“It sounds to me like you’re describing negging,” my therapist replies. “That’s a tactic used by manipulative people, to do exactly what you’re saying. To keep your self-esteem low enough that you’d stay with him. But it’s important to unearth those beliefs and confront them now, so you can unlearn them.”
I find myself nodding, my throat still tight, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.
My therapist sighs and shifts in her seat. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, Cassidy. But I’m very proud of all the progress you’re making. This isn’t easy. Doing this work. I hope you know that and can feel proud of yourself for confronting all this, too.”
“Sure,” I breathe, my voice barely there. I’m barely even listening anymore. I’m lost in memories. Of nights out with Norman, how he’d parade me around on his arm, talking over me, introducing me to his friends but never allowing me to speak or have an opinion of my own.
I was just a trophy for him. A trophy he called ugly and overweight and shrill, in order to keep me trapped. It took so long for me to free myself from him. And to be honest, I forgot how bad it was, after. I was just so relieved to be on my own again, I didn’t stop to think about how badly I’d been manipulated, how much he’d lied to me.
I should be over this, I keep thinking, and I am. I’m over him, anyway. But the behaviors I learned—the way I hide myself, the way I defer to everyone else in the room… that’s taking longer to forget.
Across from me, my therapist is smiling, reaching out to offer a hand. I force myself to stand up and shake it, plastering on a smile.
“Thanks,” I tell her. And I try to believe what she’s telling me. I try to believe that eventually, this will get easier.
At the very least, I refuse to wind up like Lark. I’m going to learn how to talk about my past. How to open up with the right guy. The right guy, who won’t be him.
Who won’t touch me the way he does. Who won’t keep me up all night, tossing and turning, unable to get images of him out of my head. The feeling of his body pressing me into a mattress, the sensation of his tongue running down the curve of my neck, his hands tracing the arches of my hips…
Fuck.
I force him out of my mind, as usual, and say goodbye to my therapist, before I edge out into the hallway. The lights out here are even brighter, and I squint against them, feeling the same way I usually do after a session—emotionally drained, but a little bit lighter, too.
I try to hold onto that last part as I stride through the hallways of the building and wait for the elevator down to the ground floor. But as I’m stepping out of the building into the parking lot, taking a deep breath of the muggy, pre-storm air, the sky overhead dark despite the fact that it’s only the middle of the day—my calm is immediately shattered.
A familiar figure is striding toward the building just as I’m exiting. My stomach clenches, any sense of relaxation or unburdening I felt inside the therapist’s office flying out the window.
“Cassidy!” Sheryl’s eyes light up the moment she spots me, and she changes direction to hurry toward me.
That only makes my guilt churn worse in my gut. “Hey, Sheryl,” I reply, and hope she doesn’t notice the tightness in my voice.
“Long time, no see. I’ve been meaning to call to tell you, you did a great job on that TV interview last week.” She grins, bright and open and apparently oblivious to the fact that immediately after that interview, I did exactly what I promised myself—and what I promised her—I wouldn’t do. I hooked up with her ex-husband.
Or current husband?
I don’t even know, and that only makes it worse. I grimace. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”
“I didn’t realize you go here too.” Sheryl jerks a thumb toward the building, and my whole face turns bright red. That, at least, she notices. She waves a hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean…” She steps closer and glances around the parking lot. “You know there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Cassidy. Going to therapy is great, a really important step. Everyone should have a therapist, honestly. It just helps to have someone to unload on about it all, you know?” She smiles again, and I can’t help but smile back, despite my riot of nerves.
“It is really helpful, yeah,” I agree.
“I know, it’s done wonders for me and Lark,” she says, and there goes the feeling of guilt again, worse than ever. “I swear, I don’t even know where I’d be without my counselor to talk to.”