I have no excuse

Part 3 of 3

In the mid 90s, I was seeing my 2nd therapist¹. This therapist lovingly supported me and guided me through my feelings of despair after Karen Fisher died. She supported me when I was fired from my high powered job² because I wrote "that book."

This doctor continued to counsel me until I got my balance and I was able to land another job on a national level with even more opportunity and growth. It seemed I had navigated the tough stuff and I was set for smooth sailing. Granted, I knew life has its ups and downs, but I felt strong enough to handle them. I knew that I had survived the worst thing possible, the sexual abuse I endured as a child, and if I could survive that, I could survive anything.

In one of my final meetings with this skilled and loving doctor, she said, "We probably only need to discuss your little dog. The one locked in your basement when you were an kid."

Photo courtesy of Pexels.

My eyes misted over. Maggie. My dog. My exuberant, cute, happy, funny dog. My dog. My father had given her to me. My siblings had all left home. My parents knew I'd been bullied at school. My dad thought I needed a dog.

And, I did. For several months Maggie was my constant companion. She romped in the yard with me. I fed her. I ran home from school to be with her. She slept with me. Then, one night, she had an accident in my room. My father banished her to the "little bathroom." The little bathroom was a toilet in the furnace closet, with a concrete floor, and a light bulb strung from the ceiling.

The kitchen of my childhood was a war zone. At best it was a stoney silence. The table was built to push me away.

Not to scale, but this is a rough drawing of my childhood kitchen table.

I was out of sight and out of mind. Like my little dog, Maggie.

I met my counselor's eyes, and said, "I can't. I can't deal with my betrayal of her.”

I stopped seeing this therapist shortly after that. My tenseness in a kitchen, not being able to close my eyes in the shower, and my little dog Maggie are issues I've not worked though. Now, I doubt I'll ever be comfortable in the kitchen or close my eyes in the shower. However, it’s time to explain my deep regret about Maggie. I owe it to her. My lack of action to protect her has caused me such great shame. Even now.