My mind is filled with the scenes and feelings of the book launch that took place a few days ago when Confessions of a Trauma Therapist got birthed and went out into the world. Its mission? To help the victims of child sexual abuse and expose this crime against children.
A kaleidoscope of remembered hugs, greetings, old friends and colleagues, as well as the faces of those who came to hear that it’s possible to recover from childhood trauma – these experiences tumble over and over in my memory.
The book’s conclusion tells about foreseeing the book launch in a dream I had back in 1999.
I am a singer standing alone on the stage of a huge concert hall. My voice soars, filling the hall with its richness. The sound seems to wrap around each person sitting there. A rich contralto rises up effortlessly from my belly.
Then my song finishes and the crowd cheers, deeply moved by my voice. I step off the stage to join Harvey. He and I greet hundreds of audience members whom we recognize as survivors of childhood sexual abuse.
My heart goes out to them as I encourage them to go on with their healing. Then come their friends and supporters, followed by their helping professionals. All of us are joined in the work of healing past traumas and in the fight to prevent child sexual abuse in the future.
That is my dream, my vision and my hope in writing about my own history of incest. Never mind that I can’t hold a tune. The dream may be counter-factual, but it certainly matches how I feel about Confessions of a Trauma Therapist.