I wrote this text after the third date with my Dearest one. I was scared and felt way too vulnerable for comfort and I tried to capture that in both photo and text.

Escape - a story of hope and acceptance

I feel so vulnerable, she said. It was so nice yesterday and now I feel the urge to run away. Protect myself. I want more, but I also want to escape.

He held out his hand to her and when she took it he gently pulled her down onto his lap and into his arms. He held her so tightly that she felt he wanted her there and so gently that at any moment she could get up and leave.

He stroked her hair. Small talked about harmless things until her body relaxed and fell softly against his.

Are you going to run away or are you going to stay in this with me?, he asked. His voice was calm. Mild. Tender. There was no judgement there.

She felt the courage in his words and what he was risking by asking. She wasn't the only one risking something here.

She turned to him. Looked into his eyes. Put her cheek against his neck and inhaled him.

I will stay, she replied. If my uncle could pull my baby teeth with pliers the moment they started coming loose and I could stay in that as a seven-year-old, then I can stay in this.

He laughed and pulled her even closer.

.............

Are you met in a way that makes you feel seen, accepted and safe?

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The Original text, in Norwegian:

Flukt - en historie om håp og aksept

Jeg føler meg så sårbar, sa hun. Det var så fint i går og nå føler jeg sånn trang til å stikke av. Beskytte meg selv. Jeg vil ha mer, men jeg vil også flykte.

Han rakte henne hånden sin og da hun tok den dro han henne mildt ned på fanget sitt og inn i armene sine. Han holdt henne så fast at hun kjente at han ville ha henne der og så mildt at hun når som helst kunne reise seg og gå.

Han strøk henne over håret. Småpratet om ufarlige ting til kroppen hennes slappet av og lot seg falle mykt inn mot hans.

Skal du stikke eller skal du stå i det?, spurte han. Stemmen var rolig. Mild. Øm. Det var ingen fordømmelse der.

Hun kjente på motet i ordene hans og hva han risikerte ved å spørre. Hun var ikke den eneste som risikerte noe her.

Hun snudde seg mot ham. Så ham inn i øynene. La kinnet inn mot halsen hans og snuste ham inn.

Jeg skal stå i det, svarte hun. Hvis onkel kunne trekke melketennene mine med tang i det øyeblikket de begynte å løsne og jeg kunne stå i det som sjuåring, da kan jeg stå i det her.

Han lo og trakk henne enda nærmere.

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Blir du møtt på en måte som gjør at du føler deg sett, akseptert og trygg?