DISTRACTED HISTORY-LESSONS ON SITTING WITH THE MEMORIAL

My Avett quote is not quite right....what you get from singing the lyrics instead of looking them up.  

I've been working on past trauma for several years now
but I'm still surprised at the power of this work.

One of the things that I've realized is that there were lots

of times in my life where I distracted myself from the trauma

by diving into a different, more interesting kind of side-show.

And what I'm left with, is a tangled backstory that I need

to unravel and re-sort so that I can shift my current perspective.

Said another way....sometimes I have to dig up the bones of my past lives 
and say a blessing over the girl I was
so that I can become the woman I am meant to become.

This past week, I became unexpectedly aware that

the bones of my past life needed some shifting.

I settled into a few days of labor and this is what came out.

The year I was 19 was a very troubled time in my life.
I was a freshman at NCSU, 
far away from home and pretending to be someone who 
belonged at an institute of higher education.
It had been a challenging freshman year but I was a warrior-
although few around me realized how vicious the battle was.
After Christmas, the money in my bank account had gone missing.
All through spring semester, my mother was calling me 
 to report erratic or dangerous circumstances at our house.  
Some days it was my oldest brother
who might have gone missing and other days
it was my step-father who might abandon my littlest brother.
Still other days everything was great and wonderful
don't worry about that thing I told you yesterday-it's all fine now.
Everything about my spring semester was one long trial-
I would cram data into my brain, take a test, then binge drink
to relieve the tension.  I cried myself to sleep any night
that I was alone-so I worked hard not to be alone.

This was a time before computers so I actually
had to talk to a human to get to the root of the bank thing.
The bank manager from home was quite surprised 
at my quick recovery from the terrible auto accident
that my mother reported I'd had.  
It became clear that my mother had forged 
several checks on my account.
I tried to discuss why she took the money over the phone.
Her story was hysterical and nonsensical-
deep in the throws of an episode that only made sense to her.
So many lies on top of lies-she couldn't figure out which
ones to tell me now that the jig was up.

I came home on spring break to try and 
understand what had happened and it did not go well.

This was no homecoming to resolve a miscommunication-

I had been invited to a showdown.

There were actual guns and screaming involved-

threats of violence and poison spewed at me.

What are you even doing here?

You think you're better than us-don't you? 
You can't prove I took that money-
I'll have you arrested just for being here.
You're an adult now-take care of yourself on your own.
Uppity little ungrateful bitch-take your stuff and leave.

This kind of rhetoric was somewhat normal in this house-
but it was usually directed by the adults at each other.
Oh wait..apparently now I was an adult
and fair game for the full on assault tactics.
I had always been the protector, the smoother-
the oldest who took care of the adults and the kids.
They were not joking about me leaving-
that was made very clear and reinforced with weapons.
You're an adult now-we don't need you or want you.

I called my dad-a sweet man that I barely knew-

and asked him to come pick me up.

It was a bad scene before he got there....my 9 year old brother 

sobbed in my arms as I struggled to comfort him.

He was definitely not going to be safe in this house

but I was not going to be able to take him with me.

My baby sister was screaming in the background.

I had no comfort to offer her either.

I do not know where my 15 year old brother was-

he had already become pretty good at numbing.

Maybe he was working?  Maybe he was there.  I can't remember.

It was dramatic and normal and the final punctuation
to a phase of my life that I didn't necessarily want to end.

My dad rolled up to get me in his little beige pickup, 

big eyed but determined and calm.

I climbed down from the front porch and

I piled my few possessions into the bed of the truck.
Most of my stuff was still on campus so the stash was a mishmash of
formal pageant dresses and a couple of musical instruments.
You ok SugarBear?

Yep.  Can you take me home?

Yep-buckle up.

The ride to Mebane from Burlington that day 

felt like a cross-country trek.

I stared straight ahead and don't remember talking.

He and my step-mom took me in without breaking stride.

We pretended that everything was all good

but we were basically strangers to each other.

I could feel their side glances as they tried to 

understand this young woman who so unexpectedly moved in.

I can see the memory version of me-

laughing and talking too loudly, pretending to be charming 

and well-adjusted-at least in front of people.

Nothing to see here-keep rolling.

In truth...I was lost.

I had no idea who I was and there was no place I belonged.

Everyone was a stranger to me-

including myself.

I had no one to protect, no one to care for, 

no one's life to run-except my own.
I went back to Raleigh and took my exams-
then came home to a house that was calmer than
any I'd known for a decade-
and did not know what to do with myself.
I was already thin-but I lost 15 pounds in the first month.
I had deep wounds from a decade of sustained trauma

that I was not capable of addressing and I had just been evicted
from the only life I'd ever known.

I was terrified for my siblings.
I was likely in shock.

I had no idea what to do next

so I did what I had always done....

I pretended that I had this thing locked down.

I went to work-multiple jobs waiting tables.

Building up enough money to go back to college

in the fall so I could change the story.

That's all I knew to do-work.

Until I was too tired to think.

That would have probably been a good place to stay for a while.
Working, sleeping, figuring out who I was, how to change the story.
That is not what I did.

I could not be still and sit with this pain.
I started searching for a distraction-

a little self-destruction,

a way to lose myself for a minute.

I could have picked binge-drinking or drugs or 

a myriad of other things.

Instead, I picked a boy.

We had actually dated previously for a few months in high school.

That's our prom picture from senior year above.

On paper, we had lots in common-smart, gorgeous

little country kids from opposite ends of the county.

In reality though, I can't remember us ever 

having a conversation the first time we dated.

I broke up with him on the way to our college orientation.

I'd bummed a ride to Raleigh from him but decided on the

way there that I just didn't want to be 'tied down'.

I also didn't want to talk about what I'd done at senior beach week

or who I'd done it with (neither did he).

This was exactly the kind of girl I was...

beautiful and selfish and remote-

keeping everyone at a distance

and wearing a mask of disinterest.
But the summer after our freshman year at college,

we were both back at the same restaurant jobs we worked in high school
and looking for a distraction.

My long distance boyfriend never had a chance with this up-close distraction.

I just meant to flirt a bit, at least that's the line I told myself.

But...it didn't pan out that way.

He was in love with me he said.

He'd been in love with me all year.

He had done terrible things to himself because I'd been so cruel to him.

All he ever wanted was to be my knight in shining armor.

It took a little bit but..he convinced me of his sincerity and devotion.

Of course he did-I was a drowning woman looking for a lifeline.
It didn't have to be true-it just had to be distracting.

Anything to keep me from sitting with myself.

What I thought would be a summer fling rapidly

turned into an epic love story-a redneck fairy tale.

Over the next two years, I lost myself in the idea of what 

my life could be, would be, should be.

I remade myself in the image of who I thought he 

saw when he looked at me.

Nevermind that this was not the life that suited me

or the life that would let me heal my injuries or 

even a life that would interest me.

He wanted me, needed me, valued me.

I would be anything just to belong.

Nevermind that our core values were fundamentally different,

that we didn't actually SEE each other,

that we couldn't give grace to each other
or communicate about anything really.

There would be time for that later-

once we'd reached the golden promise 

of happily ever after.

More than anything,

I came to adore his family-

they were loud and hilarious and so different than my own.

They had challenges but they seemed to pull together in them.
They fed me.

And loved me.

And called me daughter.

I belonged.

Happily ever after was maybe something I could achieve.

If I could just keep this up, everything would be ok.

Oh sweet idiot.

Two years in, our relationship ended very very badly.

I immediately cut off all contact with him and with his family-
I lost many precious relationships that day.

The persona I created to escape was destroyed, 
and I was in withdrawal from my drug of choice.
The grief I experienced was significantly more than just a bad breakup-
I still hadn't processed any of the grief from being evicted or abused.
It was an avalanche of pain-just waiting for this moment.
And now I'd added this new pain to the original pile.

I lost a lot of weight again, boozed it up, partied and 

used other people to distract myself.

I wrote a narrative around how he was the bad one

and I was the good one.

How I did everything right and he was the failure.

He was the reason the fairy tale didn't work.

Not me.

As fascinating as this navel gazing can be, you might be asking...
What does this have to do with grownup me
or with anyone else?
Why am I putting this out for everyone to see?

This was over twenty years ago-

that boy and that girl don't exist anymore-right?
I have moved on a thousand times right?

Well...sort of.
What I know now is that the things

you don't heal in your past

have a way of coming back around to your present.
This was the first time I created this pattern as an adult.
The fairy tale that I could lose myself in.
The use of a person to distract me from my pain.
The wholesale exorcism of people who let me down or hurt me.
The good one vs the bad one thematic battle.
The avoidance of responsibility for myself.
The replacement of one form of abuse for another, self-inflicted kind.
It was not the last time.

You may remember my recipe for forgiveness.  
It involves three steps:
Name the pain
Define it
Let it die

This week I've been sitting with my 19 year old self
and helping her name the pain and define it.

The chaos of that time and my own fear meant 
my recollection of events was pretty jumbled and needed
some re-framing from an adult perspective.

Unfortunately, adults don't just become mature overnight

 or because they reached a certain age-they need
to be parented and learn skills for how to cope with life.
The skills I learned growing up did not include ways to process
trauma and grief-I knew survival skills only.
These skills allowed me to get through the crazy-
but they didn't show me how to choose differently
or care for myself.
I know better now....I also know that I have to go backwards
sometimes to go forward on a stronger foundation.

This entire relationship was the first of many attempts to distract
myself from naming the pain I didn't want to sit with.

Instead of naming and defining the pain...
I sought out new ways to be hurt and traumatized.
I could have faced the reality and stopped the cycle-
at least I could have if I'd had any idea how to do that.

Part of healing my story, included realizing that I failed to sit with myself,
that I intentionally tried to lose myself, and 
became someone else on purpose.

I wanted to be the one magical enough to call that fairy tale into existence.

I felt like a fraud and a failure when it couldn't be realized.
Every. Single. Time.

I needed to honor and treasure the love and the sense of belonging

that I had when I was a part of that story, part of that boy's family.

I needed to say thanks for the respite it gave me so that 
I could catch my breath-

before real life came calling me back.

I needed to apologize to that girl for thinking that the only
way through something was to cut off everyone associated with the story.

I also needed to thank that boy for letting that girl 

direct all her rage at him-instead of the deep abyss of her loneliness
when the fairy tale came to it's inevitable conclusion.

I needed to look at what I was running from-
the damage and the trauma of the original ties that were broken.
It was the only life I had known until 19 and when it ended
I didn't grieve it.  I felt I should be relieved that it was over.
I felt that I should relish in my freedom from such toxicity.
And yet, I longed to belong and have a place.
Even if it was going to kill me in the long run.

I think I've finally laid this bit of the story to rest.
I sometimes get an itch to disappear-
emotional sobriety is a hard task and requires effort.

That idea of myself-someone who could lose herself in another reality-

has moved on to another plane.

I don't believe in fairy tales anymore

and I don't want any part of the ones that 
I tried to create in so many different ways
over so many relationships.

The summer I was 19 was a terrible time but also a magical time.
The beginning of a shift-

a space where something different could happen.
That's the true power of forgiveness-
that by laying down my burdens, expectations, and sitting with my pain...
I can become something new.

If you have a similar experience or family members who choose numbing,
I hope that you can see that they are running from something,
that they are doing the best they can with the tools they have.

If you are the person running from something, I get it.
That drink or that attention or that title is always going 
to feel easier than sitting with the pain.  Always.

What I know is that when you sit with the pain, 
you stop creating new
wounds that you will eventually need to sit with.
No one will make you. But the wounds won't just go away.
You can't power through, hustle your way,
 until it leaves you alone.
It'll be there when you're at your end-
so learn to be still.