house of cards

For over 30 years, I have felt trapped in a house of cement and barbed wire, with armed guards carrying guns and patrolling the perimeter.

His house.

Over 30 years ago, I physically left his ring of child pornography, sexual slavery, and ritualistic torture. Still, his power, authority, and cruelty, along with my fear, shame, and self-hate have accompanied me everywhere.

But for the first time, I see through the facade.

His perverted fortress has always been made of cards, not cement. All I need to do is grab one card, and the whole thing will come crashing down.

Then why am I frozen?

I didn't get to this point easily. After decades of denial, I decided it was time to heal. That healing process has been excruciating. I have crawled through flashbacks I was sure would suffocate me with their strength and intensity. I've fought through hundreds of sessions of EMDR, reliving each agonizing moment. Hopelessness has threatened to overpower me time and time again. Many times, I've wanted to die rather than continue in the pain. A vicious eating disorder has enticed me with its promise of relief.

A brave part of me feels ready. Ready to scream, "Enough! You've trapped me for long enough! You've owned me for long enough!" This brave part craves to rip away the cards and watch them topple over, slipping, skidding, and sliding off the table and down to the ground.

But there's another part, a scared part. It wonders, "What comes next? Am I powerful enough to move on? Do I deserve it? Can I pull down his house of cards and walk away? Is it really that simple? Can he come back and rebuild?"

The fears of the unknown churn inside me, and my outstretched hand falls back to my side.

I think, for now, I'm going to hold hands with the scared part. I will reassure it in a soothing voice that I understand its fears. I will tell it that seeing the fragility of the cards is a potent step. I will sit with it like a hesitant child and wait until it's ready.

And, the brave part? Rest assured, the fall is coming.