“I would never think badly of you, Gina.”
“You want the truth, then?”
“Yes, I want the truth. The only way we can work through this and get to your healing is if you’re honest with me. I won’t be able to help you otherwise.”
She looked down, not meeting my gaze. “At first…I liked it. It made me feel…special.”
“Why did it make you feel special?”
“Someone was paying attention to me.”
“Hadn’t anyone paid attention to you before?”
She blew out a breath in a whistle, Gina’s version of a sigh. “I didn’t have any brothers and sisters, and I didn’t have very many friends. I was really
shy and never made friends easily. My mom and dad both worked. I think they were more interested in their college students than they were in me.”
“Did you ever sit in your mother’s lap? Or your father’s?”
“Very rarely. They weren’t very affectionate to me. Or to each other for that matter.”
My heart went out to the young girl. Children needed affection. If they didn’t get it from their parents, they would go looking for it elsewhere—sometimes a teacher, a friend’s parent, a coach. Gina had gone to her uncle.
“Some people just aren’t as affectionate as others,” I said. Not that I excused her parents’ lack of affection toward her. I wasn’t quite ready to voice that thought, though. We’d only had a few sessions.
“I know I must sound like a needy little kid,” Gina said, shaking her head.
“All children want affection,” I said. “There’s no reason for you to feel like you were any needier than anyone else.”
“I look back…” She closed her eyes, shuddering. “I can’t believe I actually liked it in the beginning.”
“Gina, you’re not alone. You’re not the first child yearning for affection who got taken advantage of by an adult you trusted. It’s more common than you know, and though I don’t expect that fact to offer you any solace, perhaps it will make you feel a little better just to know that you’re not alone.”
She opened her eyes, tears emerging. “I wish, Dr. Carmichael. I wish it did make me feel better.”
“Believe me, it’s okay that it doesn’t. So you said you liked sitting on your uncle’s lap at first.”
She nodded.
“What was his name? What did you call him?”
“I called him Tio.”
“Why did he want you to call him that?
“I don’t know.”
“It’s Spanish for uncle. Was your uncle Spanish?”
“No. He was my mother’s brother. They were both born here.”
“All right. What did you do while you sat in his lap?” I cringed inwardly, knowing what horrors might come tumbling out of her mouth.
“He read me fairy tales.”
“Oh? And did you like those stories?”
“I did…until…”