Trajectory

You’ll hear about Counselor a lot. She’s actually awesome, and thankfully amazing at her job, which honestly has saved my life.

Isn’t it crazy to think that one person can change the whole trajectory of your life? I had many counselors before her that couldn’t touch her intelligence. One’s that were actually harmful, said harmful statements, left me feeling alone and like there was something wrong with me.

“Oh, women always flaunt themselves and men can’t help it. I mean look at those Victoria’s Secret commercials! And we’re supposed to expect men NOT to look??” Past-harmful counselor once said to me after I poured my anxious soul out to her about how Stepdad used to look at me.

Everyone knew he was looking at me. They could see his eyes through his dark sunglasses, even though he thought they couldn’t see where he was looking. He was staring at my body. MINE. My underage body which always caused a fight between Mother and Stepdad and somehow, I was always shamed to put more clothes on. Real Dad never looked at my body. Brother never looked at my body. And all of the sudden, while my boobs are growing, I’m severely self-conscious, every man feels like he has access to my body, and it’s my fault?

- I’m running on the treadmill as I see through the window that Stepdad has gone into the backyard. He’s within eyesight. Moments later, through the window, I see Mother out there yelling at him, and later being told that I need to put the blinds down when I run. My fault.

- I’m now married and arrive to Mother and Stepdad’s house with Husband. Stepdad hugs me. Way too long. Like he always does. As I pull away, I catch him looking down my shirt. I confront Mother about it telling her that it makes me uncomfortable that he’s still looking at me even in front of Husband. “Okay! I don’t know what to tell you!” She irritably barks at me. My fault.

Past-harmful counselor states that “Men are just built this way, and all these poor men in this “Me Too” movement getting blamed when these women are probably throwing themselves at them. Men can’t help it. They're built to be lustful.”

Years go by… years until I find Counselor. I don’t tell her this story for a while because I’m ashamed that I’m too much, that my body is for men’s viewing pleasure, that I’m crazy, but it slips out. I tell her everything because I can’t shake this uneasiness inside me. I tell her the full details about how Stepdad saw me naked after I yelled out after a shower to make sure no one was home before I bolted across the island to my room – like all of us kids had done our entire childhood when Real Dad was living with us. Why didn’t Stepdad say, “I’m here! I’m home!”, anything at all? No. He was right there waiting to see my body.

I tell Counselor how I knocked on their bedroom door looking for Mother and after silence, I open the door slowly to find Stepdad sitting there, looking at me, with his penis in full view on the bed. That was the first penis I’d ever seen. I was so scared. I swear I had this knowing, even as a child, or was I crazy? “Men are built this way, men are built this way, they can’t help it….” I tell Counselor what past-harmful counselor had said to me when I poured my anxious self out to her about this.

After I’m done, Counselor puts her head in her hands and shakes her head, which she rarely does. She’s always so composed. After what feels like a minute, she looks up into my eyes and says “That was a very, very harmful statement. It was not your fault, and you were not protected by the people that should have protected you most.”

That’s all I needed to hear.