My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

I admitted I checked the locks three times a night.

I admitted I hated the sound of footsteps on a staircase.

I admitted that when my father lifted his voice to call me for dinner, my body reacted before my mind recognized him.

She did not label me weak.

She taught me a simple grounding exercise and encouraged me to tell my physician when symptoms interfered with daily life.

After the session, I sat in the parked car for ten minutes breathing slowly.

My body had become a place I distrusted.