In 1985, after weeks of intensive training, I started volunteering at the Los Angeles Rape Hotline (taking calls, accompanying victims to court, etc). After about a year on the job, it started getting to me. Every time a call came in I felt like the victim’s voice (telling me yet another horror) went through my ear, down to my gut and began churning up razor blades. I would get physically sick and could barely continue listening much less stay focused for an appropriate response. During the same period I was meeting with a diverse group of Christian women who gathered to explore the Divine Feminine in our lives. As we stood in a circle and I told them what was going on with me, a huge wave of emotion hit, my knees gave way and I was in a heap on the floor. An African-American woman sat down beside me, scooped me up onto her lap and started rocking me while the rest of the women prayed, swayed and sang around us. After the wave of emotion passed, she whispered, “Honey, you aren’t crying for those rape hotline clients of yours. Something happened to you.” Of course I didn’t believe her. […]
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