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I moved around a lot, ended up getting pregnant by a man who was married (which I didn't know at the time) and had an abortion. I was nineteen years old at this time and still didn't care about living. I drank, did drugs, especially speed which helped me to drop seventy pounds at one point in my life. I ended up moving around many times - continuing to sleep with men because I felt like I was nothing inside and out. I felt more and more suicidal. I became involved in relationships that were physically and emotionally abusive, one relationship lasted six years. During those six years I drank like there was no tomorrow, smoked pot and discovered cocaine. Cocaine was my drug of choice, mixed with alcohol. After using it for about six months or so, I dropped the drugs due to my finances and stayed with alcohol because that's all I could still afford.
I wanted to die all of the time and tried to drink away problems, fears and avoid reality, I eventually hit rock bottom. I was blacking out when drinking, getting beat up, getting in fights and getting more and more dependent on drinking to get through each day.
Two years later I put a loaded rifle in my mouth and cried and cried. I had blacked out the night before and the police had come to the trailer I was living in. I don't remember how, but I had totally demolished the whole inside of the trailer. The policeman told me to get counseling. A co-worker had suggested the same thing the day before, and so I did."
Tonya's one of my favorite people. She's loving, funny, creative, generous, intelligent and so very much more. When I first met her, she could barely maintain eye contact and remained perched on the edge of the couch. It was as if she needed to be ready to make a quick escape should the need arise. I suspect that she's spent much of her life searching out the emergency exits. Building trust with her was not easy. She was willing, but needed to find a way.
Her story was one filled with anguish and hurt. As she recounted one abusive experience after another, my eyes filled with tears, while she refused to cry. So often, I have been struck by the lack of compassion that survivors of childhood trauma demonstrate towards the little children they once were. Instead, it's disgust, shame, or simply indifference that is commonly expressed when the survivor is asked to empathize with the feelings of the little ghost inside of the grown-up. Tonya was no exception. She didn't want to acknowledge the pain of her little girl self. It was too frightening. While I don't believe that it's always necessary for one to confront repressed pain, it's often critical to do so. Assisting an adult to connect with and nurture the vulnerable parts of themselves is generally a major challenge. However, when the process begins to evolve, the rewards are significant. One young woman wrote me the following after a particularly difficult session:
"She is real isn't she? The child that I was, complete with memories and so many feelings. I never really understood all this inner child stuff, but after Monday night's session and the struggles I have had since, I am beginning to believe in that child.
You said Monday night that you've waited for a long time to talk to that little girl. I am afraid because I've never experienced this kind of pain . . . ¦never felt safe enough to acknowledge her myself, much less let anyone else talk to her. I know though in my gut, that she's getting ready to share her pain with you.
It amazes me to feel so young and vulnerable, to suddenly be aware of her likes and dislikes, to catch a glimpse of what I was like then. "She" likes to be snuggled and held. Monday night I came in trying to shut down, be this rational, tough adult, but when you held me, her presence was very real. "We" felt safe and loved and I recognized how important that was both for little girls and for grown-ups."
Yes, feeling safe is extremely important for all of us. If we can't feel safe, then much of our energy is directed towards survival, with very little available remaining for growth. Yet, often it's the child who is terrified, even at times when the adult may believe there is nothing to fear. You can't reason away the fear of a child as you might an adult. Thus, when it's the child inside of the grown-up who is fearful, it becomes the child who must be reached and made to feel secure.
No. The story doesn't end once the child grows up. There is no fresh chapter with the old chapters mercifully discarded. For Tonya and Sharon, as well as for so many victims of childhood trauma, the pain lingers on.
Each of us who has endured prolonged suffering in childhood leaves behind our own unique trail of tears. Some of us still have nightmares. Others no longer remember; we simply experience a sense of emptiness and a vague and disturbing suspicion that something was, and perhaps still is, terribly wrong. And while our symptoms and behaviors may vary, we are all aware that at some level we have been deeply wounded. For most of us, there's a secret shame imbedded in this knowledge. In spite of the fact that we might intellectually understand that we were vulnerable children when the deepest wounds were inflicted, there is still a part of us that perceives ourselves as failing. Ultimately, it often becomes ourselves whom we cannot trust.
The child who blamed him or herself for the abuse becomes the self-condemning adult. The losses and betrayals he or she endured become promises that more hurt will be forthcoming. The child who was powerless grows into a frightened and vulnerable adult. The little girl whose body was abused remains disconnected from her grown-up body. The shame of the small boy lives on in the man who lets no one close enough to potentially harm (or heal) him. Another compensates for his or her shame by devoting a lifetime to achievement, but the struggle never ends. There is no accomplishment great enough to annihilate the shame and self-doubt. The child who acts out pain in destructive ways might continue the pattern into adulthood until he or she eventually self-destructs. And the various cycles go on and on and sometimes are broken.
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