shame and embarrassment were horrendous, but the actual trauma wasn’t happening to the 43-year-old me sitting in my therapist’s office. It happened to the younger version of me (the one sitting beside me, or within me). And she was dying inside. She was begging for someone to talk to. She was hoping to be rescued, embraced, and reassured that everything would be okay.

My therapist halted the narrative in the very next session. I wrote about that last time in Don’t Speak. Since then, I have noticed a greater ease in revealing who I was when I was 25. My therapist calls it being in Self. Self is who I am in the present moment, the REAL me. When I am in Self, I recognize that the 25-year-old had more going on in life than trauma and secrets. She was adventurous and fun. She was a thrill-seeker. She liked mountain biking, 4-wheeling, running, snowboarding, reading, learning, playing games, being outside, and laughing. She wasn’t just the POS that made mistakes. In the words of my therapist, she was naive and ill-equipped. That feels harsh. First, because naivety seems to have a negative connotation most of the time. Second, because I like to feel as though I am capable of handling any situation, but the truth is, I wasn’t. And in Self, I recognize that.

I will be returning to the narrative. I expect to feel intense shame and embarrassment. That will be horrendous. I am not excited to feel that, but shame can’t survive in the light, according to Brene Brown. I really want to know that I have had the opportunity to express what happened, talk about it freely, feel the intense emotions, and know that I am not being judged or going to face punishment. That requires that I, the 43-year-old, treat the 25-year-old with compassion and understanding. No one can do that for me but me. Others can model it, but their compassion and understanding will never be enough. My therapist frequently talks about radical acceptance and responsibility. This is that step. It will likely be imperfect and awkward, but it’s about time I stop holding myself to the standard of perfection.