I went to that house and knocked. She answered. We visited the whole day.

She was very shy, but I knew how to make her feel comfortable. I really saw her. I listened. I understood. I offered her a calm, loving presence, where she could bring her troubles and set them down a while. A place to rest.

She didn’t need to be or do anything. She could go off-duty, no need to watch out.  She could feel likeable. And safe being liked.

We even cleaned up her room.

I tucked her in, and as I left, I turned out the light and said,

You will survive. Know this. No matter what comes, you will survive. You can handle it and you will be okay.

I see it looking down on this scene.

I’m with my dad, and we’re leaving the house.  I’m about 10 years old. I’m going with him or maybe he’s going out.  I must have said something, telling him what to do. Giving him instructions.  He says sharply,

Don’t be such a fishwife.

His words cut me even though I don’t know what that means, but it’s not good.

I’m bossy Chrissy. I’m spoiling his fun.

I felt unsafe around my parents. Even my mom. I never relaxed. I had to be in control.  I want rules. I enforce them. I am the spoilsport.