In passing. At the store. We were in the same aisle, and I said hi. I wasn’t sure why at first. There was a part of me that wanted to keep my eyes down and hope he didn’t see me. But I didn’t. I stopped him, we talked briefly. It was awkward. But I wasn’t scared.
Five years ago I would have been afraid of him. Afraid of his judgment and condemnation. I would have been sick imagining what he was thinking of me, what he was remembering from those closed door meetings where I had to confess my sexual sins and answer his questions, tell him I’d failed again, I’d fucked myself again. He was the one man who held my worthiness in his hands. No other person in my life has made me feel more depraved and pathetic and repulsive and evil as he did. And now five years later I can ask him how his kids are without hesitation.
He’s just a man. He doesn’t have God’s ear, he doesn’t have authority. He doesn’t have any power over me anymore. I’m done with all that.