Apprehension.

I am a coward. What stops me from speaking out? When I was 17 my friend was groomed by her English teacher. 

When she phoned me from the English teacher's house, she had found his photos, lots of photos in a draw. He liked to shave his most precious students, and keep the pictures. My friend had refused. He had left the house, perhaps to buy shaving foam and more razors!

I drove to his house and took her out of there.

After she finished her A levels, she went to university, and they lived together... until she ran away from him!

And life is complicated...nice if things were black/ white, good/bad.

But the point is, I knew about that draw full of photos. And I've no doubt he continued grooming, in the most literal sense. The point is, I didn't go to the police. I didn't go because my friend didn't want me to. And I didn't want to open the door to places she wouldn't want to go. The police station, the court. It would affect her education. Her life was hard enough anyway.

And nor did I want to get involved. 

I saw them together. 

I never said a word, he didn't know that I knew.

And I knew that he would keep on doing it.

Last time I searched, he was still describing himself as an 'expert in teaching emotionally vulnerable girls'. 

Working as a private tutor.

That word, vulnerable..

I didn't do anything.

That friendship ended last year after fifty years, because I discovered that she hadn't told me something truly life changing, and relevant to the present.

Not deception, but a withholding of truth.

Same as my husband's withholding of truth when I asked him what is happening... Same as Kit's withholding of open honesty.

I blame others for not doing anything, whilst not doing anything!

So in this blog I have been open and honest about myself. I've dragged Kit's words into the public arena. I've downloaded the complaint procedure from his professional ethical body.

I've named him, to a therapist friend, and spoken about what happened. That was a big step.

But a part of me is seeing myself as just having a tantrum, part of me is saying that he is an excellent therapist, and surely I imagined the minor transgressions? He couldn't have called me a minx just as I was reliving the feeling of shock when my husband first showed his cold, cruel anger?

And no, I don't have a recording of that. But that experience made me think that perhaps I should start recording...

The negative voice goes on. 

I tell myself that Kit was right to be disparaging about my ability to write, to hold a coherent and intelligent conversation, and that his psychodynamic policy of sidestepping his human authenticity - was all beneficial. My fault for not engaging correctly.

I tell myself it was all my fault that I left his room having to disconnect the desire to die, having survived another dose of what felt pretty much like gaslighting. 

My fault that it took me a year to fathom that his inability to engage with my feelings was due to a previous incident he experienced involving his professional ethical body...

Surely I can see beyond my apprehension, and go beyond beating myself up, and bloody do something this time!