More on The Difficult Things

I've decided that I will use the word Difficult in the title to identify which posts are about traumatic events.  And I have learned that we all have a different view of what is traumatic.  Some of my things may not seem traumatic to you at all.  Some may seem pretty ugly.  It's hard for me to judge.

My daughter accused me of being a tease in my post yesterday.  Saying I have something important to say but not saying what it is.  I can understand that perception.  It was not meant that way.

It has been my experience that as people come to a point where they are really ready to talk about traumatic events, they ease into them.  Often they have tried telling one or two select people and been re-traumatized by the response.  Disbelief.  Shame.  Mockery.  Anger.  Denial.  Belittlement.  Shock.  Abandonment.  Judgment.  Any of these things can happen when someone tells their story.  A person telling a story like this is open and raw.  They are extremely vulnerable.  Any of these reactions will most likely shut them down so tightly they are unlikely to try again for years, if ever.  It is sometimes called re-victimization.  The person feels victimized all over again.

So, instead, they tiptoe into it.  They reveal a little.  Watch the reaction.  Reveal a little more.  If anywhere along the line the reaction is negative, they will most likely pull back.

I did not realize that this is what I was doing.  I guess there is still a part of me that fears judgment even though I wasn't aware of it.  But it's worth the risk.

Let me begin by saying that my life has not been limited to one traumatic event -- not by a long shot.  So, those of you who know me may think you know what I meant to write about.  Many of you know some of the events.  But few of you know all of them.  I do plan to write about more than one, over time.  I don't know if I'll be able to write about all of them.  It's tricky to know what to put out there, what is wise.  In a few cases there is potential danger involved. 

I will go slowly.  I will follow my heart and trust my instincts.

Let's start with this one.  I started talking about this one 5 years ago.  I would not talk about it here if it were still like this.  Let me make that disclaimer clear upfront:  This is no longer the situation.  This is important to note.

I was having great emotional difficulty at the time; a friend noticed and expressed concern.  This friend expressed a willingness to listen no matter what it was.  And this person happened to be a trained professional.  I do not believe it was luck or coincidence that brought this person into my life at that time.

But still, I could not make myself talk about it.  We emailed back and forth for a while, dancing around the subject, alluding to it, but not directly naming it.  A few days before I finally named it I sent this email.  It represents well the feelings people often have about experiences like this.

"Okay, I want to talk about it and I don't.  These are the conflicts I'm having:

I'm afraid you won't understand.
I'm afraid you will.
I'm afraid you'll think worse of me.
I'm afraid you'll think worse of him.
I'm afraid I'll find out I'm overreacting.
I'm afraid I'll find out I'm not.
I'm afraid you won't believe me.
I'm afraid you will.

If I wait, it will all get better and there will be no need for this.

Okay, I've decided.  I don't want to talk about it yet."

You see.  It really is terrifying to reveal these things.  Intimate things.  And at the time you're so confused about how much is your fault and if it's really a big deal because it's become such a part of your life.

I apologize for making this another tease.  But this is the way it unfolds.  More to come.

*****
Author's note -- This storyline will be continued on my other blog, The Difficult Things.

The Difficult Things

I have pondered this for a long time.  I have debated writing here about the difficult things in my life.  You may think I have already done so.  You are wrong.  The things I have written about so far were much easier for me to write than what is yet to come.  If things I have written so far are too difficult for you, you might not want to read the other difficult things.  I will certainly understand and will not judge you.

I'm not quite there.  Just thinking about it today, remembering it, brought me to tears.  I need more time.  I need privacy to write.  But soon.

I will try to find a way to identify it in the title so that you can easily recognize it and skip it if you'd like.  I do not want anyone to carry these things that isn't ready.

I do have important things to say.  It's not so much that I want to say them as that I need to.  Writing is a way to cleanse the toxins out of our systems, the emotional toxins that infect us due to traumatic experiences.

I have written about them, but just for myself and a few select friends.  I think my soul would heal without writing about them again.

The reason I feel compelled to write about them is for others.  There are many women (too many) with similar stories who have not found their voices, who have lost themselves.  I want them to know that they are not alone.  I want them to know that they are not crazy.  I want to support them, if only by believing them.  By validating them.

I am strong.  I am supported.  I know my voice.

So I will use my voice to tell my story, and theirs to some extent.  It's amazing how similar these stories are.  I have heard so many of them from incredible women -- women who don't know they are incredible.

But they are.

Secrets

Doesn't the word alone fill you with fear?  Or anxiety?  Or even excitement?

I've been pondering secrets.  I'm not a fan.  I hate secrets.  I think they cause pain and isolation.  If I could change one thing about the human race, I would make us all telepathic.  It would take some getting used to, but once people found out that others thought and did the same things they did, we'd get over it.

Who does a secret belong to?  Who gets to decide when to share it?  If I was the only one involved, then it's obviously mine to do with as I please.  But what if it was a shared experience?  What if it's something I need to talk about, but it involves another person, or several other people?  What then?

It's a difficult thing.  Partly because we don't always know what another person will consider a secret.  I think most mothers have made the mistake of revealing something about a child we thought was cute, only to get in big trouble when our kid found out.

We think of secrets as something kids tell each other in whispers.  But those are the baby secrets.  The beginner secrets.

The longer life goes on, the more people we interract with, the more information we gather that should be kept confidential.

But what about stuff that shouldn't be?  What about the pain that we keep to ourselves?  Keeping it a secret usually means isolation and more pain.  We might get through it on our own, but at what cost?  Aren't we all here to help each other?  And isn't part of that sharing another's pain?

I learned this the hard way a while back.  When I was going through some horrible stuff, so much emotional pain.  I didn't want to tell anyone because I didn't want to burden them.  Even though I desperately wanted help, support, and understanding.  I didn't want to add stress to their lives.

But life has a way of teaching us the lessons we need to learn (sometimes over and over again).  It got to a point that keeping it a secret was no longer an option.  And I learned a wonderful lesson.  When our burdens, our secrets, are shared in the right way they do not add to another's burden.  That person does not carry the weight of them around.  When done in love, in a healthy way, with someone who is safe for you the two of you hold the burdens out in front of you together.  They are shared and examined.  They are made more clear.  And then you each take a part back.  Your load is lighter.  Much lighter.  And they take just the tiniest portion so that they can have this part of you.  But the bulk of the load is dissipated.  It vanishes.  It's like a chemical reaction that needed that other person to set it into motion.  Somehow, what is left is so much less than it was before.

In my experience, they never go away entirely.  For me, I need that small piece that's left for my own growth.  And I need the pieces I get from others' burdens as well.  I am grateful for the brave souls who risk and share theirs with me.  I am more because of it.