Posted on Mon May 19th, 2025 @ 11:02pm by Lieutenant Rowena "Rena" Campbell & Captain Lorut Vila

1,072 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Short Treks
Location: Mental Health and Wellness

Today was Therapy Day. She waited to be let into Rena's office and then sat. Vila smiled. She was starting to appreciate Dr. Campbell. The younger woman was not only adorable-about twenty five, pudgy, and jolly, she was also understanding and never let Vila down. Vila realized that it was her job to be non-judgemental, but Vila hadn’t had much luck with Starfleet therapists, and so Rena was a breath of fresh air.

“Vila! Hello! I was hoping I’d see you today. I know some things have been hairy for you,” she said, “So I won’t keep you long. We can do a shorter session today, if you’d like.”

Vila nodded once.

"I would appreciate that; I have a few new crew members to onboard."

Rena nodded.

“Of course you do! Do you want to talk about that today, or something else?” She always let Vila led their discussions-she NEEDED the woman to stick with it, and Rena knew that a semblance of control was important to the Bajoran.

Vila nodded.

“Something else,” she said. “Do you know why I can’t remember anything of my life from…before the Occupation started? Literally everything from birth to age eight are a blur. And truthfully, some of the first year of the occupation is, too,” she said.

Rena paused a moment before she began.

“I don’t know exactly why, but I have an idea. It is because you weren’t busy making memories. You were making it out alive.”

Vila nodded. “But before the Occupation, we were ok…” she said.

“Were you?” Rena asked. “It’s not uncommon for children to be unable to remember things from before age two, but the amount of trauma you faced-your mind blocked out a lot of it as a form of protection. It doesn’t want you to remember the BEFORE because it would be a constant reminder of the horrors of the after. Does that make sense?”

Vila nodded.

“As for the first year of things that happened…well. When you’re anxious or depressed as a child, your brain doesn’t record life. It records DANGER,” Rena said. “So instead of storing moments, it scans the room for threats-and deletes the rest. Simply…there wasn’t enough room in your brain for the good because there was so much bad to take up space. That’s why you flinch at soft noises. Apologize for existing. Why you say you have memory problems sometimes. Because you were too busy bracing for the next thing. You didn’t have a childhood. You had a warzone,” Rena finished.

“That’s why I am always alert for danger now? Because my brain still hasn’t deleted the memories?”

Rena nodded. “Partly. And because it took you so long to learn HOW and that it was OK to,” she said. “And now-you’re here. Wondering why you feel empty when nothing’s actually wrong. Why you’re exhausted-even on the good days. Why your joy feels distant and borrowed. Maybe even wrong, and sinful.”

Vila nodded vigorously; Rena nailed it.

“And it’s not your FAULT. It wasn’t your war to fight. But you did,” she said.

“Yes. I killed people. I am not proud of that. I did what I thought was right at the time. I…was still a child when I was recruited to join my cell. I should have been worrying about makeup and boys, and acne. I should’ve been playing sports and dancing.”


Rena smiled lightly.

“Yes. That’s what I mean when I say it’s not your fault. Even if you were twenty-five, Vila-it wouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. So…now it’s your responsibility to show up for yourself. To come back to that version of you who was forced to qo silent just to survive. Start feeling what you never got to. Start remembering-in a safe way, here-what you had to forget. To love again.” The counselor fell quiet again, and sipped some tea while waiting to see if Vila wanted to respond.

“I want to…I know there’s hope in these skies, but I can’t bring myself to swim,” she said.

Rena began once more. “The child that needed comforting-needed an adult to BE AN ADULT-still lives inside of you. Have you been doing your journals?”

Vila sighed.

“Yes,” she said. “Believe it or not, I have,” she said, standing up to get them from her pockets. She carried them with her, in case she had an idea or thought to jot down while on the Bridge or something.

Rena chuckled lightly. “I don’t need you to prove it to ME,” she said. “Just to yourself. I had you start writing down your thoughts and feelings to return. To return to that CHILD and give her some comfort. I need you to prove it to YOURSELF, Vila.” She paused a beat. “And you ARE starting. You’re showing up here, weekly, like you said. I see that you’re motivated to heal. I know it’s not easy, but you’re putting in the work. Let’s try something. I will send you a list of writing prompts. I want you to choose a few, and write about it. It can be anything-a poem, story, or just lines of conscious thought. It doesn’t have to look perfect. And I am also sending you some information about a technique called “reparenting.” If we can learn how to do that…maybe you can finally swim in your river of hope.”


“I think…I think I would like that,” Vila said, quietly. “Thank you.”

Rena smiled. “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” She asked. “If not, why don’t we end here this week, and do a longer session next week? You look tired. I know you’re going through a lot, but you must remember to take care of yourself. You can’t be there for your people if you’re not 100% yourself,” she said.

"I am ok to end here today. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Vila. I look forward to seeing you next time," Rena said.

With that, Vila stood, and exited, making her way back to her Ready Room. She had to do something...she needed to call home. It'd been nearly five months.

 

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