December 28, 2009

I feel great right now. I’m smiling. Fucking smiling—and it’s not fake.

And I am amazed before I’m half way through, as the SAA/AA books say.

I just came back from the group I’ve been attending (monthly meetings) since August 2009. See, when I’m at the SAA meetings, I’m mostly quiet, shy, and unsure of myself. I’m the noob, the rookie, the clueless newcomer. I feel like I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.

But this monthly group is different. It’s for survivors of childhood sexual abuse.

Most of them are new, lost and confused, just like how I was in October and November. And now, suddenly I’m one of the ones who can offer advice. Or not really advice. I nurture them. I listen to them and don’t try to change how they feel. I accept them, encourage their own personal exploration and growth, and I share my own experiences and struggles.

And I’m not too brave, by any means—I shake when I talk (hopefully it’s not too noticeable). It’s hard to get a grip on my breath. I’m nervous and anxious.

Yet I get the sense that many of them hang on almost my every word. They look to me for answers. I show them the 5 or 6 self help books that I’ve read and I offer feedback, based on what I’ve learned in the past 3 months. I almost feel sponsor-ish, and it feels great that I can show them kindness and acceptance, and offer comforting words.

We are a support group. And I’m smiling, god damn-it.

I really like taking care of others. Now that I’m also learning to care for myself, too, I can actually picture me living a healthy life! Ha! Imagine that!


Every once in a while, when I write, I feel like someone will be reading it, some day in the future. I didn’t mention it before because I get worried that my “feelings” or gut intuitions will no longer come true if I speak about them. Kinda like a birthday with not coming true, if I tell someone. That superstitious stuff.

But anyway, one of the young women (19?) at the meeting said I should write a book about my life. Haha, and I’m barely 30! But writing a book is something I’ve been considering in the back of my mind for quite some time.

There is much more to discovery and healing to be done, but it was good to hear someone imply that my life would be interesting or valuable enough to write about.

I think she said something about a “real” experience. This compliment is not foreign to me at all. Many people I meet say that I seem so real, and they like it. What they mean is that I’m not a fake, and I am honest. I think people can feel safe around me, to talk about more than just the weather.

Perhaps the literary world is in need of a “real” female experience of childhood abuse, sex and love addiction, and how I healed from the pain and rage that almost destroyed my life (suicide). I’m not healed yet, but I feel like I can write. I know I have skill in writing. I must heal first, though!


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