On June 24, I agreed with my therapist that I would believe the girl, the inner child, the wounded part of me who never received the help she needed to recover from sexual abuse. I would start this immediately and keep it up at least through the end of July. After literally years of torturing myself with “is it true?” and “since my memories are blurry, I must have made them up,” I went cold turkey. No more of that painful, addictive, hateful doubt. I’m now on Day 13.
One challenge I’ve encountered is that if I’m going to believe the girl and comfort her, I need to hear what she is saying, figure out what she is feeling. After all the practice I’ve had drowning her out, this is not the easiest thing to do. E. suggested art, very simple art, finger painting or print making, as well as writing with my non-dominant hand.
So I have experimented a little. Here’s what I have learned so far: 1) the girl likes red and orange and black–colores de sangre, colores de lo que quema; 2) she is a lot more angry than I thought she was; and 3) she loves her abuser. She wants to be his little girl. She senses that he is hurt and needs love and protection, and she wants to give it to him. She is tender. She is caring. But there’s a storm in her little soul.