This Boy is Lost… and it’s been killing me for 53 years…
*** Trigger warning ***
Below, I speak about the first moment of abuse I can remember. And while these memories don’t include the actual acts of abuse that might be triggering, the emotions could be.
Also, apologies for length, but as usual – I hope it’s worth it to you to read.
*********************
This was me… at my 3-year-old birthday:
(click here to see that boy AI-animated: https://drive.google.com/file/d/17P2E9mv3CXAbX9iK3zeU0f7MOd93d2o2/view?usp=drive_link)
I have been told by my mom, in the past, that at this age, I was:
And then… that boy’s happy, exuberant smile abruptly (and shockingly) turned into questions and disbelief - when his dad left the room without a word. He just left that boy there alone, without explanation. “Daddy! Come back!” the boy screamed. He was physically unable to do anything else. But his dad did not return to the room.
Instead… moments later… a shirtless, hairy chested man entered the room (from an adjoining hotel room?) – and the boy was suddenly filled with lightning bolts of terror, abandonment, betrayal, and loss. And probably some emotions I don’t even have words for. The memory ends there (mercifully, I have no memory of what happened after that).
There is almost nothing more frightening to a 3-year-old than losing track of your parents and being left alone. And funny… for some reason yesterday I was talking to my daughter and her soccer teammates about something unrelated and shared how I used to get paranoid and frightened with my mom in department stores because I couldn’t see over the racks of clothes, and my mom would wander off while I was exploring. No wonder I was so scared!
After this event in the hotel, that boy was forever changed. He tried to hold onto those character traits he had before the abuse – but he had no one to help him with this. He had no one to rescue him or comfort him or make him feel safe again. So, he had no ability to recover what was lost at that moment. He was only 3 1/2.
And so, I became a 3 1/2-year-old who exhibited the following traits:
Instead of my dad helping that boy recover from what he had subjected the boy to, his dad started sexually abusing him as well. If my dad is to be believed (which is certainly in doubt), his abuse started after we moved when I was 5 years old. I’ve shared before that my dad was pretty gentle – most of the time – and did not ever push things too far in terms of what he did to me or made me do to him. And maddeningly, he did spend a lot of time trying to “reset” me. I don’t know any other way of saying it. After his abuse, he would do and say things that pushed other types of intimacy and closeness in an attempt to try to get both things from me: a son who enjoyed healthy intimacy and closeness, and who he could also use for his own sexual pleasure. He did not get the “reset” he wanted because I knew what he was trying to do, and I was pissed as hell inside.
I’ve thought about the incident when I was 3 1/2 from a father’s perspective, since I am a father. I’ve thought about how my dad would have walked his little boy into a hotel room at age 3 1/2, and when he walked me out of that room, that boy was lost. Gone. I can’t help but think this would have been deeply, deeply troubling as a father. So, it doesn’t really surprise me that he says he can’t remember anything like that happening when I was 3 1/2. It would be traumatic to see such a dramatic change in your child.
Anyway, how does this all relate to the present?
So, for the past couple of years my 16-year-old daughter and I have coached rec soccer. With the league we’re in, I usually ask where they need coaches and step in to fill the need. Last Fall, the need was… kindergarten boys
So, we coached four 4–5-year-olds and it was as funny as you would think. It was also extremely rewarding. Never have I been able to talk to the kids on the other team, help them, and not be told, “You’re not my coach!” But in kindergarten, they will gladly talk to you. One boy asked me during one game, “Can you please let us win for once?” And during the Fall season, I made some progress healing the very young (3-5) year old part of me through my interactions with these kids. I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened. My therapist and I talked about it quite a bit. I told her, the trick to speaking to my own 3–5-year-old needs as we coached, taught, and played was:
Then… this Spring happened.
I’ll get back to soccer in a minute, but first, I’ll speak to a pattern I noticed this Winter and Spring. I felt like God was quite literally knocking on my door, trying to get my attention. Because I started having all these random interactions with kids I didn’t know, and kids that I hadn’t seen in a long time:
One of the boys was a late addition. We had already played three games of the season when he joined us. I had been at my daughter’s school watching her and the high school girls play a game, and I struck up a conversation with the parents of one of her teammates. I didn’t really know the family. I knew of them because their daughter had played last year also. The mom started asking me about options for younger kids to play soccer, because the school doesn’t provide that. I told her there were lots of options. She said she really thought she should sign up her youngest boy because he had been begging her to play soccer for two years. I asked her, “What grade is he in?” She said, “He’s in 1st grade.” I said, “You know… I’m pretty sure he can play with us. Yes, the season already started, but they are pretty relaxed about things since it’s a rec league.” I told her I’d check and make sure it was okay with the league, and it was fine. He started playing with us in our game that Sunday. Knock, knock, knock, knock.
This little guy is quite a good player. I’ve coached long enough that there are kids that are a bit of a coach’s dream: they are skillful, fast, soccer-smart, give 100% effort all the time, and will do anything you ask them to on the field. And yeah… he’s one of those kids. As a coach and an adult, I love having him on our team.
But… as the season has gone on, I’ve noticed that my attention was a bit fixated on him. I watch him play, and in addition to all the coach admiration I have for how he plays, I also feel the younger parts of me feeling like kids sometimes do when they idolize a classmate. I really want a connection with this kid. And cognitively, this is dissonant and not okay.. I'm the adult, and he's the kid. Why… would I feel that way about a 7-year-old?
My therapist is so good at helping me to understand what is normal (or at least common), and what probably does link back to the consequences of trauma and abuse. She said all adults want their kids to like them. And parents want connection with their kids. There are also plenty of parents who live vicariously through their kids, and it can look and feel a bit like what I am trying to describe. Granted, living vicariously through your kids is not that healthy, but it is common. But there’s the aspect that this isn’t my kid.
Before my T session this week, I gave this a lot of thought. These feelings… it’s not the first time I’ve felt this way. In fact, I can think back to 1st grade how badly I wanted to be friends with the most popular boy in the class. And this thought hit me:
This thought really resonated with me.
Then I thought about what part of me most felt this way? And I quickly realized it’s the teen part of me. Because when fragmentation happened for me at 3 years old and then I became a 13-year-old, my teen self was disconnected from that little 3–5-year-old boy as well as the 5–12-year-old boy. And that teen boy felt that disconnection and the loss of that 3-5-year-old boy.
In my T session this week, we talked about this. At one point she said to me, “Wow. This is really hitting you emotionally.” Because it was. In fact, the teen part of me was the part that walked in the door that day. That’s never happened before. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I took our initial conversation to much more adult and practical things – pushing teen me out of the way. But he didn’t go far. Because he started shouting the word, “Protection!!” in my head. He was passionate and adamant that that young 3 1/2-year-old boy needed to be protected! So we wouldn’t lose him. Because if he had been protected, he (the boy before the abuse) would never have been lost to us.
I know what I need to do to heal this.
I either need to resurrect that 3 1/2-year-old boy, or… I need to grieve him.
I need to sit with that 13-year-old boy that lives inside me. And I need to talk to him. And tell him that yes… that little boy should have been protected! He should never have gone through what he went through! And we should never have lost that part of ourself.
And then… maybe… perhaps… I can try to get that lost, rambunctious, exuberant, happy, energetic boy to come back to life? Because maybe… if I’m aware of it and open to it… maybe I can allow my interactions with this carefree, rambunctious, energetic 7-year-old boy on our soccer team soak into the boy inside me. And bring him back to life? Maybe?
Integration of self is the goal: with all the young parts of me, and between all parts of me. So, I will do my best to help that teen in me find and resurrect that 3-year-old boy again – if I can. And if I can’t, well… I’ll put my arm around that 13-year-old in me and I will hold him. And cry. And grieve.
Below, I speak about the first moment of abuse I can remember. And while these memories don’t include the actual acts of abuse that might be triggering, the emotions could be.
Also, apologies for length, but as usual – I hope it’s worth it to you to read.
*********************
This was me… at my 3-year-old birthday:
(click here to see that boy AI-animated: https://drive.google.com/file/d/17P2E9mv3CXAbX9iK3zeU0f7MOd93d2o2/view?usp=drive_link)
I have been told by my mom, in the past, that at this age, I was:
- Friendly & outgoing – I was particularly friendly with pretty ladies and those who looked like my grandma (who had red hair)
- Happy – I’m smiling in all my pictures
- Exuberant – full of life and enthusiastic. Nothing exemplifies this more than how I was at Christmas. I was so excited I literally couldn’t (and wouldn’t) sleep
- Rambunctious – full-contact rough housing, playful, to the point where my mom was afraid to send me to preschool because she thought I would hurt someone
- Energetic – similar to the rambunctious comment
- Kind – there are many pictures of me with my sister, and kindness lives in every one of those photos
- Thoughtful – my mom likes to tell me about the time I asked her at age 3, “Mommy, what kind of shoes does God wear?”
And then… that boy’s happy, exuberant smile abruptly (and shockingly) turned into questions and disbelief - when his dad left the room without a word. He just left that boy there alone, without explanation. “Daddy! Come back!” the boy screamed. He was physically unable to do anything else. But his dad did not return to the room.
Instead… moments later… a shirtless, hairy chested man entered the room (from an adjoining hotel room?) – and the boy was suddenly filled with lightning bolts of terror, abandonment, betrayal, and loss. And probably some emotions I don’t even have words for. The memory ends there (mercifully, I have no memory of what happened after that).
There is almost nothing more frightening to a 3-year-old than losing track of your parents and being left alone. And funny… for some reason yesterday I was talking to my daughter and her soccer teammates about something unrelated and shared how I used to get paranoid and frightened with my mom in department stores because I couldn’t see over the racks of clothes, and my mom would wander off while I was exploring. No wonder I was so scared!
After this event in the hotel, that boy was forever changed. He tried to hold onto those character traits he had before the abuse – but he had no one to help him with this. He had no one to rescue him or comfort him or make him feel safe again. So, he had no ability to recover what was lost at that moment. He was only 3 1/2.
And so, I became a 3 1/2-year-old who exhibited the following traits:
- Untrusting – my mom recently told me that when she first put me in preschool, I refused to go back. It didn’t matter that the caretaker was a woman – strangers were not to be trusted
- Desperate for safety – even if that meant staying close to my parents and losing my sense of adventure
- Reserved – I would not take risks. I stood back from new people and new experiences. I also lost almost all aggressive, rough housing tendencies
- Worried and Pensive – I became the opposite of carefree
Instead of my dad helping that boy recover from what he had subjected the boy to, his dad started sexually abusing him as well. If my dad is to be believed (which is certainly in doubt), his abuse started after we moved when I was 5 years old. I’ve shared before that my dad was pretty gentle – most of the time – and did not ever push things too far in terms of what he did to me or made me do to him. And maddeningly, he did spend a lot of time trying to “reset” me. I don’t know any other way of saying it. After his abuse, he would do and say things that pushed other types of intimacy and closeness in an attempt to try to get both things from me: a son who enjoyed healthy intimacy and closeness, and who he could also use for his own sexual pleasure. He did not get the “reset” he wanted because I knew what he was trying to do, and I was pissed as hell inside.
I’ve thought about the incident when I was 3 1/2 from a father’s perspective, since I am a father. I’ve thought about how my dad would have walked his little boy into a hotel room at age 3 1/2, and when he walked me out of that room, that boy was lost. Gone. I can’t help but think this would have been deeply, deeply troubling as a father. So, it doesn’t really surprise me that he says he can’t remember anything like that happening when I was 3 1/2. It would be traumatic to see such a dramatic change in your child.
Anyway, how does this all relate to the present?
So, for the past couple of years my 16-year-old daughter and I have coached rec soccer. With the league we’re in, I usually ask where they need coaches and step in to fill the need. Last Fall, the need was… kindergarten boys
So, we coached four 4–5-year-olds and it was as funny as you would think. It was also extremely rewarding. Never have I been able to talk to the kids on the other team, help them, and not be told, “You’re not my coach!” But in kindergarten, they will gladly talk to you. One boy asked me during one game, “Can you please let us win for once?” And during the Fall season, I made some progress healing the very young (3-5) year old part of me through my interactions with these kids. I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened. My therapist and I talked about it quite a bit. I told her, the trick to speaking to my own 3–5-year-old needs as we coached, taught, and played was:- To be aware and mindful of my own 3-5 year old during my interactions with the boys
- Be open to letting the experiences through to him
Then… this Spring happened.
I’ll get back to soccer in a minute, but first, I’ll speak to a pattern I noticed this Winter and Spring. I felt like God was quite literally knocking on my door, trying to get my attention. Because I started having all these random interactions with kids I didn’t know, and kids that I hadn’t seen in a long time:
- I wrote once about a family at church that often sits in front of us. I finally introduced myself and my family, but it’s a big church so people are friendly but not necessarily connective. One time we went to lunch – grabbing Mexican – and I actually had the thought, “What if that family showed up at the same restaurant?” Well… I had to use the restroom that day, and when I came out – they were there. Knock!
- One weekend I was helping our school with their archery tournament and was chatting with parents, and I said something to a boy who was there with them. I thought he was one of the archers, but he quickly corrected me saying, “I’m not shooting! I’m not old enough.” Well, the next time I looked over there – he was looking at me with a huge smile on his face. So, throughout the tournament he kept running over to me to talk a bit more. It was kind of hilarious; he approached me and hit me with a whole list of questions. And it was literally like the scene in Uncle Buck where Macauley Culkin grills John Candy with question after question. Turns out this kid was the same age as Culkin’s character This kind of interaction does not usually happen to me. Knock, knock!
- After coaching a game this Spring, my daughter and I stopped to grab a snack at the gas station. As we were walking back to our car, walking towards us were a girl and two boys. I looked at them, and it was like I was expecting to see them. The boys were twins that my other daughter and I coached in 2020-2021. I knew their sister as well, so we chatted a bit to catch up. I really loved these kids – but hadn’t seen them in 4 years. I told them I had really missed them (I had), and we went on our way. Knock, knock, knock!
One of the boys was a late addition. We had already played three games of the season when he joined us. I had been at my daughter’s school watching her and the high school girls play a game, and I struck up a conversation with the parents of one of her teammates. I didn’t really know the family. I knew of them because their daughter had played last year also. The mom started asking me about options for younger kids to play soccer, because the school doesn’t provide that. I told her there were lots of options. She said she really thought she should sign up her youngest boy because he had been begging her to play soccer for two years. I asked her, “What grade is he in?” She said, “He’s in 1st grade.”
I said, “You know… I’m pretty sure he can play with us. Yes, the season already started, but they are pretty relaxed about things since it’s a rec league.” I told her I’d check and make sure it was okay with the league, and it was fine. He started playing with us in our game that Sunday. Knock, knock, knock, knock.This little guy is quite a good player. I’ve coached long enough that there are kids that are a bit of a coach’s dream: they are skillful, fast, soccer-smart, give 100% effort all the time, and will do anything you ask them to on the field. And yeah… he’s one of those kids. As a coach and an adult, I love having him on our team.
But… as the season has gone on, I’ve noticed that my attention was a bit fixated on him. I watch him play, and in addition to all the coach admiration I have for how he plays, I also feel the younger parts of me feeling like kids sometimes do when they idolize a classmate. I really want a connection with this kid. And cognitively, this is dissonant and not okay.. I'm the adult, and he's the kid. Why… would I feel that way about a 7-year-old?
My therapist is so good at helping me to understand what is normal (or at least common), and what probably does link back to the consequences of trauma and abuse. She said all adults want their kids to like them. And parents want connection with their kids. There are also plenty of parents who live vicariously through their kids, and it can look and feel a bit like what I am trying to describe. Granted, living vicariously through your kids is not that healthy, but it is common. But there’s the aspect that this isn’t my kid.
Before my T session this week, I gave this a lot of thought. These feelings… it’s not the first time I’ve felt this way. In fact, I can think back to 1st grade how badly I wanted to be friends with the most popular boy in the class. And this thought hit me:
“Because I have historically externalized a lot of what’s disconnected between myself and the younger parts of me, could it be that in this boy on my soccer team – I see the boy that I was? I see the boy I could have been and should have been? The boy… who was lost when I was 3 1/2 years old?”
This thought really resonated with me.
Then I thought about what part of me most felt this way? And I quickly realized it’s the teen part of me. Because when fragmentation happened for me at 3 years old and then I became a 13-year-old, my teen self was disconnected from that little 3–5-year-old boy as well as the 5–12-year-old boy. And that teen boy felt that disconnection and the loss of that 3-5-year-old boy.
In my T session this week, we talked about this. At one point she said to me, “Wow. This is really hitting you emotionally.” Because it was. In fact, the teen part of me was the part that walked in the door that day. That’s never happened before. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I took our initial conversation to much more adult and practical things – pushing teen me out of the way. But he didn’t go far. Because he started shouting the word, “Protection!!” in my head. He was passionate and adamant that that young 3 1/2-year-old boy needed to be protected! So we wouldn’t lose him. Because if he had been protected, he (the boy before the abuse) would never have been lost to us.
I know what I need to do to heal this.
I either need to resurrect that 3 1/2-year-old boy, or… I need to grieve him.
I need to sit with that 13-year-old boy that lives inside me. And I need to talk to him. And tell him that yes… that little boy should have been protected! He should never have gone through what he went through! And we should never have lost that part of ourself.
And then… maybe… perhaps… I can try to get that lost, rambunctious, exuberant, happy, energetic boy to come back to life? Because maybe… if I’m aware of it and open to it… maybe I can allow my interactions with this carefree, rambunctious, energetic 7-year-old boy on our soccer team soak into the boy inside me. And bring him back to life? Maybe?
Integration of self is the goal: with all the young parts of me, and between all parts of me. So, I will do my best to help that teen in me find and resurrect that 3-year-old boy again – if I can. And if I can’t, well… I’ll put my arm around that 13-year-old in me and I will hold him. And cry. And grieve.
