Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Soon, the room went quiet as Dr. Hartman stepped onto the stage.
She was a striking figure with dark brown skin and a short gray afro. As usual, she wore a bright yellow pant suit.
Smiling, she walked up to the podium.
A screen lit up behind her.
I was momentarily distracted by the images that appeared on it.
Four little kids played in a park while dark shadows hovered over them.
Dr. Hartman’s eyes swept over us. “Good morning, everyone. I know how thrilled you all must be to be here with me so early in the morning. I can practically feel the excitement bubbling over!”
Laughter rippled through the room.
I grinned.
She picked up a small remote.
The screen switched to a crying little girl holding a teddy bear.
Dr. Hartman spoke, “Childhood trauma can create deep-rooted fears, trust issues, and difficulties in forming secure attachments.”
I began to jot down notes.
She scanned the audience. “Therefore, adults who have suffered abuse or neglect as children might struggle to form intimate relationships, maintain friendships, and trust others.”
I held in a sigh, feeling like this lecture would be too close to what I had experienced with Tristan.
I swallowed and continued to listen.
“The inability to develop healthy, supportive connections with others can lead to feelings of isolation and loneliness, creating a cycle that’s difficult to break without therapeutic intervention.”
The guy next to me caught my attention as he tapped his pencil against his desk as if auditioning for a band.
When he realized I was watching him, he widened his eyes and stopped.
I returned to Dr. Hartman.
“Fostering healthy relationships can significantly improve the adult’s lifestyle and well-being.”
Although completely intrigued with the lecture, I couldn’t help but notice that the guy kept glancing my way. Subtle, quick looks, as though he were trying to figure something out.
When I noticed him do it again, I turned his way.
Our eyes met.
He cleared his throat and looked away.
I returned my focus to the lecture, yet a strange warmth spread across my cheeks.
Don’t even think about it. You’re still reeling from Tristan.
Professor Hartman continued to elaborate on the long-term effects of neglect, her voice a mixture of empathy and scientific curiosity.
Images on the screen depicted diagrams and graphs, visual aids to understanding the complexities of human behavior.
The lecture wore on, and I took diligent notes, trying to keep my mind focused on the subject at hand.
Yet, the guy next to me kept grabbing my attention as he checked me out some more.
Would you stop that? I am focused this week, and not looking to talk to anyone.
Professor Hartman’s voice continued to fill the lecture hall, her words weaving a complex narrative about the psychological impact of childhood experiences. But as she delved into the intricacies of mental health and resilience, I became aware of a slight movement from the cute guy again.
I turned my head subtly, curiosity piqued once more, to find him scribbling something on the corner of his notebook.
What is he doing?
His eyes were narrowed in concentration, his lips pressed together as he worked on his little project.
This dude is bugging.
Unable to resist, I leaned closer to see what he was drawing. It was a cartoonish depiction of Dr. Hartman, holding a giant magnifying glass and examining a tiny, confused-looking stick figure labeled “Adulthood.”
I chuckled.
He glanced my way and grinned.
I shook my head.
He shrugged.
Okay, Nova. That is quite enough.
I directed my attention back on Dr. Hartman.
Shit. You’re missing stuff.
Her words now touched on the importance of compassion in therapeutic interventions. “Understanding the underlying fears and insecurities that stem from childhood trauma requires not just professional insight but also human empathy.”
I jotted that down.
“Therapists must approach their clients with compassion, recognizing the child that still exists within the adult.”
I found myself nodding.
The lecture shifted to Dr. Hartman guiding us through various theories and treatments, but unfortunately my thoughts kept drifting back to the cute guy next to me.
Who was he?
Why was he in this lecture?
Was his interest in psychology as genuine as mine, or was he just here for some other reason?
On the screen, the graphs shifted back to the images of children. Their faces were etched with innocence and pain.
Dr. Hartman’s voice went gentle. “We’ve spent this morning discussing the countless complexities of childhood trauma. We’ve looked at how it shapes minds, how it influences behaviors, how it casts long, haunting shadows that can follow a person throughout their life.”
She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “But now I want to challenge you. I want you to think about your own perspectives. What are your beliefs about trauma? What do you think can be done to heal these deep wounds? And most importantly, how can you, as individuals and as part of a greater society, contribute to this healing process?”
The room remained silent.
Instantly, I felt a stir of emotion, a realization that her words were not just academic but personal, some call to action that reached beyond the confines of the lecture hall.