no, honey, it's not too much

C writes me a long letter, full of rage and frustration at the insensitivity of her tiny college's financial aid department. It's one of the most vulnerable things I've ever seen from her, or anyone locked up as tight as she is. I read through it, note that I'm not feeling guilty, note that I'm angry with her, frustrated with her, want to pull her in my arms and hold her while she feels it - but not to make it magically go away. It's a feeling of "let me be there with you" instead of "let me take you away." Something about this strikes me as dangerous - my instinct is always to rescue, not to empathize (isn't that what you're supposed to DO when you've got power?). But something about it strikes me as good, too.

At the bottom, she writes, "I feel a bit better now. Sorry if that was too intense." For some reason, this hurts more than the story. Part of me is indignant (I'm strong enough to handle any story!), part of me is sad/angry (You shouldn't have to apologize for writing a damn letter. damn gender training!), part of me wants to hold her more than anything and let her rant some more. No, honey, it's not too intense. Tell me whatever you need to say. Don't worry about me. You're the one with the hurt to deal with.

The difference between reading Davka or Davey and reading an angry letter from C is that Davey and Davka haven't chosen me to be their audience. And perhaps this is the difference: that I know C is ranting to me because she trusts me, not because she needs to get her hurt and story out to the universe at large. And perhaps this is what makes it so much easier to hear.