Reconnecting with earliest memories leads to shift in relationships

I have 5 or 6 relationships in my life which are relevant on a mostly daily basis: God, therapist, son 1, son 2 and new found friend of 2 months. These are the people that matter, have influence and that I feel connection with.

Since the last couple weeks discovery of earliest sexual abuse memories, all these relationships have shifted.

First, I noticed that when I called God's name, which I do on a frequently weekly time-frame, I could not feel that he was near or that I was connecting. It felt like God had disappeared or at least retreated to a considerable and imperceptible distance away from me. Surprising and unexpected for sure. 

At about the same time, I realized that if I never saw therapist ever again, I'd be good with that. It didn't matter one way or the other if I ever returned to therapy. It is a deep feeling, a knowing, a new nonchalantness that I hadn't had before. It wasn't personal. I didn't suddenly not like her. I just suddenly did not need her as much as before. My world had revolved around therapy. Now, it was an adjunct, an extra, not a requirement. 

The friendship is still fresh and new since the holidays. Maybe three months at most. My first friendship in seven years. It's important. I look forward to it. It's a new avenue that only recently opened up. A new place to walk and explore. I have room now to try a relationship like this.

My feelings regarding my sons feels more concrete, reasonable and stronger, easier. I feel even more connected to them than previously.

Revealing long-held memories of childhood sexual abuse produces growth and great change.

I write so I can follow and note all of this evershifting healing.

What it was like being sexually molested as a small small child

I remember my earliest visions of my father naked standing along the bed that I was put on. There was a towel underneath me. My clothing had all been removed. A light blanket covered me loosely.

Dad called his stick like thing "Woody". Then he proceeded to rub woody harshly against me.

It was physical pain confined to one area of my body. Enough to make me split, leave my body. 

It felt like I was right in front of a massive horn, like on a big ocean liner, and someone pulled the chain and this immense horn, two or three times bigger than me, blasted constant loud so. So loud, not stopping, like a huge, round wall stabbing against me, that I could not stay in my body even if I wanted to. Blown away by the pain, immense pain.

My dad on top of me. Why I was not smothered to death? In some ways, dad was careful to not injury enough to get caught.

His body warm, hairy, moving, blocking out the light. In a kind of dad flesh darkness. He made sounds.

I didn't know. Just felt the physical hurt was aware of.

And then, the other little me off to the left, once dad was off and left for the washcloths. 

Left was there. We hold hands. She make it okay. Even with that much hurt, it okay because left was there for me.

Being an infant, a toddler and getting sexually assaulted is immensely physically painful.

Pain is a Catalyst