Time and a friend have helped me process this quite a bit more...
What is funny is that it was me considering the idea that I had a little that led to these memories being unearthed. Confronting them have since purged the little. It's gone. After crying it out, the anxious little boy has left the building.
Unfortunately... the instant-push-of-a-button slavespace has left the building along with him. I'm kind of worried now that the means of accessing that space aren't clear now. I'm kind of worried as that was the space from which I would write my fiction.
On the upside, I no longer have to worry about whether or not my slavespace is little space.