The Choice

sessions with some rage release. She’d mentally tie someone up in a
chair—usually one of her parents—and scream while delivering a
savage beating: How could you let that happen to me? I was just a little
girl!
“Are you done?” I’d ask.
“No.”
And she would keep punching until she was.
at anksgiving, aer returning home from a dinner with
friends, Beatrice was sitting on the couch, petting her dog, when her
whole body started tingling. Her throat dried up, her heart began
palpitating. She tried deep breathing to get her body to relax, but the
symptoms got worse. She thought she was dying. She begged her
girlfriend to take her to the hospital. e doctor who examined her in
the emergency room said nothing was medically wrong. She had
suffered a panic attack. When Beatrice saw me aer the episode, she
was frustrated and scared, discouraged to be feeling worse instead of
better, and worried that she would have another panic attack.
I did everything I could to applaud her progress, to validate her
growth. I told her that in my experience, when you release rage, you
often feel much worse before you begin to feel better.
She shook her head. “I think I’ve gone as far as I can go.”
“Honey, give yourself some credit. You had a terrifying night. And
you got through it without harming yourself. Without running away. I
don’t think I could have coped as well as you did.”
“Why do you keep trying to convince me that I’m a strong person?
Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m sick and I’ll always be sick. Maybe it’s time
to stop telling me I’m someone I won’t ever be.”
“You’re holding yourself responsible for something that isn’t your
fault.”
“What if it is my fault? What if there’s something different I could
have done, and he would have left me in peace?”