Four stories of sexual assault crash on top of each other, like a four-car pile up.
A trainee shares her patient's story, which triggered my trainee in traumatic reactions as of yet un-metabolized. She slowly begins the work of transforming her own tragedy to the anger, outrage and emotional presence that will help her patient realize that someone cares and that she deserves to be protected.
I'm crushed and heavy hearted.
Then, my own patient is very late to therapy because a teen-age girl is molested on the bus (thankfully the bus driver has the wherewithal to stop the bus, lock the doors and call the police). But, this triggers my patient into sharing for the first time her own untold childhood history. Raw. Fear fomenting on her body in reactions repressed for 14 years. And we begin our work anew, plying away at deeper knots of hurt and loss, using our connection to counter every instinct in her to distrust and despair.
I cycle home, the sun setting, Manhattanhenge. Trying to decide whether to be annoyed at the sun in my eyes or let Life remind me of its beauty.
