“I would definitely use the first two to describe you. What you’ve accomplished has made you stronger. And that’s good.” She leans forward again. “Tell me more about being ashamed.”
“I let down my daughter. If I hadn’t fallen for my husband’s charms…if I had left when the abuse started, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Hmm. It sounds like you believe what those other people have been saying, despite it not being true. You have no reason to blame yourself or be ashamed. The only person at fault was your late husband.”
I give a small nod, knowing she’s right. But it’s hard to remember that at times even when I know better.
“I want you to try a new exercise,” Robyn says. “Each time you say or think something negative about yourself that comes from the place your late husband built, I want you to reshape it.”
“Reshape it?” I toy with the hem of my shorts, my gaze still on Robyn.
“For example. Instead of saying you’re ashamed you didn’t stand up against the people who wanted to harm you in prison, reshape it to you’re proud you took the high road and didn’t retaliate. You stayed strong in your convictions. It will feel awkward at first, but with practice, it will go a long way to diminishing your feelings of shame.”
“Okay. I can do that.” I think.
“Give it a go.”
I bite my lower lip, contemplating what to say. There are so many things I’m ashamed about. I’m not sure where to begin. “Instead of thinking I’m ashamed I let my daughter down…I’m…um…I’m proud…I’m proud I produced such a sweet and wonderful little girl.”
Robyn nods, her smile widening, and I feel like the little girl who got a gold star on her first spelling test. But like with spelling tests, it doesn’t mean next time I do the exercise it will be any easier.
“That’s really good, Jess. That’s your assignment for the next few weeks. I want you to practice turning the negative statements into positive ones.”
“Okay.”
“I see you have a new tattoo.” Robyn points at my arm. I’m wearing a short-sleeved top that leaves the shell-and-flower ink visible. “It’s gorgeous. Is there a reason you picked the shell and flowers?”
I roll my lips together, working up to telling her the truth. Taylor and Simone thought the tattoo was a great idea. Troy was less sure.
Robyn won’t judge me for it, but vulnerability still nips at me. “Amelia loved searching for shells with me when she was a toddler. The times we did that are some of my most precious memories.” And the ones I tend to revisit when I go to my happy place.
“What about the flowers? Why hydrangeas and…” Robyn shifts forward to get a better look at my arm. “Are those forget-me-nots?”
I nod.
“So why the hydrangeas?”
“Because they symbolize love and family.”
“You got it to symbolize Amelia?” As expected, there is no judgment in Robyn’s tone, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering what she’s thinking. Does she think it was a mistake? That it won’t help me heal but will do the opposite?
“Yes. It was her birthday the weekend before last. I couldn’t be with her”—will never be with her again—“and I wanted to celebrate the day.”
Robyn tilts her head slightly to the side, her eyes taking in my face. God knows what she sees there. I haven’t exactly tried to keep my emotions hidden from view.
“So you celebrated it with the tattoo?”
“Yes. And a small birthday cake. Troy’s sister-in-law suggested it might help with my grief. Celebrating Amelia’s birthday. My friend lost her baby due to a car accident she was in while pregnant. Since then, she has celebrated her baby’s birthday every year.”
“You’re grieving the loss of Amelia?” Once more, no sign of judgment from Robyn.
I glance at my hands on my lap and discover I’m wringing them. I place them flat on my thighs and stare at them so I don’t have to look at Robyn’s reaction to my reply. “I contacted my sister-in-law again about being in Amelia’s life. Her husband phoned a few days later to tell me it wasn’t going to happen. I was too much of a reminder of the abuse he went through at the hands of his brothers growing up. They bullied him as a kid. He didn’t go into much detail beyond that.”
My shoulders curl in on themselves, grief slicing through me from just talking about it. “I can’t blame him for his decision.”
“What do his reaction and the birthday cake and the tattoo mean to you, Jess?”
“They mean never getting to see Amelia.” The name comes out as a choked whisper, the word scorching a path in my throat. “It means I’ve lost the most precious thing to me.”
