Anne, thank you for your part in bringing light. You held my hand, and that helped me do this.

…ten year olds are supposed to be vulnerable.

It is a cliché, but it felt like childhood ended that day. I never felt safe again.

It has been difficult for me, to experience safety. What seems like it should be the safest place of all — ‘in his arms’ — has been so fraught. This, I think, was the greatest violation; the most cruel theft.

I’ve now been single for two years, and I want to change that. I thought I was ready, but these past two weeks show that I am not; I must somehow clear this first. I have always been frightened on dates. First kisses are conflicted. First nights require a suppression. I now understand why.

(I have written of romance in a way that seems contrary to this, but both aspects are true — my experience of romance is weirdly split; a dissonance of hot anticipation and cold dread. I experience these separately and concurrently. So far, I can write only one side at a time. It would be interesting to try writing both at once…)

Your words make space for women…

I hope I have added to the space that women here have made for me. I don’t think I’d have told this story had I not first heard theirs, and felt their reassurance.

(& men)

I know my words exclude men — good, thoughtful, aware men who have also been part of the conversation here; who make effort, make space, who are probably reading this — and I feel badly, that I exclude. I feel a need to apologise, for my disability, my inability to embrace them, at least right now.

(To Elliot Nichols, Caleb Ramsby, Heath Houston, and others, I’m sorry for the walls. I really do want [need] to dismantle those, but it’s difficult. I must remind myself that the barrier is not my doing. He stole from you too. Perhaps this is the next conversation I need to have. I will make the effort and turn toward you.)

And Anne…je t’embrasse.

❤ Allison