If I had the widsom I have today when I was in my twenties, my life would have taken different paths. It took me years to look for the story before the story.
Before I was married to my first husband, he took me on an overnight rendezvous. I was 17 years old and was honestly filled with excitement. The first stop took us to a large motel. He left me in the car while he made the arrangements for the room.
My legs began to hurt.
He came back to the car and explained that we would be going out to dinner and then coming back to the room.
My legs throbbed in pain.
We had a nice dinner out. The Mexican restaurant was cool and I felt seen and heard – even romanced.
My legs were increasingly becoming numb.
After dinner we stopped at a convenience story for champagne and bubble bath. He explained that the room had a whirlpool tub and we’d be sharing a bath together while imbibing on bubbles. It sounded so romantic.
We pulled up to the motel and it was time to go inside.
My legs were immobilized. I could not walk.
He politely came to my side of the car, opened the door, and carried me to our room. I was so incredibly embarrassed. I didn’t know what has happening to me. I did know that when my legs hurt like this a hot bath would help.
He helped me into the bath he had drawn. When he started the jets the bubbles streamed over the top of the tub and filled the room. We laughed, shared the champagne and my legs returned to normal.
The story behind that story.
When I was three I witnessed a murder in a motel room. We placed that woman in the bathtub. I had never discussed that memory with anyone. It had been buried within the tombs of dissociation but my body had kept the score.
What story behind the story should you be looking for?
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