father wound

I just read through the first draft of my disclosure with our therapist for the intensive. Damn.  That really sucked.  I am sitting deep in shame.  It doesn’t feel the greatest. I am not used to this depth of feeling, to be honest.  There are some things that I haven’t included that I have to add in.  There are still a couple of areas I don’t think I can include.  I don’t know if she will survive that I had a sexual relationship with a former friend of hers.  I don’t know if I can include that.  I don’t know if she will stay for the rest of the intensive when she hears that.  I think the best I can do is admit we had a relationship but the fact that we didn’t actually have full intercourse makes it less, right?

I also don’t know if I can include what happened when I was 11 or 12. If she finds out that I had a sexual experience with another boy, I don’t know if she can stay with me.  I can’t even picture how I can say those words out loud.  I should have stopped him.  I should have told someone.  I kept letting it happen and participating.  How could I do that?  I knew that it was wrong but I still allowed it to happen.  I don’t know if she can love me after she knows that.  I don’t know if I can love me after saying that out loud.  We are finishing up lunch together.  She is having a hard time breathing.  Now it’s time.

She is sitting across the room from me on the other couch. Our therapist is in a separate chair.  He’s very stern with me. It feels very much like our joint counseling session where I was being spoken of like I wasn’t there.  However, this time there is one major difference:  it feels like I am on trial.  Now I read the full disclosure.

She is in shock. Her whole body stopped moving as I started going through the disclosure, page after page of deception and sexual sin.  I can tell she is barely breathing.  She stopped moving after I revealed what happened as a boy.  She started sobbing when I admitted to the relationship with her former friend.  I think I made a big mistake coming here.  I just destroyed her.  I can see the pain embedding itself inside her.  She is wearing it like a mask.  Her whole countenance is one I don’t recognize. She looks immediately saddened, angry, shocked, disgusted and just………different.

She is different. I just came in the lobby while she processes what I told her with the therapist.  She and the therapist are deciding what follow up questions to ask me.  She and he now are asking for specifics, when did I start with her friend and exactly what did I do.  Things I know I have to make sure I am clear on before the polygraph tomorrow morning. I have to pass.  And … she just read me a letter. To tell me directly how much she hates what I have done to her.  She cried bitter angry tears.  I can’t do this and not pass the polygraph.  I am afraid that I will fail.  I am afraid I can’t change.