Poseidon Encounter Support Group

Pasiphaë tried not to stare at Medusa, but the green scales and snakes for hair drew her eye. She looked away purposefully, surveying the other women in the poorly-lit community center room.

Hecuba handed Persiphaë a hot paper cup.

"I really don't know if I belong here," Pasiphaë whispered. She sipped the coffee. "By Hera's hands, this is good!"

Hecuba chuckled. "We may be stuck in this Asphodel hole-in-the-wall, but we have the best coffee Hades has to offer. And trust me: you belong here." Then she said to the greater group: "I think it's about that time."

All seven women took their seats, facing each other in a wide circle.

Hecuba led with, "Thank you all for coming back today. And thank you, Pasiphaë and Tyro, for joining us. We typically ask our newcomers to make sure they share on their first day, but there is no pressure at all to go first. Does anyone feel up to starting?"

"I will," Medusa answered with an air of annoyance. "No, looking at me will not transform you into a statue. We can make eye contact safely." She sipped her coffee.

Hecuba prompted, "And how are you doing today?"

Medusa leaned back in her chair and placed one leg over the other. "I'm frustrated. With myself, I guess, for assuming Tyro and Pasiphaë would believe the worst of me." She paused. "I suppose that's part of why we're all here, right? It isn't just that Poseidon terrorized us. It's that Poseidon terrorizing us became such a big part of our identities. No bards sing of Medusa, Priestess of Athena, who wove blankets for houseless people in Serifos. They just gossip about Medusa, victim of Poseidon and villain slain by Perseus." She placed both feet on the ground and leaned forward, her hair snakes wriggling with agitation. "Or worse. They don't even acknowledge me as a victim. They say Poseidon and I 'had intercourse' or 'mated.'"

"It's invalidating," a woman in a pink robe added supportively.

Pasiphaë felt a tight lump in her throat. She drank more coffee and tried to stay calm.

"It happened to me, too," Tyro said, staring at the floor in the middle of the circle. "I was in love with the god of the Enipeus River. He had the most beautiful singing voice. When I saw him come into my home, I felt elated. He held me. He said he needed me. After three rounds of lovemaking…" Tears slipped down Tyro's cheeks. "It wasn't Enipeus. It was Poseidon in disguise. He laughed and insisted I 'liked it.'"

"That isn't how consent works!" the woman to Hecuba's left said.

Medusa stood. She handed out clean, finely woven linen handkerchiefs to everyone on the group.

"Thank you," Tyro said, dabbing her eyes. "It's like you said, Medusa. If people ever mention me, it is as Tyro, who bore two sons to Poseidon."

"Awful!" the pink-robed woman said.

"It's not fair!" agreed the woman to Hecuba's left. "Gods, kings, and so-called 'heroes' use and abuse us, and then who lives in shame? Us." She paused. "Hello, newcomers. I am Princess Andromache of Thebe Hypoplakia, Queen of Epirus, Princess of Ilium." She shrugged and added, "Better known as 'Hector's wife.'"

Hecuba said, "Andromache, I'd like to compliment you on how you introduced yourself. We can't control how other people talk about us, but we can control how we talk about ourselves. That's got an impact on our personal narratives."

Pasiphaë involuntarily scoffed.

"I may have touched a nerve there," Hecuba noted. "Pasiphaë, would you be willing to share?"

A nervous laugh escaped Pasiphaë's lips. She caught herself and took a deep, slow breath, attempting to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of this stuff. You've all been through terrible things and you deserve so much better."

She had hoped that would suffice. Hecuba and the others waited.

"I am Pasiphaë of Colchis, Queen of Crete… better known as 'the mother of Asterion, the Minotaur.'"

"Oh my," Andromache said.

Pasiphaë nodded. "My husband, Minos, reneged on a promise to Poseidon. So the God of the Sea took out his anger on me. With a bull."

"Athena's loom," Medusa swore. "A bull." She looked towards the woman in the pink robe, whose cheeks reddened.

Hecuba said gently, "Pasiphaë, do you want to expand a bit about your personal narrative?"

Pasiphaë sighed. "Well. The wise and mighty King Minos blamed me for 'the infidelity.' My life became a series of challenges to 'win back his trust.' I wasn't allowed near any men or male animals. I had to wait on Minos in place of his body servant. Every day, I had to listen to his opinion about me and 'my choices.' That brief torture inflicted upon me by an angry and powerful god turned into my entire existence."

"Minos better be in Tartarus right now," Andromache said. "I hope he is in constant, searing pain."

Tyro asked, "Do you blame yourself?"

Pasiphaë dabbed more tears. "I understand logically that it wasn't my fault. But, I still feel like it was."

"Internalized victim-blaming is very common," Hecuba said.

"I'm the same way," Tyro said.

"Me, too," Medusa agreed.

"My guess is that none of you would be as hard on the others, as you are on yourselves," Hecuba said. "It's hard for us to practice self-compassion."

There was a general murmur of agreement before the conversation fell flat.

Hecuba said, "Aethra, you've been quiet today. Arne, I hear you chiming in support, but you haven't opened up yet. Do either of you care to check in?"

"It's awkward," the woman to Hecuba's right blurted.

"You could start by introducing yourself to Tyro and Pasiphaë," Hecuba suggested.

"Princess Aethra of Troezen, Queen of Athens," she said. "My thing was kind of like a Tyro situation. Poseidon took the form of my husband. One thing led to another, and my resulting demigod son Theseus wound up in Crete…" Aethra let her words linger in the air. She glanced at Pasiphaë, then away.

Pasiphaë nodded. "Do you feel awkward because your son killed mine?"

"Well. Yeah," Aethra answered. "A lifetime of state dinners, balls, general politicking… and I have no clue what the etiquette is here. Do I say, 'My warmest sympathies for your loss?' Or like, 'Sorry I spawned a killer; I didn't mean to?'"

Pasiphaë nervously laughed again. "Asterion ate every criminal in Crete. Most of Minos' political rivals, too. Theseus did what I wanted to do from the moment that monster erupted out of my body." Her laughter grew louder and less controlled. "Minos didn't let me! I don't know why I'm laughing! It's really not funny! I just!"

"I understand your laughter," Arne in the pink robe said calmly. "It's a normal, healthy response to a situation that seems too outlandish to be real."

"Sometimes you have to laugh, to stay sane," Medusa agreed.

Andromache added, "There are no wrong answers. Laugh. Cry. Sing. Go on a stabbing spree."

"Andromache," Hecuba scolded.

"Joking!" Andromache said.

Pasiphaë slowly regained composure. "I hope it can feel less awkward soon, Aethra. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you," Aethra repeated.

After a moment, Hecuba asked, "How is it going with you today, Arne?"

Arne hesitated. "Can I pass?"

"You can," Hecuba said. "Your comfort level is important. We don't want you to do more harm to yourself than good."

Arne locked eyes with Pasiphaë.

"I suppose it isn't just about me," Arne said.

"You have every right to prioritize your own needs," Medusa insisted.

"I know," Arne said with a thoughtful air. "All right. Hello, Tyro and Pasiphaë. I am Arne of Aeolia, Queen of Icaria. When I was fourteen years old, my grandfather Poseidon took the shape of a bull and raped me."

Silence reigned.

Arne continued: "My father, Aeolus II, blamed me for it. He struck out my eyes and locked me, still alive, in the family tomb. Months passed. Alone, young, terrified; I gave birth to my two boys. I named one Boeotus and the other, Aeolus III, hoping my father would take good care of a namesake.

"He didn't.

"Father took my babies and left them to die of exposure. He underestimated demigods, though. My boys survived. When they grew up, they rescued me. They convinced their father-slash-great-grandfather to restore my vision.

"Honestly, the rest of my life turned out fine. I married a king. Wanted for nothing. Died of old age. I just…

"I never stopped having nightmares about Poseidon. I never forgave my father for punishing me. I lived a long life, and some of it was happy… but I never really healed."

Pasiphaë sobbed. She wasn't the only one.

"Oh, no," Arne said. "I'm so sorry."

"No," Pasiphaë insisted. "Thank you for opening up like that. I hate that you suffered so horribly. and that you still hurt. But, thank you. For helping me feel a little less alone."

Arne and Pasiphaë shared a tearful look.

Hecuba wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. "Arne. How are you doing after sharing all that?"

"I'm okay," Arne said. "It's heavy stuff. But. I'm okay."

Hecuba asked, "Pasiphaë, before our meeting, you expressed some concern that you didn't belong here. How are you feeling on that front?"

"Relieved," Pasiphaë answered. "I'm glad I met you all."

"Me, too," Tyro added.

The other women voiced their agreement.

"I'd like us to try to end on a positive note, if that's all right," Hecuba said. "If you feel up to it, I'd like you to share a happy memory from your life."

"The birth of my first son," Andromache answered. "Astionax. Hector and I were so in love, and we made the most beautiful baby."

Hecuba sniffed. Her lip quivered. "He was perfect in every way."

"I'm so glad he had you for a grandmother," Andromache told her.

"I'm proud to have you for a daughter-in-law," Hecuba replied. They hugged.

Pasiphaë's handkerchief was soaked through with tears at this point.

The others continued around the circle, listing happy memories: "my first lyre recital;" "my first Festival of Artemis;" "my pilgrimage to the temple of Athena in Athens;" "the day my sons rescued me."

Pasiphaë balked at her turn. "I don't know if this is appropriate," she said.

"If it's a memory that makes you happy, it's appropriate," Hecuba assured her.

"Well." Pasiphaë fiddled with her empty coffee cup. "The day Theseus killed Asterion…

"It's horrible. I don't want to be the kind of person who celebrates death. Especially not the death of my own offspring.

"But.

"When Theseus killed Asterion, I felt a huge weight lift off of my entire body. I was no longer the mother of a man-eating monster. My awful husband lost his power over me. I was free."

"That's valid," Arne said.

Aethra nodded. "Good. Good."

The door opened and a spider as tall as Pasiphaë stepped in. "Pardon me," she said. "Is this the Athena Encounter Support Group?"

"That's next," Medusa answered.

Hecuba checked her watch. "We have the room for five more minutes. We're wrapping up."

"Ah, thank you," the spider said. "I'll wait in the hall." She left.

Hecuba said, "Thanks again for coming and sharing, everyone. I saw some real emotional bravery here today, and it's honestly inspiring."

The women rose from their chairs, shook hands, and wished each other well. Pasiphaë decided to return next week.

On her way out, she passed the gigantic spider and a few men and women waiting in the hall. She wondered if every Olympian had traumatized enough people to merit meetings like this. It seemed plausible.