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• 1 media/Torn.jpg 2015-12-10T18:14:45-08:00 Your Mentor 25 plain 2015-12-14T17:55:39-08:00 The woman with the dark hair guides you down an nondescript hallway and out the door to your left. You step into a courtyard similar to the one where you found and dug up the roots that you now where on your head. In the center of the courtyard you notice a woman sitting cross legged on a patch of earth.  She smiles at you and beckons for you to join her. You sit down accross from her so you are facing her directly. 
  
  She does not speak for some time but instead stares deeply into your eyes and, it appears, works to bring her breathing into the same pattern as yours. You feel slightly uncomfortable as you try to hold her gaze but soon enough you decide to give in to the moment.  You study your mentors face and work to slow your breathing to something that feels more contemplative.
  
  Suddenly, she winks at you and a broad smile spreads accross her face. "Hello, my name is Elli." Although her voice is soft, her words seem to fill the entire courtyard. Elli reaches out and takes your hand in hers. She asks you to close your eyes. Doing as she asks,  images of a young woman flood your consciousness.  
  
  
  
  "What you are seeing is a visual representation of the psychic damage created by a past of physical and sexual abuse. I would like to share these memories with you directly if that would be okay." You are not sure if Elli is even speaking anymore but you sense her words inside your head. You nod, letting her know it is okay to proceed. Elli words fill your mind pushing your own thoughts aside.
  
  I am a white, female who was raised in poverty in Nevada and Washington state in the 80s and 90s. Growing up, sexual abuse appeared to happen to many of my friends. Over time, we came to internalize this abuse as "just the way it is". We saw it as part of being a woman. It never occurred to us that there were people out there who had never experienced abuse even once, let alone as a regular part of life. 
  
   I have experienced depression and anxiety for most of my life. I have suffered from numerous chronic physical conditions, including IBS, and Fibro Myalgia. I have had difficulty forming lasting relationships and struggle with trust and intimacy. In a number of ways, I have lived a life on the margins of society and have never felt connected to white middle class America. Although I cannot prove that these things are directly related to the childhood memories I am about to share, I believe that they are. Abuse changes the color of my experience, the hue in which I see the world. It is impossible for me to imagine how my life would be different if these events had not occurred. Questions of victim v. survivor seem deeply inadequate to address the way that poverty and abuse have molded who I am.
  
  I would like to invite you to journey through certain memories of my life. You will experience these memories as stories and symbolic images. I encourage you to seek out not only the imagery that I send you but also to embrace images from your own consciousness.
  
                     four years old                                               six years old                                           eight years old
                                                     eleven years old                                       fourteen years old