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.....

The Power of Denial – 1992 Entry Five - Then vs. Now

My heart breaks when I receive an email from a survivor who believes the abuse was/is all her fault, or questions whether it is really abuse at all. I’ve read many horrific stories of abuse from women asking me for a frame of reference. “Is this really that bad?”

The question leaves me stunned and grief-stricken for their pain. And I answer, “Yes, you are describing horrible abuses and huge betrayals.”

Today, it is hard for me to believe that sixteen years ago, I too, questioned if my abuse was “really that bad.”

I used many survival tactics as a child - such as dissociation and denial. Yet, when I began recovery, I discovered that the very mechanisms that saved me as a child – harmed me as an adult. My therapist tried to “gently” shake me out of my denial. It was a long process. Sometimes, his eyes would well with tears when I told him a story, and I wondered – “why?”

At one point, Thomas told me, “Nancy, on a scale from one to ten, your abuse was a ten. The sooner you accept that, the better off you will be.”

And still I lived in denial.

The following are a series of entries from my 1992 journal spanning a couple of weeks:

Thomas said, “I have an assignment for you. I’d like you to write an indictment.”

“I don’t understand. An indictment against whom?”

“Whomever you think should get one.”……..

……..I went to the library and got a copy of an indictment and the RCW on child abuse. I studied them. The definition of Child Abuse is so vague, it seems as if anyone can worm out of it. I can’t tell if what happened when I was a kid was prosecutable. That’s driving me nuts. I recall my phone call to the hotline when I was fifteen. The volunteer told me to call the police. I can’t remember why she thought I should…….

……….I told Thomas, “I can’t write the indictment. I’m not sure my abuse was prosecutable.”

He said, “That’s Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad.”

Boy did that make me crazy! When I left Thomas’, I felt like I was having an anxiety attack. What if I have exaggerated my abuse out of proportion just as Mom always said. Maybe it didn’t really happen the way I remember it. If it didn’t happen, then I really am nuts. My family has always told me I am nuts – maybe it’s true. It’s like looking at a color. I see red, but everyone in the family is mad at me and says it is blue. I need to find out for myself……..

…….I called some childhood friends that might have seen something. I am overwhelmed by the response I received. Even after all these years, many still had vivid memories and were more than willing to talk. Some of what they saw were –

• I remember Ed chucking Rob down the basement stairs. Not pushing or shoving, but literally picking him up and chucking him right down the stairs.
• Once Rob spilled something on the kitchen floor. Ed came running in from the other room and grabbed Rob by the back of the neck and yanked his head to the floor. He rubbed Rob’s nose in the spill like a dog…Just like a dog.
• I remember that when I’d eat dinner at your house, Ed often stabbed you guys with a fork.
• Ed had this thing about “watching.” He used to line you guys up - turn to me and say “watch this” and go down the line beating you with a wooden paddle just for sport.
• I saw Ed beat you once. I can still hear the tremendous “whack.” I ran from your house and never went back. I was scared to death of him.
• I saw Ed pick up little Randy and throw him against the fireplace brick wall………

…………“I was shaken when I left here last week, Thomas. I had to find out. I’m always so scared I’m going to get bashed for talking about my childhood. I always have in the past. Even now, talking to you, a part of me is still scared you will say it was all my fault, or that I’m making it up. It runs to my core. But it did happen. It’s not just my imagination.”

“I know.”

“I know that you were just trying to “jar” me with the indictment assignment. It was prosecutable.”

“I know.”

Even after working through this assignment with Thomas, it took years to fully accept the extent of my abuse. It took receiving a great deal of validation and acknowledgment from many people before I became stronger and clearer about what happened to me and the effect that it had on my life.

Although I was already aware of my childhood experiences, I lived in denial about the effect the abuse had on me. It was necessary to have other people bear witness to my trauma. This allowed me the opportunity to admit to myself the ways in which I was damaged by my abuse. Support and validation offered from others, dissolved my isolation and gave me the necessary strength to journey forward to the life I deserved.

Denial

The very mechanism that kept my mind safe as a child, prevented my healing as an adult. I needed to contend not only with my family's denial, but also with my own.

The angry wall of disagreement I faced each time I talked about my abuse - shook my confidence in my own experience. At the beginning of my recovery, I thought to myself, "What if I have exaggerated my abuse out of proportion, just as my family always said? Maybe it wasn't that bad after all."

At this confusing point in my recovery, my therapist suggested that I research the legal codes on child abuse. I headed to the library and stared at the black and white proof of my mistreatment. Still, my mind had difficulty accepting the gravity of my abuse. Then my therapist suggested that I write a letter to myself - offering my inner-child the validation she never received.

Sometimes we can see things for others that we can't see for ourselves. For instance, the thought of anyone treating my own children the way I was treated seemed appalling to me. Yet, for many years, I accepted that same treatment as "the norm."

The letter said in part:

Dear Nancy,
.....I know you have been looking for someone to listen to you, to believe you, and no one helped; they all blamed you. You believe you are bad. That's not true!

When Ed burned your hands, you knew it wasn't right, but your mom told you it was your fault, because you were bad. When Ed hit you with your skis, your Mom didn't come help. She blamed you. You were never safe at home. It's not okay to be beaten, tortured and tormented. It's not okay to have to witness your brothers being hurt, to inflict injuries on yourself or on your brothers. It's not okay to participate in sadistic games.

They're wrong! Nobody, but nobody, deserves this kind of treatment; especially not you. You're not bad: you're sweet, kind and innocent....

This letter opened the door to accepting - rather than denying - the painful truth of my past, and marked the beginning of my journey towards authentic healing.