How can one specific body movement or sensation bring with it an instant torrent of guilt? The freedom fight from former abuse is not done once we run. It’s not finished when the physical access to our bodies stops. For those of us who were taught day in and day out that we were responsible for the thoughts and subsequent actions of men, this coffin of guilt is never quite abolished.
Several nights ago, I playfully rolled on top of my husband, ready to enjoy a moment of intimacy. I didn’t expect it. The memory. My mind was instantly transported to another time and place lying on top of someone else. The building’s cold floor underneath us prevented me from wanting to roll away, and my childlike longing for attention and acceptance kept me from understanding how very damaging this was to me. Both of us were fully clothed with the exception that the crotch of my underwear was pulled to the side “so I could feel things better”. A figure of authority could walk by at any time, so we didn’t dare go further. To this day, I am grateful to God for that. I do not remember anything from that afternoon, beyond that moment. I only recall the feeling of my body rocking over thick jeans, and remembering makes me feel like I am being choked and stabbed through my heart all at once. I want to vomit and purge myself of it all.
I can’t wipe my memory, but I can take control in another way. I can remind myself that this is not the past. This is not my abuser. This man is kind, and loving and trustworthy. This man will always cherish me. I can focus on the sensations I love so very much – my husband’s smell, his rough, calloused hands, and his soft beard. I can envelope myself in the arms of this man I love, and I am safe.
Creating Peace From the Pieces 