I seem to be in another state of personal growth.
While it's been happening for a really long time, I have become more and more aware of how my body reacts almost independently (or so it can seem) from my brain in situations. I know this is a trauma response, and I've been trying to allow myself to feel that reaction instead of trying to push it down so I can understand it more.
I have finally allowed myself to realize that I constantly disconnect, push down, and separate from Doug, from everything hard - I feel overwhelmed so easy.
Yesterday, I had hours by myself when Doug volunteered at Theatre Downtown. Honestly, I feel like not having time to be by myself or to myself is part of what makes it "easier" to stay in the state of disconnection. It's hard to be honest and vulnerable with yourself when you're constantly "on" or masking with anyone you're around.
I allowed myself to think back to my childhood - and take the emotional blinders off of trying to keep from allowing myself to color those around me as "bad" or "wrong." This isn't about judgment coloring of memories, this is about truth - and I think trying to obscure or protect or ignore in order to avoid coming to terms with seeing my family (especially) in a negative light is part of why I block a lot of my life from my thoughts. But shadows of them are always there - just unclear.
While I can't pinpoint individual big-T traumas like some people can point to, I definitely recognize ongoing indicators of living in a survival state.
In the youngest years I can remember - which I guess were during or maybe a little before the time I spent in preschool at First Baptish Saks, I was happy. I was playful and imaginative. I did embrace fantasy - creating my little world of imaginary adventures and friends. My only friends that I really had were neighbor kids - Josh that lived to the left of our house (if facing it) and Christen (if that's how she spelled it) who lived behind us (I remember our dads carefully lifting one of us over the fence into the other's yard to play).
Lance's best friend was John D - my first crush - who lived a few houses up on the corner. He had a younger sister that was still older than me named Jessica. I always wanted to be her friend, but my memories are that she more tolerated me because I was tagging along while our brothers hung out together.
Christen and I has a falling out when I was riding my bike, saw her in her yard, and went over to her. She had the garden hose in her hand and playfully threatened to spray me with it. I told her very seriously not to, but when she did anyway, I think I hit or slapped her. I quickly went back home, and of course, her parents called mine about what had happened. We never played together again. I still don't completely understand why I had such a violent and severe reaction to what should have been a joke, but all I do remember is feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed and being mad at her for that.
I remember that Josh and I hung out a lot. I think I went to a VBS-style thing at his church off Green Springs at one point. I don't think it was a big deal at all that we were a boy and girl playing together because we were so young at that point, but I also feel like we didn't spend time together as much once we started school - I don't know if that's because we went to different schools so started having other social circles or what.
When I think about myself as a young kid, I clearly see myself doing things like putting on my swimsuit and laying out a towel and an umbrella to pretend I was at the beach when there was a bright pane of light coming through the all-glass storm door in the formal upstairs living room. I remember taking my cassette player down to play music while jumping on the trampoline and pretending I was performing for a crowd like in Kids Incorporated (my fave show). I also remember being on the little cement slab front landing of the house performing to the music hoping to get people's attention to "tell them something important" even though I didn't really know what that something important was.
I also remember as the fantastical qualities started being squashed. I used to love to sing when I was on the toilet - or whenever I was by myself, really - but I clearly remember the time I was doing this in the hall bathroom that Lance and I shared when he opened the door to make fun of me for doing it. That was the last time I ever did it because I was so embarrassed that I was doing something that was clearly unacceptable or "not normal." I remember having dinner at the bar in the kitchen with the family one night and living through one of my fantasies in my head having a conversation with an imaginary friend. I apparently shrugged my shoulders and moved my hands in response to the conversation in my head - which Dad called out and asked me what all the movements were about. I already knew that all my made up fantasies weren't "normal" so I lied and said I had an itch or something - Dad told me to stop it.
So my family - where you are supposed to feel safe to be yourself and loved for it, I instead received the message that I was wierd and wrong and shouldn't be myself to anyone because I'd be judged (and, I guess, not loved).
I remember even from an early age where I really should not have been contemplating such things that I didn't seem to understand or connect to the concept of "family" like everyone else seemed to. My mom, my dad, and my brother were people that were in my life - and were in it more frequently than anyone else - but I wasn't any more safe or connected to them than to friends, classmates, people at school. Literally, everyone was at the same distance of connection and no one really knew me (and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to know the real me).
Mom of course cared for me and was around me the most, but it felt like she was more focused on maintaining the house, dealing with Lance, etc. I feel like I was more drug along like her little babydoll or support or forced co-conspirator. Our relationship was definitely always on her terms. She seemed fragile in a way - like I needed to take care of her and not upset her. So, I tamped down my wierdness and tried not to rock any boats with her, too, lest she feel hurt or like she was doing something wrong for me to be that way.
Lance absolutely overshadowed me - always requiring attention. My parents couldn't help but focus on him - since I was the well-behaved good student, I seemed fine on my own so they could deal with Lance.
I think this is the root for one of my strongest recurring primal reactions that happens before I even realize it. I blow up when I feel unheard, unseen, ignored, or dismissed. Again, in my family where I should have mattered, I was passed over. I started feeling suicidal in 5th or 6th grade - even checking out a book from the elementary school library as a mild cry to help, hoping someone might notice to give me an invitation to unburden myself of all my feelings. I sure didn't feel safe enough with anyone to volunteer - even Margaret who at least was the first person to allow me to be quirky and accept that about me, though deep conversations only allowed for her emotional sharing. Again, I was being conditioned by everyone in my life - in what should have been my closest safest relationships - to only rely on myself for comfort and to not seek help for my needs.
I honestly don't recall if my suicidal depression turn was caused by the family turmoil of Lance getting Vicki pregnant - which also coincided with our move from my childhood neighborhood to Ayers Drive. But what I do recall - as a crystal clear indicator of my place in our family - was when we had a visit with a family counselor. I was excited because I thought this was my opportunity to be seen, to have my pain recognized. My memory could be wrong, but I remember it only being one visit that was really long where there counselor talked to Lance for a long time - maybe Mom and Dad were in there, too, or maybe for only part of the time. I just remember having to wait for what seemed like an hour or two but being filled with hopeful anticipation. Then, it was my turn - I went into the office with the counselor and I think Dad was in there with me - Mom might have been, too, but I don't remember. What I do remember is basically being asked a question or two specifically about how I felt about the pregnancy situation - which I gave brief answers to - then my turn being over.
I think that was the nail in the coffin of me having any hope that my family - or anyone else - would care how I felt, that I would have an outlet to share my feelings, or that I could rely on anyone but myself.
In elementary school, I always felt like a social outcast. I didn't have friends or pals - especially no one I hung out with outside of school like everyone else seemed to. I guess part of that was Mom's self-imposed social exclusion that also encompassed me so I was antisocial by default. I know my physical appearance made me stand out since I was heavier and taller than other kids (plus I had a sizable wart that hung from under my nose - that of course I got teased for - in 1st or 2nd grade, I think). My memory may be completely wrong, but I feel like I lived with the wart longer than I wanted - almost like it wasn't as much of a concern to Mom and Dad (though that could honestly just be my memory shading the situation). I do remember us going to a doctor in Birmingham who removed the wart in his office then going to Michael's Steakhouse for dinner before going home.
I don't know if it was just my appearance that made me such a target for being made fun of or not being deemed "friend" material, but I definitely tried even harder to hide any unique interests that might make me stand out - and more of a target. I remember playing by myself on the playground - replaying fantasied by myself like I did at home. Every once in a while, I might join in playing with a small group of others, but it seemed like usually that would somehow end up with me being made fun of or somehow emotionally hurt.
I remember trying to crack the code of being "normal" or liked. I bought Babysitters Club books - and maybe some Are You Afraid of the Dark books - that I never actually read but wanted to be seen with because everyone else seemed to like them. I remember asking - in junior high or high school, I think - if I could start going to school with wet hair instead of completely drying it since other kids were.
OMG, the hair situation. The fact that I literally NEVER washed my own hair until I moved out of the house for college. I wasn't allowed to wash my hair in the shower (because it would clog the drain) so I always showered before bed then on days when my hair should be washed, I would climb on the counter by the sink in the kitchen to lay on my back with my head over the sink while Mom washed my hair. Then, I would sit on a stool in the bathroom while she dried it. I know this was a connection for her, and I'm sure she reasoned to herself why it made sense. Even when I questioned it to myself, I never felt like I could stand up to say I didn't want to do it anymore. I don't even know if I know why I didn't feel like I could stop it - maybe that it would just upset her too much.
There were some ways or moments where I tried to embrace my uniqueness or exhibit it. I remember proudly taping a sign to my clipboard in 6th Grade proclaiming my crush on Doogie Houser. I remember being a huge fan of the Hart and Soul (I think was the name) mystery book series even though no one else was reading them. I even remember being the first person to talk about watching 90210 when it first came out...until EVERYONE starting being fans, then I stopped.
Through Jr High and High School, I molded or shaded myself into trying to be acceptable by anyone by trying to share stupid things. I remember finding out that Cody Morris liked hard rock (which I did, too) so we would share magazines about music or talk about it. I've always liked all kinds of music, but I made it seem like this was the only think I listened to and openly put down "pop" or other music in front of him. Until I used a quote from "Life is a Highway" on a class art project, and he called me out for obviously listening to music that I had sworn I didn't. We'd lost the connection and never really talked like we had again.
I guess that's where my feelings of conditional approval were rooted. I connected with my peers only when I liked what they liked, but then it would change or I would get teased (not in a friendly way) and the connection would end.
Even at home - it literally took Lance moving out and me almost dying from being sick to feel like my family noticed me. Of course, I always got praise for my grades and achievements of that nature, but when my emotional state and the non-normal parts of my interests were so ignored, those acknowledgements rang hollow. Even when suddenly I felt valued and like it mattered if I lived or died, that I was all I was. Lance didn't know that my favorite musical in late high school - which I listened to on repeat - was Rent until he happened to see it on a work trip and I freaked out.
Those fantasies in my childhood that I think truly were innocent child imagination because survival escapes. I was convinced that I wanted to become a writer - which was a major reason for why I became an English major - because I had so many story ideas. A year or two ago, I realized those weren't story ideas, they were desperate attempts to recreate my surroundings and experiences to feel safer, to be focused on me, and to create a protective barrier against my reality. That realization kind of broke me. This creativity that had been my identity to myself had actually been a trauma indicator. It still hurts me to realize this and makes me question so much of my life and how I've thought of myself.
So, why all these realizations (and I'm sure others that will be coming)? Well, if I shine the light of recognition on the circumstances that shut me down, maybe I can start overcoming them to open back up. To feel. To heal that child in me that continues to crave being hidden in order to feel safe - when it would not serve me better to recognize I am safe enough to be the real me.
With Doug, I feel inside of me when he is trying to connect and I fully withdraw because of the lifelong reflexing protective response. Because of his own triggers and traumas, he pursues even harder to try to connect - or, if I do reach out to connect a little, he pulls on that rope to pull me even closer. Than, I feel overwhelmed and alarms start going off so I retreat.
At work, I have always been reprimanded for being tactless and overly honest with people when they do something I view as wrong. I constantly try, but I still do it - my frustration being extremely evitdent. It literally happens as if it is beyond my control. I've finally forced myself to be aware enough in that response to recognize that I am connecting to my lifelong feelings of being unheard, dismissed, devalued, and ignored. So I immediately going into fight mode to be heard, to be respected, to be recognized.
I literally feel the physical cues of these reactions, so I hope that these are also the first real steps to starting to retrain myself into a different response.
I hope that recognizing when and why I am disconnecting from Doug will help me to connect in a healthier way and to ultimately be the partner I want to be and connect with him in the way I've always needed.
I have brought up counseling for a year or so now, and he begrudgingly agrees to go. Since I feel like he's agreeing to appease me and doesn't really see the need or want to do it, I haven't pursued it. I also realize that some of these blocks are my personal work that I need to continue to do so that I can communicate myself and my needs more clearly. When I've buried them for so long, I can't even name them so how can I expect him to recognize them?
