Dear Doubt,

I know September was supposed to mark your return after your enforced vacation at the coast in late June. Your absence has given me a lot of time to think, and I have learned something, several somethings, in fact.

First, I came to realize that you are a source of tremendous negativity in my life. You call yourself Doubt and claim to be my rational, empirical side, evaluating the evidence. But in fact what you do is dismiss emotional and intuitive and experiential evidence in favor of non-obtainable evidence (DNA? confession?) that I experienced sexual abuse as a child. Then you heap scorn and abuse on me for not providing evidence that can’t be provided. You accuse me of being gullible, morbid, a malingerer, and worse. You encourage me to hate myself. Not surprisingly, I feel better when you are not around.

Second, although for a while I thought you played multiple roles in my life and could be a positive force as well, I was wrong. I thought you were helping me see through suspicious, unscientific claims. I thought you were making me skeptical and analytical. But now I don’t think so. You only talk about one thing: how I “made it all up.” I gave you credit for my questioning nature and my research training, for my interest in learning and curiosity. But you aren’t even curious about my memories; you are only dismissive. I have come to realize that you only masquerade as Doubt (or Discernment or Good Judgment). I’m pulling off your mask now and calling you what you are: Denial.

You have been around in my life a long, long time–ever since these memories first began to surface during a crisis period in my life. In all those years, you have been a source of immense pain, and you have never let me take a single step toward healing. You have been a giant rock blocking my path toward wholeness. You have held me back in my life, sucked away energy and happiness. In the two months since I sent you away and committed myself to believing and caring for the wounded girl within me, I have made more progress than in all those years.

So what I have learned, ultimately, is that I don’t need you. I don’t trust you. I don’t want you anymore. I am done with you, Denial. You are not welcome in my house. You are not welcome in any part of my life. You can hang around outside if you like, but I’m not going to pay attention to you. If you make too much noise, I’ll send my dogs out. They are young and energetic, a pit and a rottweiler/lab, and though they are loving to me and my friends, they can get a little worked up about unwelcome intruders. I have these dogs in real life, but they can jump the line into my metaphorical world any time I ask them to. So I suggest you keep your distance.

You can starve and wither away; I don’t mind. That’s the fate you tried to inflict on the girl, after all. But she’s a tender, affectionate, frightened, sometimes hopeful little one, while you are only harsh, cruel judgment. That’s why I am choosing her over you.

Most sincerely not yours any longer,

Q.

These are the very scary (?) dogs that can chase off Denial, if need be.