Survival Tactics - Peeling Away the Layers

Peeling away my built-in survival tactics has been and continues to be a life-long process.

Although I didn't know it at the time, I used many survival tactics as a child. During adulthood, I became aware of numerous ways in which the "child me" ensured my continued existence: denial, dissociation, inability to feel, stepping in as the family mother, etc.

I am certain that the exact mechanisms that save our lives as children, harm us as adults. Recently, I was amazed to learn that the very rhythm of my life is part and parcel of one of my childhood survival tactics. But, I'll get to that.

Undoing life-long mechanisms is a very difficult undertaking. Awareness is the first step, but even when we become aware, it is hard to let go.

As I've peeled away each method of survival, I've thanked the child me for keeping us alive and reassured her that the adult me can "take it from here." Twenty years ago, denial was the first to go. I say that as if it happened overnight. On the contrary; I spent more than ten adult years in denial. Not denial over the facts: daily beatings, burning my 10-year old hands, thrown down the stairs, stabbed with a fork, etc., but rather, "Is that really so bad?"

As a dependent child, denial protected me from that which was too painful to bear. As an adult, denial kept me in harms way. I had to "shake myself" free from denial in order to protect myself from further abuse and to heal. Ridding myself of denial opened the door to validation, expressing my anger, and moving from victim to survivor.

Then, another hidden survival tactic revealed itself: dissociation. As an adult, dissociation not only covered up the pain of my past, it was such a intricate part of my make-up that it also masked painful situations in the present. Pain has a purpose; it warns us of impending injury and is a useful resource for protecting ourselves.

I dissociated for twenty-five years before I learned about this part of myself. Today, I can identify the day when, at ten years old, I laid the groundwork for dissociation. For some reason, I could handle my own abuse far better than helplessly watching as my brothers were beaten.

One day, months after my mother married my step father Ed, for no apparent reason, he unleashed his rage on my sweet and innocent five-year old brother Randy.

The harsh command, "Grab 'em, Randy" thundered through the kitchen. Little Randy immediately complied, bent over, and grabbed his tiny ankles. I watched with horror as the blow cracked across my baby brother's small behind. Randy jumped, screamed with pain, and grabbed his burning buttocks.

Ed turned on him with renewed fury, and informed him he had just broken the new rule of letting go of his ankles without permission.

"Just for that," Ed screamed in undisguised rage, "you'll get two more," and with that hauled off with the heavy wooden paddle, hitting him again. Little Randy flew across the kitchen and landed face first on the cold linoleum floor in a dark corner of the room, crying but still holding onto his ankles. Ed grabbed my terrified brother around the waist while Randy's hands remained locked around his ankles, set him upright, and administered the second blow.

I stood trance-like without moving a muscle, unable to help, powerless to prevent the next beating. I imagined myself safe in my room, away from the scene of the pain.

As the daily violence escalated, this dissociative groundwork morphed into "fugues" where I unknowingly disappeared to an unknown place. These "fugues" continued into adulthood whenever I experienced unbearable pain.

Once I learned about my dissociation, I spent years letting go of this old method of keeping the pain at bay.

Once I stopped dissociating, I went about the hard work of peeling away another survival tactic - not feeling. I learned to stay present with my emotions, rather than "powering" through the pain. This meant something new for me. Rather than ignoring my feelings, I sat with my anger, depression and sadness for days or months on end in order to resolve my circumstances. I was in very unfamiliar territory.

For instance, I dropped my familiar "tough guy" persona and mourned past and current losses. This change allowed me to "deal" and affect changes in my life rather than "suck up" an ever-increasing and suffocating mountain of pain.

At times it sucks to feel pain in a "normal" way. It also feels "freeing" and healthy. The past few years have brought relief to feel unencumbered by my past. All my hard work paid dividends in that I feel empowered to safeguard my own well-being.

Imagine my surprise when a new survival tactic reared its head and bit me in the ......

This survival mechanism is the part of me I call "computer girl." Of course, computer girl has her roots in my childhood. There was no one to take care of us and bring the much-needed order and cohesiveness into our lives. I learned to ignore my body, while I "powered through" and did what ever it took for my psyche to survive. After all, when your body is ravaged by abuse, it is accustomed to a normal state of physical pain and stress. So, computer girl took over and has continued to rule my life.

From the moment I wake up each day, "computer girl" boots up and races to organize my every movement, project, and all of the responsibilities I have collected along the way: I have to do this.....and that...and this...and this... work, home, family, friends, writing, recovery...This is how I can solve this problem at work....churn, churn, churn...This is how I can create this system at work..churn, churn, churn, This is how I can write this...churn, churn, churn...don't forget this appointment, that social event, resolve this...churn, churn, churn, etc.. until I go to bed.

Finally, at the brink of total exhaustion, I have to listen to my body. Am I tired? Run down? Stressed? Affecting my health? The answer to all of these questions is, "Yes!"

It's time to find a new rhythm for my life; to bring my mind and body into sync. I've had to tell computer girl - the wounded child - that she can still use her organizational skills, but she can no longer be in the drivers seat. The "adult me" is going to take control and care for us both. Computer girl is resisting.

It is a very uncomfortable process to listen to the body I've ignored all my life.

As I struggle to peel away another survival mechanism, just as before, I want instant results. But alas - change takes time.....

More on Life's Passages - Parenting

I don't think I have experienced a more joyous or frightening passage than moving into the season of parenting. The responsibility of raising children is not to be taken lightly.

Survivorship definitely has an affect on parenting.

A few years ago, a friend of mine confided that when she was young, she made the conscious choice never to have children. She said that she was positive she would damage her children the same way her parents had damaged her. She wanted to spare her unborn kids that agony. Now that she is past her child-bearing years, she has some sadness, but no regret.

I know another survivor who also decided not to have children. Although she loved kids, she didn't want to take the risk of harming them. After she married and became a caring teacher, many people marveled at her gift for nurturing little ones, and they encouraged her to have kids of her own. Still, her fear of parenting held her back. Ten years passed before she had healed enough to re-evaluate her position. She realized that she didn't have to be her mother. She is now thrilled to be the loving mother of two.

I didn't enter motherhood with as much foresight as these women. Young and newly married, I walked blindly into the decision to become a mother with a burning desire to create a new loving family. I sought to provide all the love and affection that goes with a happy childhood, along with the warmth and closeness that makes family life secure and content.

When I held my first-born daughter in my arms, joy soared through me and sang its very own special song of fulfillment and wonder. I looked at my daughter with awe. The baby was so tiny, so innocent and so vulnerable. Fear gripped me as I tried to fathom the vast responsibility, wise guidance and parental protection it would take to raise a healthy, whole human being.

I knew I had to make a conscious decision to learn a healthy method of parenting. I devoured parenting books, took parenting classes, surrounded myself with people whose parenting skills I respected and admired, and drew off of my earlier memories and experiences with my loving father.

Parenting is a lot of hard work. I tried to balance healthy parental guidance while I continued to navigate my own recovery. My daughters certainly illuminated my childhood losses. Each time I celebrated my children's triumphs, I felt the impact of my abuse and of my mother's emotional absence in my childhood and youth. As I celebrated with my girls all the important events and passages in their lives, I simultaneously experienced joy and sorrow. Joy at their milestones, happy to guide, advise and protect; I brimmed with pride and enthusiasm for them.. Then quietly, I mourned for myself.

Witnessing the mother-daughter relationship in others was especially sad. Watching mothers as they share life's passages - passing on love and wisdom to their daughters. This was never so apparent to me as when I witnessed the closeness of most mothers and daughters, where a mother guides her daughter through pregnancy, and shares the joy of childbirth. I mourned what should have been...what could have been...and was not.

Each day I journey further down the path of recovery, I discovered new ways in which my abuse affected my life, my relationships and my parenting.

Walking the fine line between the conscious choice I made not to be my mother and the less conscious choice not to be her polar opposite, kept me on my toes. After my children reached adulthood, I realized that I had leaned closer to "opposite" from my mother and had become overly involved in my children's lives. Fortunately, they were good about letting me know when I needed to "back off," and I did - for the most part.

What I didn't know as I was raising my children, was that just being the children of an abuse survivor would impact them. Although I watched over my children like a mother hen, my children were negatively affected by visits to my family members prior to our estrangement. The estrangement affected them as well. They witnessed me wrestling with my own childhood wounds. I unintentionally modeled for my children certain behaviors and responses in my adult relationships that resulted from my old wiring and abuse, such as reactions born out of PTSD.

Whenever I discover new ways in which my childhood abuse affects/affected my parenting, I tell my children and make a sincere effort to listen to what they have to say - even now in our adult-adult relationships.

I know I haven't done a perfect job; however, the good far outweighs the bad and I am always open to listening to my children.

Although my longing for a close mother/daughter relationship was never realized with my own mother, it is heartwarming to experience a loving mother/daughter relationship with my own children.

I love my children unconditionally and they know it. I did succeed at breaking the cycle of abuse, and I am happy to be the proud matriarch of a new family legacy.

Remembering to Mourn

I've always had difficulty with mourning.

Often, when I find myself entering a new phase of healing, such as with my current life transition, I take note of the healing foundation I've already developed. I use my old ground work as a blueprint to guide me and a base on which to build from there.

It has taken a great deal of hard work to re-wire my brain, heart, and psyche in order to rid myself of my PTSD, dissociation and to change the old unhealthy internal messages, feelings and responses with new healthy internal messages feelings and responses. Although I am relieved that my abuse no longer feels present, I know that some of the effects of my abuse will linger for the rest of my life. I am after all, the culmination of all my experiences both good and bad, healed and unhealed.

In times of stress, it sometimes feels natural to go on "auto-pilot" and to fall back on old wiring and survival instincts, rather than remembering to "stay awake at the wheel" and to use my new tools. Of all the healing lessons I've learned - such as validating my pain, exercising self-care, expressing my feelings, and releasing my anger - mourning has always been the most difficult for me. Being able to mourn entails "remembering" to do what is unnatural for me; to remain "present" with my feelings (see What? I Can Feel This?).

After spending a few weeks carrying around unresolved sadness, I've been searching my healing toolbox to help me mourn the losses I'm currently feeling.

I've heard a number of times over the years about a technique that entails giving ourselves 5 minutes each day to mourn, and then to "drop it" and go about our day. I always thought that was a ridiculous notion. How can we mourn huge losses in just five minutes during a day?

For many years, I looked at this exercise as a "limiting," "get over it" sort of suggestion. That is - until I tried it and it worked! The difference is that when I tried it, I approached this exercise from a another perspective. I didn't look at it as only allowing myself 5 minutes a day, and then "dropping it," but rather committing myself to at least five minutes a day of "dedicated" mourning.

In other words, rather than carrying un-mourned sadness around with me all day, I sat down, and dedicated myself to mourning. I was amazed at how much this dedicated mourning helped to release my sadness and then I didn't carry it around all day.

Since I have difficulty mourning, I need rituals to help me mourn. The most helpful exercise for me is to tell myself, "It's time to mourn." I go into a quite room and choose music that lends itself to "touching" my sadness. Then I hold out my hand - palm up, close my eyes, and picture my heart gently cradling my loss in the palm of my hand (person, place, thing). I let the music and my feelings guide me as I cry, mourn, and honor this loss.......

Life's Passages - Transition to Adulthood -Becoming Un-Enmeshed

Last week, I wrote about "letting go" and how childhood abuse affects the later seasons of life. As I struggle to find a new rhythm at this stage in my life, I am reminded of prior passages that led to great growth. The first of course was my transition into adulthood. Boy was that a long and rocky transition! One that overlapped with other seasons as well.

I didn't understand at the time I entered adulthood that I was completely enmeshed with my mother. Or, that my enmeshment interfered with my ability to make adult choices that were not influenced by thoughts of her. For women like me, who grew up with an emotionally abusive and non-nurturing mother, healthy independence is a difficult place to achieve.

Long into adulthood, I failed to individuate from my mother. I was still a damaged child who felt responsible for her anger, blame, and hurt feelings. I couldn’t separate from my mother because, unconsciously, I kept looking for the love and approval that I never received as a child. So, I confused her needs, feelings, and opinions, with my own, rather than confidently making choices that were in my best interest.

Lucy Rose Fischer, Ph.D., in her book, Linked Lives: Adult Daughters and Their Mothers, writes: “For most daughters, it is the stability of the mothers’ attachment to them that allows them to go through the process of separation and develop a sense of independence.”

In other words, when we feel confident in the security of our home base - we are free to venture out and separate in a healthy manner. In the absence of this security, I remained negatively tied to my mother.

I had the normal "fight or flight" human survival instinct. For me, after a lifetime of fighting with my mother and remaining "stuck," I took flight. Our fourteen year estrangement gave me the space necessary to developed a new emotional foundation. Becoming un-enmeshed took years of physical separation along with hard work and complicated emotional growth - including learning to provide myself with the love and approval that I missed as a child.

During our years apart, I broke free from my enmeshment, and could see myself as a separate individual. I learned to exercise great boundaries, and to make choices that were based solely on what was best for me.

For many years, I thought that reconciling with my mother meant returning to my enmeshed (and abusive) family system. And it did, as long as I was still enmeshed.

I "let go" of the old relationship and built a new one in which there are clear, distinguishable lines of emotional separation.

Today, my own internal parent watches over me and provides all that which my mother is unable to give. For me, having a strong internal parent is what constitutes adulthood.

Letting Go...and...The Passages of Our Lives

I've always had a hard time letting go; letting go of my denial, self-blame, the old damaging voices in my head, my fears, my family, old roles, etc.....Yet, each time I have "let go" my life became better.

My old therapist once told me that I would be "recovering" for the rest of my life. I didn't believe him. At least I didn't want too. For decades, I have been healing at a deeper and deeper level; peeling away layers and becoming more whole. As I've peeled away each layer, I've rejoiced and said, "Yay! I'm in a great place! I'm done!"

By the time I reconciled with my family, I certainly thought I was "done" healing. The evidence was good. I no longer felt "triggered" by past events, and my abuse is more of a distant memory than a "present" reality. I'm able to view life through a "new lens" and the past no longer colors my day to day life.

Yet, here I am, once again finding myself struggling with "letting go," of something old. I think I finally figured out what my therapist meant nearly twenty years ago by "recovering for the rest of my life." It doesn't mean what I thought he meant. It doesn't mean I'll have nightmares about my abuse, or suffer from flash-backs, PTSD, or dissociation for the rest of my life. I don't. But what I think it does mean is that my childhood abuse will "have an affect" on the passages of my life.

As I pass through each season of life, I see where my childhood construction has been an important element to consider. We experience many seasons in our lives; the transition into adulthood; the season of parenting children; our professional years; the passage into the "empty nest" years; our season of retirement; the twilight years, etc.

At fifty-one, I'm trying to find a new rhythm in my life. It is time to shed the hectic, frenzied schedule I have kept since I was a child. Nonetheless, once again, I find that I am having a hard time letting go of something that no longer works for me. It is important for me to realize how I "got here" in order to get somewhere else.

As a child, no one took care of me. So, I took care of every one and every thing - except myself. Without realizing it, I've followed this pattern through every passage and every area of my life. Between work, home, and family, I have taken on sole responsibility for too much. It's time to "let go."

This doesn't mean an "all or nothing" sort of thing or simply "dropping" certain responsibilities. This means doing the hard emotional work to re-organize my life in a manner that everything still gets done - but not by me.

There is great value in examining the past. It can offer insight into where I am in the present and aid in forging new growth and making changes for a better future.

I'm on the healing road again......