I went through the expected emotional, therapeutic and intellectual reactions. Came out the other end, calm.
Except for this: I couldn't put the words Dad and abuse into the same sentence.
And then surrender happened. I did not choose it. The floor caved in beneath my feet. I plummeted through shock, rage, grief, relief because finally there were answers, and then through grief again. And again. Presumed I'd surrendered right down to the sub-basement of acceptance, but a sink hole opened up. There's no hitting the bottom of surrender.
There's only this: a space of irrational inexplicable affection.