Reflections on Abuse
Find it hard to say the word Pussy or Cock without a smirk, as if your genitals were a joke, poking fun at the sacredness of your SEX?
Me Too.
Sitting at home wondering if you’ll ever truly love again, whether there is really such thing as “the one” or if you’re done with Disney romance and dreams of ballroom dance and matching checkered pants?
Me Too.
Smelling the fresh air and hearing the cries of passing birds and rumble of passing cars.
Watching the sunset and the grass wet and no-one’s holding you yet?
Me Too.
Dreaming of the one who touches you gently and holds your hand and your heart, pressing their lips against yours, both your hearts racing and eyes gazing and skin grazing so softly, softly, electric.
Me Too.
Dreaming of the one who keeps you safe, protects you, nurturing. The one who fights for you when you can’t fight for yourself.
Me Too.
Realising what you’ve been calling sex all your life has been often devoid of Love, Pleasure, Safety or Connection? A painful reflection.
There were some decent components, a few lovely moments.....a few that weren’t performances or fulfilment of expectations, drunken fumbles or disappointing rumbles. That’s enough right? No?
Me Too.
Remembering the ones that let you down, shut you down, played around, now no-where to be found. Haunted. Hearts closed. Isolated. Detached from Love. Numb. Saves tears falling or fists flying or screams that shatter glass and shatter hearts. Devoid of feeling. It’s safer here. Like a faded memory we keep locked in the drawer. Time for wine, chocolate, a cigarette, Netflix, anything but feeling.
Me Too.
Pass the peanut butter.
Uncomfortable when looked at in that way, when touched by them today. Arms close across your chest. Legs tighten. Face frozen. Breathing Stops. Put on your best fake smile. Look strong. It’ll pass. Just keep holding, hoping they don’t come closer. Wonder if you could fight, run, say something clever. Wonder if you’re asking for it. Wonder what you did wrong. Words get stuck. Just keep wondering. Everything’s fine when you’re thinking. So what if your body is screaming. It’s ok, you can’t hear it. Just please don’t feel. It’s no big deal. Feels safer being small.
You can breathe later.
Me Too.
Remember that time when the world felt safe and no-one had an agenda for you but you? Where you didn’t need to perform or achieve or look attractive and where everyone respected you to make the right decisions for yourself and supported you to feel your feelings.
No?
Think back further?
Anything?
Me Too.
Remember the time you said you needed to talk. That you weren’t feeling happy....and nobody listened. Shimmering tears in the moonlight, stolen and wiped on a sleeve. Lonely, except for the chocolate or snuggly jumper or 10 mile run. You don’t need anyone else really. You body becomes your fortress. Armoured. Holding pain that becomes your normal. You don’t even notice the tension until you snap.
Me Too.
Remember when you weren’t strong enough to say no and you went along with it? Prefer not to?
Me Too.
Remember the time you said no and they didn’t stop?
Me Too.
Remember when you hoped that hand wouldn’t go there. Prayed it would stay still. Then it moves.
Wriggling your body now helps. You’ve frozen like you did then.
Please remember to breathe.
Me too.
Remember the time you buried your head to muffle the screams and the cries thinking this is what you have to do to receive love?
Remember the blood.
Remember the shame and the pain.
God forbid you felt pleasure.
Better learn to leave your body.
Me too.
Remember the time you spoke up and everyone showered you with opinions and their feelings and things that needed doing or talked about the weather as if you never existed and you wondered whether you really mattered and anyone cared?
Me Too.
Remember the moment you realised you conflated love and abuse.
Remember when you saw clearly the beliefs you took on as a vulnerable child and how you’ve carried them into your adulthood like a tonne of bricks, weighing you down and flipping you over like a prized victim for people to sink their teeth and their cocks and their hands into.
Me Too.
Remember when you realised this wasn’t forever and that life can begin again? When you learned about boundaries and self-worth, about communication and integration? Where you realised the body holds the score and there is more to life than survival and you chose to let go, to flow. You chose your revival?
Me Too.
That’s why I do this work.
It Ends here.
Sexuality. Integrity. Freedom.
