Defective or Damaged?
No doubt you know how I answered that question most of my life... DEFECTIVE. How else to explain the struggles of life... the confusing acting out behavior? Clearly there was something wrong with me or my mother would simply have loved me and the neighbors would not have groomed me and used me as they did.
Coming to realize that I'm not defective, that in fact I was damaged, required actually remembering that trauma was part of my past. For decades that past was hidden from view and I was left with ONLY the possibility I was defective... or a sinner as the church kept telling me. Admitting I was a sinner did no good simply because I kept acting out in confusing ways, behaviors I couldn't be honest about because I felt too much shame.
I've been unpacking all of this for 35 years and have finally come to the truth of what happened, which allowed me to see that my struggles are the markers for the damage that happened through the trauma. In fact, I see the threads of the trauma tied directly to my acting out behaviors over the years. So yes, I was damaged and am not defective. But where does that leave me? My life has been a war zone, a hell realm of broken relationships, terror, shame, rage and grief. What do I do with all of that? Is there anything here worth feeling good about? At moments I despair. It feels too hard to do. I even shopped for hand guns yesterday, ostensibly because of the tragedies we seem to witness in the news almost daily. The thought passed through my mind that ending my life wouldn't be a horrible thing to do. It would stop the pain, the confusion.
Blessedly, one of the things I read over the past few months spoke about how the trauma cannot take away the essence of who we are. Yes, that essence can be lost/hidden because it isn't safe to share it. But if we look closely enough we can see it in our past behaviors, even in our present moments. We're told over and over again that healing from sexual abuse happens only when we mobilize ourselves through compassion and self-care. That part of myself, my essence, that buried himself deep inside, will ONLY come out if I extend an invitation. Yes, I could say that is all too hard, that I don't have what it takes to heal. In my darker moments that is exactly what I feel... then that 9mm handgun looks interesting. But I remember a few days ago when a friend sent an email saying how she was able to stay engaged in her healing journey because of the kindness I regularly extended to her in a 12 Step meeting. Can I bring that caring to myself, right now? In essence I'm a kind, gentle person. Can I give that person the opportunity to have a life, even at the ripe old age of 77? I'll find out today, since it is the only one I'll ever have. Being damaged doesn't doom me, if I don't let it.
Coming to realize that I'm not defective, that in fact I was damaged, required actually remembering that trauma was part of my past. For decades that past was hidden from view and I was left with ONLY the possibility I was defective... or a sinner as the church kept telling me. Admitting I was a sinner did no good simply because I kept acting out in confusing ways, behaviors I couldn't be honest about because I felt too much shame.
I've been unpacking all of this for 35 years and have finally come to the truth of what happened, which allowed me to see that my struggles are the markers for the damage that happened through the trauma. In fact, I see the threads of the trauma tied directly to my acting out behaviors over the years. So yes, I was damaged and am not defective. But where does that leave me? My life has been a war zone, a hell realm of broken relationships, terror, shame, rage and grief. What do I do with all of that? Is there anything here worth feeling good about? At moments I despair. It feels too hard to do. I even shopped for hand guns yesterday, ostensibly because of the tragedies we seem to witness in the news almost daily. The thought passed through my mind that ending my life wouldn't be a horrible thing to do. It would stop the pain, the confusion.
Blessedly, one of the things I read over the past few months spoke about how the trauma cannot take away the essence of who we are. Yes, that essence can be lost/hidden because it isn't safe to share it. But if we look closely enough we can see it in our past behaviors, even in our present moments. We're told over and over again that healing from sexual abuse happens only when we mobilize ourselves through compassion and self-care. That part of myself, my essence, that buried himself deep inside, will ONLY come out if I extend an invitation. Yes, I could say that is all too hard, that I don't have what it takes to heal. In my darker moments that is exactly what I feel... then that 9mm handgun looks interesting. But I remember a few days ago when a friend sent an email saying how she was able to stay engaged in her healing journey because of the kindness I regularly extended to her in a 12 Step meeting. Can I bring that caring to myself, right now? In essence I'm a kind, gentle person. Can I give that person the opportunity to have a life, even at the ripe old age of 77? I'll find out today, since it is the only one I'll ever have. Being damaged doesn't doom me, if I don't let it.