The Choice

“What if blaming yourself is just a way of maintaining the fantasy
that the world is in your control?”
Beatrice rocked on the couch, her face streaked in tears.
“You didn’t have choices then. You have choices now. You can
choose not to come back here. at is always your choice. But I hope
you can learn to see what a remarkable survivor you are.”
“I’m barely holding on to my life. at doesn’t seem very
remarkable to me.”
“Was there ever a place you went, when you were a girl, where you
felt safe?”
“I only felt safe when I was alone in my room.”
“Would you sit on your bed? Or by the window?”
“On my bed.”
“Did you have any toys or stuffed animals you’d play with?”
“I had a doll.”
“Did you talk to her?”
She nodded.
“Can you close your eyes and sit on that safe bed now? Hold your
doll. Talk to her now like you talked to her then. What would you
say?”
“How can I be loved in this family? I need to be good, but I’m bad.”
“Do you know all that time you spent alone as a child, feeling so
sad and isolated, you were building a huge store of strength and
resilience? Can you applaud that little girl now? Can you take her in
your arms? Tell her, ‘You were hurt, and I love you. You were hurt,
and you’re safe now. You had to pretend and hide. I see you now. I
love you now.’ ”
Beatrice held herself tightly and shook with sobs. “I want to be able
to protect her now. I couldn’t then. But I don’t think I will ever feel
safe unless I can protect myself now.”
is is how Beatrice decided to take her next risk. Beatrice