What’s Love Got To Do With It?
“I’ve been takin’ on a new direction
But I have to say
I’ve been thinkin’ about my own protection
It scares me to feel this way”
I’ve been reading a bit about PTSD and the effects of Childhood ACE’s. I did my master’s work attempting to discover how to work with students in the classroom who were subject to trauma in their youth. I wanted to know what helped them move forward and what kept them buried in their trauma. At the time we talked about these things as “at-risk factors” and “resiliency factors”. Twenty-some years later they are called “Adverse Childhood Experiences” and most people today know what Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is. At least the latter is almost a household term.
I empathize with people who have had adverse childhood experiences. Mine is due to a mother whose own alcoholism was a response to her own ACE’s. I consider myself fortunate that I never experienced physical harm but have spent most of my life trying to understand why I was the unwitting recipient of her own victimization. About the time I hit 40, much of my own confusion about this came to a head, and I put myself in therapy to unravel the mess in my head. I was now a mother of two young children starting a career in education and there were plenty of situations that seemed determined to bring my insecurities out in ways I couldn’t seem to control.
I didn’t want to go.
I was sure I knew what this guy was going to say.
I knew the script.
It wasn’t going to make a difference.
But I went anyway.
At one of the last sessions, my therapist told me he had an assignment for me. I was to go see the movie that had recently come out called “Good Will Hunting”. He told me that I was like Will. Honestly, I’ve spent nearly 25 years thinking about that, and most of that time I was pretty sure that my dear therapist was off track.
I went back one more time recently to watch the movie. With clarity, I think I realized what he was finally getting at. No, I’m not a mathematics savant! (And, I think I got stuck there when I first saw it.). And, no, I’d never been beaten within an inch of my life. (And, that was also a sticking point for me.). But, my scars are real. The rejection and emotional abandonment of a parent are stunning.
Why wouldn’t my mind let me see that which I had in common with Will?
PTSD. It’s how we protect the most vulnerable part of us — our psyche. My behavior toward others is fraught with plenty of situations where I abandoned my associations and my commitments because I sensed a lack of security. I often think that’s why I embraced the Navy so well. I was absolutely positive short of some illegal activity on my part, they would hold their grip tight on me! Honestly, I can laugh about that now, but it makes sense. I think the PSTD is why I’m so suspicious of people’s intentions and why I have a healthy sarcastic streak. All of it is intended to hold people off. It also means that I don’t have to take risks. That’s because if I’ve already decided the risk is too great, I won’t waste my time and effort.
I began to see opportunities walk out of my life because I wouldn’t take risks.
It’s taken me 25 years to move through this, but this is what I know:
- Because you don’t have physical scars doesn’t mean you weren’t harmed.
2. Abuse of any kind causes PTSD.
3. Fear can make you question your abilities.
4. Questioning your abilities prevents you from living fearlessly and facing fear circumspectly.
5. It stunts your personal growth.
6. It causes you to view your interactions as proof that your abusers were right.
But, here’s what I also know:
· You must set boundaries on your abusers and toxic people while they live.
· You must set boundaries on them after they are gone.
· But, most importantly, you must set boundaries on the person you were that allowed any of this to happen. YOU ARE NOT THAT PERSON ANYMORE.
It took time, but:
· I had to move away.
· I had to grow up (get a perspective, learn a little about life).
· I had to learn to forgive.
· I had to move on.
· I had to discover my potential.
· I had to understand that others aren’t healthy either.
· I had to learn that it wasn’t something I did or that I deserved.
· I had to believe that it wasn’t about me all along.
I’m not sure that a therapist should ever allow a movie to be the final statement to an individual working through emotional problems. I don’t regard myself as intellectually slow, but I was emotionally-bound up. I wasn’t ready to see the meaning of that lesson at the time.
I shouldn’t have had to wait 25 years for life to show me that I’m worthy of a life of joy and fulfillment.
“Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?”
Nope, the song is wrong. Now, I can say that I am able to be vulnerable. Not that I enjoy having my heart broken, my ideas stomped on or having my hopes dashed, but in those ashes there arises a hope for my future. A hope that I can achieve things I once was too afraid to reach for.
Postscript: I am one of the lucky ones. My mother lived long enough for me to come to understand her and to forgive her. When she died, I was the one who gave her eulogy. It was a healing moment for me and a point in my life that I knew that I could move on without my chains.
