A Safe Place

I sat in his waiting area on the third floor of the old house looking out the large window and inhaling the comfortable smell of books and wood...I was safe. He was in his office with another client. I didn't see him, I didn't need to. I just needed to be under his wing...safe...like a father.

After spending the day fighting my husband for my physical and emotional space, I ran to a safe harbor - my therapist's office. Here my physical boundaries are always respected. The word no coming from my lips can stop a train in it's tracks. Here I have the freedom to be vulnerable, knowing that my words will never return to hurt me. Here no one will hold me against my will.

Yesterday, my husband and I were home alone for a considerable amount of time. We could no longer put off our tax preparations and decided to take advantage of the time off together to take care of this task. I don't know how to explain what it feels like to have someone physically touching you at almost every turn you take. He blocked every way that I needed to pass, so that I either had to try to push through him or give him a kiss in order to pass. He kissed me constantly...even as I pushed him away. He held me...even as I tried to pull myself free. As I looked for important papers, he placed himself between my work and me...always touching me...his face always too close to mine.

When I pushed him away and told him that I don't want to be with him or near him, he insisted that I do love him. In fact, he told me to make love with him. "Not in a million years", was my reply. He demanded kisses from me, forced his lips upon mine. This went on for hours.

I felt trapped. Is there no law against this?  I wondered.  How can this be allowed? If an adult does this to a child, it is child abuse. If a husband does this to his wife, it is...what? I wanted help from someone, because my voice alone had no power. A million times "STOP!" had no effect. A million times "Get off me!" had no meaning. Why was l living through this hell again? I am no longer a child, and he is not my stepfather, yet it felt painfully similar.

I wanted to call the police...or my mother...or anyone to make him stop. I found myself confused between the present and the past...feeling the same despair, yet aware that as an adult I am responsible for defending myself. After having spent the morning doing so, I felt exhausted and defeated. This was when I called my therapist and asked if I may come by and sit in a safe place.