Page 113 of Fumbled Into Love

Same Boat – Lizzy McAlpine

Deon

The plain beige walls, peppered with abstract art, begin to close around me as I fiddle with one of the fidget toys Nathalie bought me. Sharon—my new therapist—glances at the movement.

“That’s a tough thing to realize,” Sharon says, sitting in the large armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

The bright-colored clothing and quirky glasses give off a comforting, eclectic energy, but Sharon is a serious woman when it comes to unpacking my trauma.

The trauma I realized I carried thanks to Nathalie.

Since the night at her house with our friends, bone-deep fear has gripped my chest. I want it to be real. I want her and Gordie. I want quiet nights at home and date nights at a taco truck. I want to greet her after my games and spend the off-season creating memories.

I’m in love with Nathalie, and more than anything, I want to be brave enough to tell her. But every time I imagine telling her how I feel, my stomach cramps, my head spins, and breathing becomes impossible.

I had been tossing up the idea of therapy since Declan talks so highly about its impacts. He also sings Sharon’s praises, and knowing he trusts her helped me make my decision.

His success working through his past played a part in my choice, but ultimately, it came down to that stupid, highly addicting dating show Nathalie and I watch together.

Each one of those contestants had a tragic backstory. There were tales of betrayal, of lost parents, of battles with their health, but not one of them threw in the towel and decided they were never going to date again.

They didn’t pack up the puzzle and put it away in the closet to collect dust.

That’s when I realized perhaps it wasn’t a logical decision but one based on trauma.

Which led me to book my first session with Sharon, and that was, by far, the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done.

The first few sessions were surface-level, but something shifted today, and Sharon came prepped with some pointed questions.

I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes of the session trauma dumping on Sharon, telling her about Savannah and Nathalie until I was in tears and she was extending a box of tissues.

All I want is to curl up in bed and hold Nathalie until the thoughts in my mind settle—until I can breathe again, knowing I spent years of my life in a traumatic relationship and I had no idea.

Sharon kindly pointed out that walking on eggshells around someone you love is not normal, and feeling uncomfortable expressing your emotions and thoughts is a sign of an unhealthy relationship.

Kinda wish I had someone like Sharon years ago when I needed her most.

“I don’t know how to fix myself,” I admit.

I can’t escape the thoughts and self-doubts and questions of my worthiness to be what Nathalie needs if I confess to her how I feel.

“Why do you feel there’s anything you need to fix?” Sharon’s head tilts, and I squirm. “Has Nathalie made you feel like you needed to change anything about yourself?”

“No,” I say quickly. Nathalie has allowed me to believe I might be worthy of love, which is why I’m paying Sharon an exorbitant amount of money to sit on her couch. “She doesn’t deserve to deal with my baggage,” I say.

Nathalie deserves more than someone who finds it hard to trust others and can’t tell her he loves her because he’s terrified once he does, she’ll hold all the power to hurt him.

Logically, I know she would never do that, but I can’t escape those thoughts.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what you’ve told me, Nathalie is far different from Savannah.”

“She is.”

“And you trust her?”

I nod. More than I trust anyone else in the world.

“So maybe it’s time to trustyourself,Deon. If you’re safe with her—if you trust her—there’s a reason for that."

---