Now I could do this about a lot of events, but this one in particular was one that I never truly sat down to really feel through. I had thought about doing it, stopping myself thinking that I would be a teary mess if I thought too deeply about the event.

But I didn’t. Tears were shed, but not the flood I imagined or thought I needed. That’s more than what I allowed myself back when the event was fresh.

I get it. I was in survival mode. From work, certain coworkers, (former) friends, and especially family. I still had to regulate my feelings about all of that while still in my feelings over the event.

Even with the laughter and tears about other matters, this one thing was always haunting me. Because I allowed it. I grew comfortable with it. Just like I did the many forms of abuse that I encountered up to that point.

That night, while doing some yoga and meditation, something came over me to finally embrace my younger self from that time. The part of me that inspired the once-infinite rumination of what it would be like to reunite with the person this event is tied to.

Would it have been a mature and offered a new sense of closure, or would old parts resurface and turn the conversation south?

To be concluded…