Let there be sound

I’ve made the pact with my therapist. We’re about to start the hard part, heading towards EMDR, and the reason why I’m seeing her in the first place.

Abuse memories are meeting me in my safe places – because I’m ready to meet them. I hope.

As has happened before… in the space between deciding to speak out about what was done to me as a child, and getting help as a consequence, I feel an inner compulsion not to exist, not to say out loud what happened. Not to matter.

Fuck that.

I once had a wren land on my shoulder. I’ve been told it’s okay for me to be here.

Speak – Sing – Tell – Declare


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