What the Harry Potter Reunion reminded me about myself and how it helped close the book on my healing journey...

When I was 8 years old, I was given Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in paperback. It sits on my bookcase to this day with worn cover and tattered pages, nestled safely between the shelf and the continuation of the series. Having no cable television in our singlewide trailer back then, we were often a few steps behind the trends of the decade and by the time I was introduced to the series, there were already 4 books and two movies to catch up on. The first book was finished in two days between chores and homework. A few days later, my mother took me into the back of the library in town to find a very much coveted copy of the movie, which we watched as a family the very same night. In the span of a week, it had happened.

I fell in love with Hogwarts.

By the time my 9th birthday came around, I had read the first 4 books, seen two movies and was about to start the 5th book. Later that summer, the 3rd movie was released and I entered into a steady rhythm of pre-ordering every book and going to see every movie at the theatre as they came out. In a sense, I grew I up with Harry Potter. I saw the actors grow up with me as the movies matured with their audiences. The books were my world to lose myself in.

And losing myself in something became a necessity over the next decade of my life.

When you're a 9 year old little girl, you have the world divided into two groups of people: Those you can trust and those you can't. For the most part life is easy and uncomplicated. You're not sure why adults get so worked up over things. And then it happens: that concrete vision of the world is shattered. For some people, it happens gradually. The universe dishes out life lessons in small chunks at the appropriate time and you pass on through to adulthood relatively unscathed. For others, the transition starts way earlier than it should and the ramifications of it linger far longer.

Back then, when that girl was nine years old, living in that small, single-wide aluminum trailer surrounded by fields and sunshine, the world was fresh, new and ready to be explored. That little adventurer had big dreams and hopes. And that's when abuse was brought into her life. It didn't come with shouting and anger. Or neglect and hunger. It came with family moving into their home; whispers, special touches and a secret not to be told to anyone.

Every encounter was like a fever dream. She didn't understand it at the time. It was confusing and made her feel yucky. But as she got older, and her understanding of the implications grew, she settled into a depression. She went through revolving stages of confusion, denial, anger and fear. Maybe there was something wrong with her and she had made it up? The only thing she was sure of was that no-one would believe her.

So she stumbled her way through the next decade of her life, convincing herself that it never happened only to have the realization hit her again and again. It made her reckless and unafraid of consequences. She made stupid choices in college and lied constantly to her parents. She was reckless with her safety and hated being at home. Nothing could be worse than the inner struggle she was dealing with.

But Harry Potter was the one place she could always escape to and be outside of her turmoil-ridden mind. She felt like her true self at Hogwarts, free to explore and be creative in a place that was safe from the person who had hurt her. Whenever she wasn't fighting for sanity in her everyday life, she was losing herself in a fictional world. By the time she was twenty years old, she had a breakdown. The secret had consumed so much of her energy and her emotions. It warped and twisted the relationship with her parents. Her childhood had been plagued by this heavy shadow that followed her everywhere. Finally, sitting on the bathroom floor, she poured her heart out to her mother.

That was the day the healing started.

At first, I was disappointed in myself for not fighting back sooner or even allowing it to happen at all. It takes a special kind of evil to force yourself upon a child, let alone more than once. My abuser became my You-Know-Who. I grew up with Harry Potter, faced my demons with Harry Potter and his friends. Why didn't I have the courage to defeat it head on before it became seemingly insurmountable?

Because I was just a kid. Young, impressionable and vulnerable.

And as I watched the twenty year reunion, I felt that spark of vulnerable creativity, curiosity and wonder fill my heart again. I cried listening to the soundtrack, watching the actors tell their stories and re-living the magic of Hogwarts.

But not because I missed it. Because, after sixteen years of heartbreak and healing, I finally found it again. As Luna Lovegood so famously said, “Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.”

And to that end, I am so proud of that nine year old little girl... for growing up into the woman I am today.