Page 42

Forty

Jensen

F our weeks later

“What are you afraid of, Jensen?”

I wind my arms around my waist as I close my eyes and find the same old fears and voices waiting for me. Each of my hands taps in time—left, right, left, right—something he has me do whenever I have to answer this question.

“That God will hate me,” I reply. “That I’m letting people down. My congregation. My family. Myself.”

“And is that true?”

I take a deep breath. Left, right, left, right.

“No.”

“What is true?” he asks from across the room.

Digging deeper, I pull out the first thing that comes to mind. They’re buried beneath the lies and I imagine pulling them from some deeply locked case within my head.

“I’m not letting anyone down. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“What about God?”

Tears sting behind my eyes, but I’m not afraid to let that happen anymore. The fear that one tear will lead to a tidal wave is no longer there.

“The God I worship loves me the way I am.”

“Good,” he mumbles. “Open your eyes.”

I let my hands relax at my sides. Kyle is smiling softly at me from his seat across the room. “Deep breath,” he says.

I do, and it feels just as good as it does every day, like breathing out something heavy and toxic.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

I nod. “Better.”

“Tell me more,” he says, and I do.

I’ve learned to regard my emotions differently since I came here. They don’t terrify me the way they once did. It’s like a sieve has been opened inside me and I can let out every dark thought, every vulnerability, every fear and confession. There is no judgment, least of all from myself.

Of course, not every day is effortless. In the beginning, it felt as if I was just getting worse. Feeling and talking about the hardest, darkest parts of myself felt like falling down a dark hole I’d never climb out of again. But with time and treatment, I started to feel better—better than ever. And it’s going to be work for a long time. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly healed. Those ideations might always be there. But I can still live a full, happy life with the right care.

And that’s the thought that keeps me going every day. Through all the one-on-one therapy, the group therapy, the EMDR, the meditation, the tears, the rage, the pain, the loneliness, the regret…all of it. I just keep thinking of him.

Every night when I put my head on the pillow, I imagine the life Isaac and I could have. I picture our future. In my fantasy, we move into a new house. Somewhere he can enjoy some privacy on his time off. He’s wearing my ring on his finger and I’m wearing his on mine. I see us with a family of our own. Children we can pour all of our love into. A real legacy to leave behind.

I imagine him lying in the bed next to me. When I close my eyes before I sleep, I remember the feel of his skin against my lips. The taste of his kiss. The warmth of his body.

For the chance to live that life, I keep going every single day. Because I deserve that happiness. I deserve him .

At the halfway point of our treatment plan, the counselors suggest we have a family member visit. I couldn’t be less enthused about this part of the program. Just when I am starting to feel good and relaxed, I have to face the one person who threatens to tear it all down again. But as Kyle has reminded me a hundred times already, feelings need to be felt. Which is just a cruel and rude thing to say, honestly.

My mother is sitting at the small table alone in the middle of the garden when I emerge from my room to see her. She looks nervous, wringing the handle of her purse and bouncing her knee as she waits for me.

I feel like a jerk for making her be here and listen to things I have to say, but it’s not up to me to make her life painless. It’s only up to me to heal and part of that means making my mother aware of the pain she’s inadvertently caused.

“Oh, Jens,” she whispers when she sees me. “You look so good, honey.”

She stands from the table and pulls me in for a hug. I embrace her back with hesitation. I know that I look good on the outside to her. I’ve been running and working out every day. The treatment center has a pool that I do laps in every morning. I’ve shaved off my beard and I actually get sleep every night now, so yeah, I’m sure to her, I do look better.

It’s not a reflection of what I feel like on the inside.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I take a seat across from her and watch her fidget nervously. Avoiding awkward silence, she launches into small talk.

“I’ve been at your aunt Maureen’s since you came here. You should see her new house up in the hills. Vineyards for miles. It’s gorgeous. And your cousin just got married there.”

I give her a moment of rambling before I cut her off. “Mom.”

“I’m sure your father has already told you, but Gabby is dating someone new. I guess she brought him to bowling night, but I missed it.”

“Mom, please stop.”

I reach across the table and take her hands in mine. They’re shaking and she tries to pull them away, but I hold her in place.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Jensen,” she cries.

“You’re free to leave at any time,” I reply.

Her lips are pressed together, and I swallow my guilt for making her sad. But I need to say this—for as long as she’ll listen.

“I’m just afraid you’re going to tell me it was my fault.” Her voice quivers with emotion. “Your father seems to think it is.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

“You’re not?” Her brows rise with hope.

“No. That’s for you to work out on your own,” I reply, and her brows instantly drop back down.

“Then…what do you want to say?” There is so much fear in her eyes, and it breaks my heart.

“I want to tell you…” I drag in a long, slow breath, and after letting it out, I look at her steadily. “I’m gay.”

Her brows pinch inward. “I know that, Jensen.”

“I know you know that, but I could never tell you. And I needed to say it.”

“I don’t care that you’re?—”

I hold a hand up. “Mom, please just listen. Don’t talk for a moment. I just want you to hear me.”

She swallows and presses her lips together with indignation.

“When I was fifteen, I was signed up for a conversion program without anyone fully explaining to me what I was attending and with no consent from me, and I have spent my entire adult life feeling very resentful of that.”

“I—”

I hold up my hand to stop her again.

“I felt betrayed, Mom.”

She starts to cry, letting out a whimpering sob as she covers her eyes with her clenched hands. She can choose not to hear what I have to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. I need to say it.

“That program was wrong . Evil, even. It caused serious damage to my self-worth, my mental health, my faith, my confidence. My future. I was sexually and mentally abused there. I need you to hear that part. But I am working through all of that now. I’m healing from the harm they caused, and I am going to be okay.”

She sobs again.

“I knew it. I knew you were going to tell me this was my fault.”

My eyes sting. “I didn’t say that, Mom.”

“Yes, you did. You don’t understand, Jensen. I was just trying to protect you.”

I swallow and look down at my hands on the table. Kyle warned me it could be like this, that she would think only of herself, although I never once directed it at her. That’s her guilt talking. Not mine.

“I want you in my life, Mom,” I mumble without looking up.

She gives a little gasp. “Of course, I’ll be in your life, Jensen. I’m your mother .”

This is the hard part. The part that feels like a dull knife jabbed in my chest.

“I can’t have you in my life unless I know I have your support.”

She tsks, straightening her spine. “I’m doing my best.”

I look up at her as I continue. “I’m in love with Isaac. Eventually, I want to marry him. I would like your support.”

“What about your job?” she asks, and my shoulders fall in defeat. Hanging my head, I dig my fingers in my hair.

“I don’t care about my job, Mom. You’re not listening to me.”

“I am listening to you, Jensen. I’m listening to you tell me you are struggling. That your whole life has been a struggle and you want to just make it worse and worse. I’ll support you. Of course I’ll support you, but I can’t change who I am, either. You and your father seem to think this should be so easy for me, but neither of you understands how hard this is for me.”

The dull knife digs deeper and deeper as she continues.

“I can’t just change my beliefs overnight, Jensen. I was raised to believe that it’s a sin and excuse me for not wanting my son to go to hell. So, yes, I did try to help you. I didn’t want to change you, Jensen. I wanted to cure you. There is a difference.”

“I don’t need a cure, Mom. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

She huffs. “I can’t change my beliefs, Jensen. I won’t.”

I open my mouth to argue, but there’s no use. This conversation is going in circles, and I assume it always will unless I remove myself. There’s nothing in my power to change her response or beliefs. All I can do is walk away. And it hurts, probably more than anything has ever hurt before, but I have to do this.

“Okay, Mom,” I stammer quietly as I move to stand.

“Where are you going?” she cries.

“I’m saying goodbye,” I reply.

“Why? Because I’m upset? Because I want to defend myself? Am I not allowed to be sad?”

“Of course you are.” I open my arms for a hug from her. She’s reluctant, probably because she knows I’m offering her my last hug. After today, I will have no choice but to cut her out of my life—for my own good.

It’s not her fault she doesn’t get it, and I’m not even angry at her. I’m not mad that my mom can’t be the mom I need her to be. Just like me, she was brainwashed, too. She grew up in a world that fed her lies, but it’s not up to me to fix her.

It’s up to me to protect myself and the future I have planned.

“Goodbye, Mom,” I say, my voice shaking with emotion.

She whimpers with a cry as she stands up. “I only wanted you to be happy.”

I pull her into my arms, hugging her tight. “I will be happy. Don’t worry.”

As she cries against my chest, it’s like a weight has been lifted. This was probably the hardest conversation I’ve ever had to have, but I had it. It’s over. It’s not the outcome I wanted, but it’s the one that will give me the most peace.

I hope it’s not forever. I hope my mother learns to grow and change and is someday ready to accept me the way I am. I want that vision of Isaac and me in our home with our children to involve my mother, being the grandmother I know she wants to be. I hate that she’s depriving herself of a relationship with me.

But with every hard decision I make, I’m one step closer to him.

One step closer to us.