This is what we desired. Safety. This is what we needed from day one, our right, a biological need to grow and thrive as children. Safety. And what if we never knew this ? If all we knew was terror ? Or the constant fear of doubting yourself, because anything you ever felt was ignored or belittled. Leading you to a place of invisibility, from where you created a persona so pleasing, straining on your leash to get them to see you. The acrobatics of people pleasing, winding up in a dead end, where whatever you tried failed, because the only relationship your family had was within the world of their own concerns. There was no looking out to see you. I mean did you even exist ?
Safety is the sweetest place to finally reach when you have never known it. And back then even though you didn’t know it, you longed for it. This state of being that meets your small beating heart, rising up to wrap you like a present. For those of us without any knowledge of safety, it becomes a memory from beyond, that place your soul knows is owed to you as a child. Safety. Calm, grounded, within your body safety. Priceless. Safety that allows you the autonomy to feel and discover every emotion you have. To be held when you cry and connected when you laugh. To like what you want to, without having to bend to another, having no alternative to make up liking an adult who is never safe. Safety is being able to be completely open to be yourself, without any pretending. It is growing up being accepted for all your tears and tantrums, all your mistakes, all your feelings. It is a blank cheque you are given, to be originally you. You are seen for every little part you are and you are allowed to hide as well. You are given this privacy. Seen as your own separate being, separate from the parent. Your own gift to the world, not to the mother or father. A free individual , open to your imaginings. I was unfortunately never afforded any of this safety as a kid. I had to fight for it, earn it through hard work, because I wanted it so, so bad. I dreamed of safety. Every day I dreamed it. It was a beautiful, clear, warm dream of the bliss of being real and true to my body and mind. A dream for the little child who wanted to dance, sing and play in the garden under the sky picking flowers, running in the light. Not to be constantly braced for the terror to come. So, safety became a place deep within, a place that had to wait for me. It had to wait for so long, it cried and cried, it was alone, there on the edge without me to connect to, just hoping I would find my way to meet it one day. So many ways I hurt myself on the way to our reunion. All that self destructiveness raged against my being. I was blown around in the desert of addiction, finally coming to rest when I was broken enough by drugs. Stopping. Being still allowed safety to have hope, to begin to welcome me back to myself.
One night I was walking home from a meeting in the rain. A cold Manchester night. A little voice inside cried to me, I want to die, I want to hurt myself, I want to cry, I want to feel this, I don’t know how. I spoke to her then. I can see the rain in the street light now, as I walked on. I told her it was ok, I was here. Her feelings were savage, they were moving in my gut, raw tears , screaming rage, dead powerlessness. My skin felt like it was on fire, as I woke to these feelings. I couldn’t contain this could I ?? This was feeling without chemicals to kill the pain. I carried on talking to her. I’m here, I’m here. I soothed her like the good enough mother I am. I felt all her pain and validated it, as it had never been validated before. I walked home, telling her constantly, I am here, I’m going no where. Slowly a warmth grew from my solar plexus and travelled up. I felt safe, wrapped in comfort, a lightness in my steps, a sweat on my palms. This comfort I had created myself. I got home and made a sweet cup of tea, put the lamps on and sat in my living room, mesmerised. I had met myself in all the old memories of pain, I had created the safety I had always needed to feel the truth of those experiences. It was a revolution for me and the child I had been. That night the forgotten and abandoned child in me had spoken for the first time and I had listened in a way she had never known. Maybe a star had fallen over me that night. I had been bound in suffering blown in from the past, as the child felt the reality my body had held for all those years. I in turn had responded with kindness, gentleness, love and reassurances of being there. Simply hearing what she had to say, to feel, and stating over and over I would not abandon her. It seemed very simple yet it worked beautifully. Here began the work of a return to safety in my mind and body. It was the movement from invisibility to being seen. It is the work of surviving sexual abuse, to see, hear and feel the body, with all it carries, allowing it to exist in its own right, so I could begin to inhabit it. To live within it as a free woman, no matter the pain because that is the truth and the telling of the truth brought with it this communication toward safety. I know all her stories now. I know all his stories. I was told everything over the years, no stone unturned. 30 years have passed hearing their stories. All that time listening and being there has created the safety I once dreamed of. The safety of being seen and never having to hide anymore. There are times we get rattled, yes, times we get triggered. Then we know we have to travel back to safety, the place where the truth and small lovely things live. Safety is not having to hide anymore from the scary past, knowing yourself completely, every flaw, every wound in every corner. It’s relaxing, a huge relief after forgetting and having to pretend. And even though the truth is horrible, it doesn’t matter because what was done to you is not you. She spoke to me that night of her suffering She stood up and showed herself. She is so many things, so many carats, cut to sparkle. Lying within her is a world of joy, a playful need to laugh and sing. She can be herself in this world now because she is safe and that is her own creation. This is the hard work of recovering from childhood sexual abuse and rape. Starting with imagination, it is now my destination, this home in my body and my knowledge of my mind’s power to heal. A simple process to reach a wondrous place. Safety.