Within an hour of meeting me, he was holding my hand. What kind of man does that? We met at a conference; later he would call me a colleague. What kind of man takes the hand of a colleague he’s just met at a conference?
What kind of woman accepts it?
A woman who is very much alone and in a great deal of pain.
What kind of man takes the hand of a woman who is alone and in pain?
What if the man is a psychotherapist and the conference is about therapy and the woman has been a patient?
What kind of therapist holds a stranger’s hand, when all he knows about her is her pain?
A year later, when I was trying to get him to look at boundaries, I asked him about this. Would he hold a colleague’s hand? A friend’s? A patient’s? Yes, he said, probably, maybe. I was trying to get him to examine boundaries, and letting him use himself as the standard of what’s proper. More the fool, me.
Every morning I wake up, he is the first thing on my mind. I assume that I have been dreaming about him.
The allegation has been made that he has sexually abused at least four women. Gone beyond hand-holding? Kissing? Intercourse? Seduction or rape? I woke up in the middle of the night dreaming, not that he had “sexually abused” women—whatever that means—but that he had murdered them. In the morning, I woke up dreaming that he’d asked me to marry him and I had ecstatically accepted.
The man has totally fucked with my mind and heart.