The Afterwards – hinnat ja saatavuus

I learned to pray for me. The journey began after a lifetime of doubt that led to one single moment of faith where hope was born and messages from above were sent to a hesitant soul amidst extraordinary fears. I hate the term child sexual abuse. I hate that it was given a name, and therefore, given an existence. Giving it a label gives it power. It gave it a home and it gave it someone to pounce on. By naming what had come into our lives, I had given into the fears it came in with. It was strong. Powerful. Monstrous. It was everything nightmares were made of. But, without minimizing the damage and destruction it set out to do, I took the first steps in conquering the demon and named it nothing. The thing was nothing. It didn't have an existence that could win the war it was waging against my family and me. It was only a thing. Something that was nothing. I had a name and that made me so much more valuable than something that didn't deserve an existence. When I unnamed my own personal monster, did I begin to strengthen against it. The Afterwards is a story recounting true events around surviving a series of traumatic incidents, only to discover that what happens afterwards is so much more unforgiving and crueler that the actual thing. The promise that the thing is over and that nothing could harm me from that moment on was so far from the reality of what takes place afterwards. The Afterwards lingers and never goes away. It never leaves and it never heals. It can never be anything else and will never evolve into something else. There is nothing after The Afterwards. It is where the end begins. It was always the beginning of the end. But The Afterwards can be different. Better. Don't coddle her or pity her, just tell her that she did the right thing and that the guilt or shame was never hers to carry. Help her unload her armor. Her war is over. Her injuries will heal and her scars will fade. Let her unpack the load she's carrying, it's too heavy. It should never have been piled onto her. Give her the confirmation she needs to pick up all her broken pieces, and help her glue them back together. Be her mother. Her grandmother. Her aunt. Her sister. Her friend. Don't be there for the thing, but rather for The Afterwards.