Today, Gentle Reader, I would like to talk about gratitude insofar that it relates to alleviating some of the effects of trauma. It isn't a magic bullet. But it helps.
When we are deeply traumatized we are often so swallowed up in our pain, sorrow and affliction that we cannot see or appreciate anything beyond our own suffering. It is of course all the worse and more difficult when it is collective trauma. Misery loves company and there is always something comforting about suffering together, not to find remedy, but to wail and moan together.
Nobody likes whiners, for the simple reason that human suffering is very painful for others to be around. This is the dark side of empathy.
Forgiveness is not even thought of. Vengeance, yes. Justice, of course. But to actually forgive the nasty horrible losers who raped you? robbed you? crippled you for life? Killed your family, raped your wife and daughter in front of you, bayoneted your husband, burned your house to the ground? Yes, you are expected to forgive....All this?
In order to come to terms with my experience of trauma through childhood abuse I had to learn to draw the differentiating line between forgiving the abuser and forgiving the abuse. I have not nor will I ever forgive the sexual abuse, the physical and emotional abuse, neglect and suffering that I endured at the hands of my father, my mother and my older brother because this would be to make allowances for it, to almost justify it and excuse its ravages, it would be tantamount to legitimizing the abuse.
I have forgiven them. I understand them better now. I understand that both my parents were not mature or ready to have children. They were themselves too young and too troubled. I understand that they were themselves abused and neglected as children and that they grew up in an era of tremendous stress (the Great Depression and the Second World War). I suspect that my mother might have had to horribly compromise herself and her values in order to survive before she married my father. I'll just say that when she was dying from lung cancer she told me that there were secrets she was going to carry to the grave with her.
I understand that I was not an easy child for them to raise. They did not know what to do with me. Gifted and strong-willed children can be a huge pain in the ass, unless the parents have tonnes of resources available for their education and to help facilitate what is not going to be an easy life journey. My parents had none of these resources, neither could they be expected to. They were both poorly educated with a narrow working class and very conservative world view.
I can only say that they tried their best and even if their bumbling ruined my life in many ways, I still refuse to blame them. There was no other possible outcome.
As for my violent and abusive brother, he like me was a product of a less than ideal environment. He took out on me our father's beatings that were inflicted on him. Survival of the fittest. By oppressing and emotionally disabling me he was made all the stronger to do well in his future professional life. He seems to have always hated me. We have not seen each other in nearly two decades. I feel alright about this though I do wonder if he's okay.
I have come to be grateful for the many loopholes and interventions that kept my family from utterly destroying me. As a child I had the intelligence and insight to realize that I was worth better than their abuse and I never lost my integrity. This sustained me and kept my soul alive and thriving. As an adolescent, Christians and Jesus Christ himself came into my life, mentoring and reparenting me.
As a young adult I was more or less reconciled to both my parents and we became friends. Even though I remained poor, my values as a Christian prevented me from seeking money and profit for their own gain and to dedicate my life to work that involved serving and caring for some of the poorest and most vulnerable people in my city, even though the pay was low. I was more interested in pleasing God than lining my pockets.
During my thirties I was able to realize my vision of facilitating an intentional and ministering Christian community. During my forties I was homeless, traumatized and then worked on slowly rebuilding my life through sessions for four years with a competent psychiatrist. I found adequate affordable housing where I am still living. During my fifties I worked at developing in my career and profession as a mental health peer support worker, where thirteen years later I am still well-employed, loved and respected by coworkers, colleagues and clients.
Despite my chronically low wage, I have been able to keep my head above water, save a little money and travel for one month every year to Latin America where I have learned so much about the various cultures and people as well as enhancing my Spanish speaking abilities.
I am now in my early sixties. For the first time in my life, I am surrounded by true and really good friends, all of whom are people of integrity with high values, sincere, generous and intelligent people who are also supportive and kind. I feel that in many ways my life is beginning all over again and I am anxious to see what the future holds for me.
Without gratitude, without giving thanks to God for the horrible things that did not happen to me, and that worse things did not happen to me, and for all the good people and turns of events in my life that helped prevent really horrible things from happening, but opening the way for good things, I would shudder to imagine where I would be now.
My life is not perfect. It is a work in progress. I am still affected by trauma and probably always will be. But this has only made me kinder and more compassionate to others, because of gratitude. Sometimes, as in recent days, I am still haunted by the past, and these times have become valuable explorations of my soul, and I always learn something new and become somehow stronger from having gone through the struggle.
And now I watch as the new door begins to open.
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