abusive wankers. That some of them are just nice and hopeless. Does that help?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She stops, wipes the sweat off her forehead, and pats me. ‘I really feel for you,’ she says. ‘You’re only just starting to see a counsellor for this. I’m a few years ahead of you in recovery, and I remember your stage so well. It’s all still so raw, and you’re still questioning everything, and you don’t trust any of your instincts. It’s exhausting!’
I well up a little.
It is. So. Very. Exhausting.
She pulls me in for a sweaty hug. ‘It does get better,’ she promises. ‘In time, you’ll learn to trust yourself again. And that’s the only person it’s important to trust. But it gets worse before it gets better. At least you’re getting it out.’
I nod. I do feel some poison leaking out. I do feel like there’s a little bit less than there was. But I also feel totally overwhelmed by how much there still is, and how long it will take to drain, and whether it ever will, and how much of my life I’m going to mess up in the meantime.
‘It will get better,’ she repeats, before releasing me.
Gillian turns the music off and claps her hands. She gleams with sweat. The air in here must be at least thirty degrees. My own sweat keeps dripping into my eyes. ‘Good work, ladies,’ she says. ‘Now, before we cool down, I think it’s time for an “It’s Not Your Fault” circle.’
I send a questioning look to Charlotte who grins reassuringly. ‘Just wait. It’s actually exactly what you need.’
‘If you could put your balls back in the basket, and sit in a circle. Oldies, show the newbies.’
There’s only one other new girl, Hannah, a short brunette who turned up last week and hasn’t spoken to anyone yet. Our eyes find one another as we’re singled out as the new kids. I manage a smile, plop my ball back, and join the circle forming on the ground. A mist of contentment seems to rise off it. All of us filled with exercise endorphins and the relaxed energy of being around people you don’t have to try with. I cross my legs beneath me and sit next to Hazel who smiles too.
‘What’s this about?’
‘Just wait.’
Gillian sits down in a perfect lotus, completing the circle. ‘Everyone comfy?’ she asks. ‘And can everyone hear over the fans?’ We all nod. ‘Great. Now, most of you know the deal here, but for those of you who don’t, here’s all there is to it. We are going to close our eyes and take some deep breaths as a group. Then we’re going to sit in silence. If you feel moved to speak, speak. Say the things you need to say. I want you to get in touch with your pain, and really sit with it. I know it’s hard, but you’re safe here, and we’re all here with you.’ She pauses. ‘And, if someone else is speaking, know that what they say applies to you, too. We’re all in this together. Feel every word, know that it’s true, and know that you deserve to hear it.’ Nobody’s acting like this is strange, even though I have to say it sounds a bit strange.
Gillian jumps up and turns some quiet meditative music on, the sort you shavasana to at the end of a yoga class, then she sits back down again. ‘Right everyone, close your eyes.’ I watch everyone close theirs without complaint before I do so myself. My eyelids lower, the universe goes dark. ‘OK, now I want you all to take three deep breaths. Breathe in …’ There’s a whistling noise as we all suck in oxygen. ‘And out … And in … and out. And in … and out.’ My ribcage inflates and softens. My shoulders drop slightly. ‘Now, this may feel hard, but I want you just to quickly think about what brought you to this class …’
The white wall. White wall. Hurt. Pain. Shame. Too numb to move. Blame. No. Please. Don’t. I can’t believe this has happened to me. My eyes begin to prickle, even with them closed.
‘Now, locate where it hurts. Do a scan, find the part of your body that holds this pain.’ I don’t even have to scan. I locate it right in my guts. It’s like my small intestine is made of cast iron. Wow. I’ve never noticed it before.
‘What shape is the pain? Can you find the edges of