8.8.25 ▪️ Lytham St Annes, UK
If these group sessions weren't mandatory, Violet wouldn't be here.
And while attending was mandatory as a part of this rehab program, sharing was voluntary. The most she had been willing to offer since she had been coming to these was her name and then maybe an acknowledgement that she was at least listening to those who felt the need to talk about their shit.
She hadn't quite gotten there. The idea of talking about the worst, most painful parts of your life with strangers who couldn't care less, felt like a different type of hell. She was already miserable as is, why make it worse upon herself?
There was a new girl joining the session today ... and she couldn't have been older than 18, if that. She was small, skinny, and frail, skin and muscle clinging to every sharply pointed joint on her body. It reminded Violet of how she must have looked at the height of her own problems and having it so starkly reflected back at her made her uncomfortable.
Violet remembered how self-conscious she was, how disgusted she found herself with her own body at that time. She had always been thin, that was something she was often teased for in school, but at that point? It was a whole new beast, starting with the first day she was able to visibly see the ribs in her midsection.
She extended an internal empathy by proxy to the newer girl sitting in front of her where they were gathered in a circle, thumbs drumming nervously at the cover of her journal. While Violet wasn't keen on sharing her thoughts outloud, she certainly had been journaling every day since she had been here, enough to nearly have a novel at this point.
Violet guessed that the newer girl was experiencing her own level of self-consciousness and wouldn't be keen on sharing, until the next moment she was proven so, so wrong.
The girl introduced herself. Her name was Tara. She was from Wales. She grew up as a competitive ballerina, with a mother who was overbearing and expectant.
And she just ... kept talking. Her first time in the circle and the bravery she was displaying was astounding to Violet, who had been here well over a month by this point.
Tara continued. She said that her mother would tie competitive results and time spent training to her affection. The more she won, the more she was showered with praise. But when she didn't? It felt like nothing she did mattered. So, to push the boundaries of how much she could train, how much she could prepare, she started with stimulant energy pills. Those worked well, until they didn't...and then she turned to more dangerous uppers. At that point, she was so far gone on the uppers that she was no longer having a regular, natural sleep schedule. Uppers to function, downers to get some sleep. Rinse and repeat.
It wasn't until she dropped nearly dead on stage at the ballet in Paris that her mother decided to finally do something about this habit. But Tara wasn't done.
It wasn't even like her story was terribly riveting but it was her fearlessness, her willingness to speak her truth, that was inspiring to Violet. She was refusing to be a victim, despite the hand she was dealt.
Then finally, when it came to a halt, the group was asked for their thoughts. Violet, albeit tentatively, raised her hand. She could see the perk in both the ears and ears of the group leader, knowing this was unprecedented at this point.
"I, um..." Violet began, her fingers continuing to nervously drum at her journal. "...I wrote something kind of similar to that. To what Tara was talking about, I mean. Not to compare things, of course. I usually find that I can express ... whatever is going on in my mind better in writings than taking about it. And because I feel like I don't express myself well ... or how I intend, I don't think it's worth saying anything at all."
Immediately, as she waited for her first words to land, the rejection she expected didn't come at all. Just polite silence and nodding from the group for her to continue, if she wished.
"So, um... I thought this would maybe be a start. I wrote this inspired by the first ... and last time my mum came to visit me here. Hopefully it makes sense to you all." Her words certainly didn't have the conviction as Tara's did, finding a bit of a wobble in her uneasiness.
Opening up to her journal, she skimmed pages to the night her mum had indeed visited, written after the elder woman had left. Clearing her throat, she began.
"July 17th, 2025. The thing that I've always reckoned with is the fact that throughout my life, even to this day, my mother is not a mean, cruel or cold woman. You will always see her looking on the bright side of things, bringing forth a positivity that's hard to ignore and one she freely shares with all of her loved ones. She's been through so much herself and still remains a steadfast pillar of our family. I see no issue with being caring and considerate and outwardly loving, that's great. I don't know when it shifted for me but there was a point where I stopped believing it was JUST that ... and starting hearing it with an asterisk attached. Like, I was treated with all of that but the second I questioned something or didn't meet her expectations, it was like I went from someone to love, to someone to fix. I always needed to be fixed somehow and it was always mentioned because she cared. But eventually, no matter how sweetly or kindly or considerately you tell someone something, if you keep bringing up things that need to be fixed, that person is going to believe that there's always something wrong with them. That person is going to have a hard time believing they're enough, as is. Most damagingly, that person is going to grow up with a code of values that places their worth not within themselves but in the validation of others. That doesn't change that damage because you said it sweetly."
The time in between her last words and the words of another person chiming in felt like a lifetime in itself - yet again, the words that followed weren't ones that she said she wasn't good enough or that these concerns weren't valid. In fact, the opposite.
"That was ... really beautifully said." came the words of encouragement from the group leader, followed by more from her fellow group mates. all words that echoed the same sentiment: 'We hear you'.
And for once, maybe there was an inkling of belief that what she had to say mattered ... that she mattered.
