Maeve asks me, ‘On a scale of 1 to 10 , how bad is it?’ ‘A 10, I reckon,’ I respond. ‘Ok’, she looks at me, ‘Go with it.’ As she moves her hand across my eye line, I follow it, back and forth. Time travel begins. I see her immediately. She’s been waiting. This little girl in the centre, at the point of impact. This is her memory, our story, that she’s been trying to get me to see, for a while now. Now I’m here with her, finally. I can explore this memory, live it for the first time, since it happened. The question from my therapist is always the same, ‘ What do you notice? ‘ and I notice a lot. To be able to return like this is a gift, a very painful gift I shall unwrap slowly. Everything I feel, everything I see is not how I thought it was. Because now I’m living it from inside me, I completely understand who I am, and it’s not who they made me believe I was. I feel like a force, holding back another force, a tidal wave, which is trying to crush me . The pressure is unbearable, the weight of the air so heavy, yet I feel separate from them, and their energy. I am alone, within an isolation so deep I cannot comprehend it. But it’s in this state I know I am not like these people who harm me, I am some ball of purity. This stands between me and my abusers. Like a shield. I’m shocked to quiet bewilderment, mixed with wonder, as I wander around my memory, noticing more and more all the time. As I live in this present from over 45 years ago. And as I pay attention, I begin to relax. The sensation of loneliness lifts, I see I can get this little girl out of the room. I am here for her, with her. I can do this, there’s a sense of urgency now, it’s so obvious what my job is.
We are running across fields, full of wildflowers, through long grasses, parting the way, under trees, as I run faster and faster, with her in my arms. She was curled up, tight, looking at me with a question in her sad eyes. So I pick her up, meeting her gaze, realising I can do anything for her. Anything is possible now. She has waited here, alone, for so long, holding onto this, so I could survive. I can match her immense courage with pure imagination. This feels so exciting, so new. My mind opens all the way up now. As I move us, the room she was trapped in falls apart, with those men in it. Like opening windows to let light in, I run across the fields, feeling free, exhilarated, surprised. Then I realise we can fly, if we want, so we become a ladybird. Little red wings. Fluttering. Connected, the isolation gone. Now I’ve reclaimed her, I need time to get to know her, she will have more to tell me. There will be a lot to feel. There’s a trail of dust in the air behind us. The remnants of the room, with those in it. It drifts, as I watch it disappear. Over the next few days I will continue to watch this. I can return to see it evaporate, as I feel safety, exhaustion flooding my body.
I can scarcely believe this is what I survived. Having to forget the horror, meant I forgot my power, the little force of love I was. You’re amazing I tell her, holding her close. I thank her numerous times for what she did for me, as I do, a warmth rises from my solar plexus. I think this is what feeling safe is. I want to cherish her. In the days that pass, her emotions thaw out. My skin hurts with the pain . It hurts to breathe. But I hold what she needs to tell me, what she had to dissociate. This is my job too, my commitment to the child I was. Her will to live was a mountain. I’ve found it. This is my power, it was always my power. They couldn’t take it from me. My mind made it so. Not movable, part of me, an attribute belonging to us, like my heart, or my arm, or my hands. Nature crafted this not be erased.
So this was EMDR, a 90 minute session. Miraculous time travel via the neural pathway in the brain, to where my memory was stored. Locked down, frozen, forgotten, due to necessity, to life continuing. EMDR was, is a revolution for me. It’s a therapy that changed everything for me. I was stuck, falling apart. I felt like I couldn’t change , and I so desperately wanted to be free. To know all the feelings, to know who I was. To remember and honour. Instead of being a reactor to my history, unable to stop the triggers because they were alive, in my mind and body. Embarking on this therapy felt like a huge risk. I would have to give up all of my old defences, in doing so, feel all that they had protected me from. But I was ready. And anyway what did I have to loose ? Like getting sober I had arrived in the jumping off place. Very frightening. But once I tried it and went back in time, I wanted to go back for more. To meet my others. All the parts , the children who had saved me. There were many. Over 7 years I met them and when the therapy finished, my mind kept giving me more. Once I had opened the door, there was no turning back. I had given permission to those children, so they all wanted a turn. If I thought I could resist, my body soon told me in no uncertain terms, through illness, through pain, that resistance would not work. The truth was here, in me, I just needed the right, safe way to get to it. For me, EMDR was that way. Feeling suicidal was common along the way, of course. I was always awe struck by the huge will and love of my parts to protect me, to keep me safe from the horror. So, when I have wanted to die, for all that awful pain to stop, that same will has never faltered. Getting to know my parts gave me a love beyond this world. A love from the most vulnerable, smallest part. Fierce determination to live. To survive under circumstances, where death would have been kinder. Today I know who I am, they showed me. EMDR was the tool, for me, that led me to my discovery of this love and the power of my life force. It had all been too much, too much for any human, let alone a small child. But I survived it, we survived it. Today I know how, because of EMDR. I think such power needs harnessing, channeling, because this power is there in every survivor. I have to get used to knowing, this is mine, this is ours. Let’s really, really claim it.