The Stubborn Twelve-Year-Old

Left/Right Writing (after failed anger work, this morning.)

What are you thinking and feeling?

Twelve-year-old:
Sad sad sad
Alone
Unsafe
I don’t want to hurt you.
I don’t want to hurt.
I am not ok.

I know. Me either.
I don’t want to take it and hold it and handle it all the time. I want it to all go away and let me live my life.

Twelve-year-old:
I’m sorry.

No! Not you. You need to stay. You need to feel it so we can be done with it all.

Twelve-year-old:
Are you sure that works?

No. They tell me it does. We’ve tried everything else, though. Why not this?

Twelve-year-old:
We tried crying before.

Yes, but we weren’t safe, then. Now we are.
I can keep us safe.
I will keep us safe.
I know I can
I promise I will.

Twelve-year-old:
I don’t know how to cry and I am NOT a crybaby.

No. You're not a crybaby. You're strong. Really strong. You can take so much… but you don’t have to. It’s time to let it go.

Twelve-year-old:
(long pause) I’m strong.

Yes! You are!

Twelve-year-old:
Then I don’t need to cry.

It's very frustrating. I am exhausted. I don't know what else to say to her... to myself... is it true that crying is... necessary?
Does it get better then?
Because I can take a lot. Really. A LOT.
I just don't want to take it anymore.