Counseling session today at 10am.
A phone call yesterday to let me know, to ask me if it would be okay to switch from Thursday to Tuesday.
“Okay, hon. See you in the morning.”
Wait. You mean tomorrow morning? Oh shoot. I don’t think I will be ready for that.
There is no course of study. I have books recommended by my counselor that reek havoc on what I consider to be my sanity. I do not read them often. Who knew that sentences could hurt? I didn’t.
I suffer through them a page at a time, reading quickly and glossing over things until the end. I read like I close my eyes before a shot or how I would run quickly over fire or to get inside during a downpour. All of those quick reactions to protect myself kick in the moment the book splits in my hand.
Counseling is a bit different. I sit in a comfortable chair near a window draped by some long, vining plant. The room is always too warm and I love it. It reminds me of a drowsy car ride in the summer after church.
My counselor is the net under a tightrope. She never comes to conclusions for me. She gently asks and I quietly ponder. I cry sometimes. That part makes me crazy. Vulnerability is like second place. I feel like the first loser.
This morning I rolled over and told my husband that I did not want to go. I sounded like a little one who was about to have a bad day at school. He rolled over and reminded me of a song.
Yesterday, I felt like I was walking naked. My boss wrote a book and those are his mother’s words to him.
My Open Letter to the Students of Penn State was not the first time I have written about the child abuse I suffered. It definitely reached the most people. More than I expected. I have never hidden my story but it has also never made it to such a broad platform.
You have to understand. I wanted this post to be shared. My story is one of millions. I sincerely felt like people just weren’t getting it. I thought, maybe if they knew me they would understand. Maybe if they knew what it’s like to run over hot coals to heal, they would put their signs down and walk away.
I am not sure if anyone put their signs down at Penn State. What I do know is that I could see people standing in my yard with signs. The image kept coming to me every time another friend grabbed my arm and shared love and encouragement. I saw a sign go up. Every time I saw my blog reposted or tweeted to the masses, another sign went up.
I feel so covered by you, by my family and by God.
This session will not be easy but I will come home to a yard full of signs. I am ever so grateful.