Inside of me there is a small child, afraid, defenseless, looking for some direction, a sign, a reason to keep hoping. She wants to know what to do, where to go from here, how to grow up and get bigger but the only people she has to look up to are just as terrifying as her lack of direction. While she feels out of control, they tell her she controls everything (badly). It is all turning to shit, it is all going to fail, it is all her fault.

No one ever told her how to do it right, they only tell her that she does it wrong, all wrong. Being wrong is punishment enough because it confirms her fears that she is no good, good for nothing, worthless, need to be improving, become a useful human being for a change, take some responsibility, stand up and take charge.

As if it was that easy, as if she could just get up out of her chair of terror, like it wasn’t inside her chaining her to its arms and legs electrifying her brain, her blood, her veins. She can barely see through the fog of her nerves, they crush her, sink her, bring her down to the ground under the boot of a demon. The face is hers, yes, but its not that easy to unarm the aggressor when you are pined down. You tell it that as though it will understand and comfort you, but fear is not your friend or your parent, fear is a child just like you are when it captures you.

To be an adult is to decide for yourself that fear is not your friend, that fear cannot be listened to as yourself, that fear is someone who often treats you badly and needs to be told so. To be an adult is to realize the chains are all in our mind, open your eyes and your mouth, big girl, and watch them dissolve. It is my turn to play the parent and I’ll do it better than you. Suddenly I have a knife, and point it at fear’s throat. “Get into the chair.”