Some days I miss my bunnies

Some days I miss my bunnies. When I was a child, I had a tall dresser with two small drawers and three large drawers. There were three adorable bunnies on the three large drawers. My sister and I used to jump off the dresser onto our beds (our hand-me-down beds, that didn’t have box-springs, rather a mattress made of springs that worked well as a trampoline…) until, inevitably, we would jump just wrong and the spring mattress and mattress would fall through the frame. Oops, dad loved that. (She says sarcastically.) Sigh, I loved those bunnies. In fact, when I moved back home from college and then back from Florida, I still used that dresser. (Part of that was just convenience, but, let’s face it, I loved those bunnies.) My family often poked fun at my dresser. I didn’t care, I would joke that they were my only friends. Wah wah, not at all true. But in the context of child abuse, it would make sense to hold onto something that was symbolic of my innocence. It was not until this past year, 16 years after I made certain he would never touch me again, was I ready to let those bunnies go. (Ok, so, they only made it into the next room, at least I’m not using it anymore. Baby steps.) I took another dresser, refinished it, it looks all grown up and it is awesome. I love it. The day I took the bunnies out of my room and brought the new “adult worthy” dresser into my room, I felt a shift. Like I had taken a huge step forward in letting go of the bunnies; realizing, I didn’t have to be stuck. I was holding on so tight to everything that happened in my childhood that it was holding me back. I couldn’t move forward…with a dresser with bunnies on it. Slowly, I’m noticing why I hold onto things, tokens, pictures, memories. My family is often amazed at the little details I remember from childhood, things I’ve held onto so tightly all these years. Remembering all those little details, all those little bunnies, leaves little room for the dark and not-so-adorable creatures of my childhood sexual abuse.

While I recognize the need to loosen my grip and feel safe enough to let those frightening memories come forward, it is incredibly difficult, and I try to let them through little by little. I also try to not lose my grip on all those adorable bunnies entirely. Despite the abuse, I had a great childhood. I was very blessed. I grew up in a loving, Christian family. We lived in a neighborhood full of kids our age. We went to a great parochial grade school. We never lacked anything we truly needed. Not everyone is so blessed.

My bunnies helped me survive. They protected me mentally until I was strong enough to face those other creatures from my childhood. Some may think it is silly, some might judge me for it and think it is ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m learning not to judge myself for the way I survived all by myself for well over 16 years. I did what I had to do…and the bunnies helped me do it.

Some days, I miss my bunnies. Some days, I think it would be easier to bring them back to chase the creatures away so I can go on surviving. My bunnies helped me survive, but they can’t help me live. I need to look those creepy creature memories in the eyes and say, I beat you, and you can’t hurt me anymore. I need to stop surviving, and start living. So, the bunnies will stay peacefully in the other room, having done their duty. Every now and then, I’ll look at them and say “well done bunnies, thank you, but I’ve got it from here.”