Tag: courage

Pacing My Perseverance

Image result for "You must do the things you think you cannot do"

Really? I must? My core’s philosophy is more of the “Follow Your Bliss” perspective.  But when I run into something I know I need to do in order to move forward with whatever is the next step in following my bliss, then I not only accept Eleanor’s wisdom but gratefully embrace it as a productive prod to persevere.

Tangentially, it’s a bit interesting to see what images people choose to accompany this quote in their memes. I’m sure these wise words have as many interpretations as there are people who quote them.  I chose this meme because 1) The woman’s posture is the shape I take in my dreams when I fly, so I resonate deeply and joyfully with this gesture, and 2) She’s really only a couple of feet off the ground!  This is no mountain she is climbing; there is nothing heroic going on here; she is simply moving herself into a space of interior freedom symbolized by a whimsical yet celebratory movement.  This is a do-able dare.  This is a manageable mandate.  This is where challenge meets bliss.

That’s pretty much what this whole blog is about: perseverance: Pushing through that which is most difficult so I can fly forward with a freer spirit.  However, sometimes this dogged devotion to breaking the bonds of what would shackle my soul feels more like a crippling compulsion or a pigish plowing ever deeper a rut that risks burying me.  So I take frequent and long breaks from this necessary but unwelcome task.

There are times, when writing, my mind just goes blank, and then flits to something completely unrelated. One might be tempted to think that I am easily distracted.  Actually, I am capable of extreme concentration, and too often engage in a chosen activity with metaphorical blinders on, screening out my surroundings and not even noting the passage of time.

But when I try to write about something difficult, my mind throws up all kinds of obstacles.  And when those distractions don’t work, it just “walks out,” vacates!  My mental landscape becomes something like a desert: all white sand with a cloudy sky and nearly no perceptible horizon.  I could have chosen a “white-out” blizzard as a metaphor except that I enjoy snow and cold and am not easily disoriented by it.  But heat and lack of water make me feel sleepy and unmotivated to move.  This is another thing my mind does when I don’t want to address a painful topic head-on: persistent play with words (developing metaphors, etc.) rather than using words to actually TELL something.

Ach du lieber!  And then there’s that too: clichés.

So, I just keep typing. I let my mind move through its avoidance maneuvers, until I exhaust them. Explore, express, explain, exhaust. Return to topic?

Today, doing what’s difficult means finishing my last post regarding strong emotions.  Some so strong, so painful, I once attempted suicide.

Do I still fear the strength of my emotional capacity today? Yes and no.  I am still capable of a rage that is truly fear-worthy.  But I’ve learned to recognize when I am nearing the edge of that storm.  (I think of how rage feels and moves within me as something like a tornado.  It can pop up seemingly suddenly, yet there are warning signs.  It turns very fast, powerfully, and could be destructive to things in its path, but it doesn’t have to “touch down”.  And most importantly, it really is a storm within me, but it is not me; I can walk away from it.)  While I can’t control my world so much as to guarantee I avoid all possible triggers to my rage, I can even-so sense the perimeters of triggers and walk away when too near.  Even if I temporarily engage, I can walk away.  Walking away is a very important skill!  Walking away is always an option, and one that is as powerful as rage, actually more powerful because in walking away I dismiss the rage.  I won’t go into here and now what triggers rage for me; the significant thing is that I’ve learned how and when to walk away.

Other emotions which I can feel so powerfully that I fear being overwhelmed by them are grief and fear itself.  However, grief represents territory with which I have become familiar enough I am comfortable navigating rather than feeling lost.  Feeling a foreign fear, or fear before I understand what has caused it, or panic, or pernicious anxiety, I have learned to treat that sensation like a ferocious dog.  I can be terrified by a growling, teeth-baring dog.  And while it’s reasonable to be afraid of a dog that could attack, and it’s justifiable to simply avoid such a threat, I have been in situations where a dangerous dog had to be faced in order to get away from it.  The main thing I learned was to not SHOW my fear, to not show that I am intimidated, to refuse to submit to its terror tactic, to pretend to be the one in charge!  So when I experience a feeling of panic flare up within myself (and usually its accompanied with a racing heart and a rush of adrenaline), I’ve learned to bring up within myself, the “Commander,” She who takes Charge.  Taking Charge is not my preferred way of being, but I’ve found it’s a very handy tool in my skill-box.

Where, when, and how I’ve “learned” these things I won’t explore here.  Some of these capacities are unconscious instincts I’ve “discovered” I already have at my ready use; others are skills I’ve consciously and deliberately chosen to learn and develop.

The last fear of strong emotions I’ll mention here is when I notice (usually retrospectively) that others are somehow led by or dependent upon my “power.” Sometimes my “power”, that which I am exuding and others are following, is emotional; in those times its usually expressed as enthusiasm.  Sometimes my “power” is intellectual: clarity of thinking.  Sometimes it is spiritual: wisdom, or moral courage.  I don’t mind being a leader when I have chosen that role and those being led have consciously consented to my leadership.  I don’t mind leading in areas where I have expertise.  But when I find that others are led by my emotions I feel wary.  I don’t like that kind of “persuasion” exercised on myself, so I don’t want to manipulate others.

However, some people really enjoy experiencing the emotions of an artist-type.  That’s when I find myself being put into the role of Muse for others gratification.  And I don’t like it.  To me, it might be something like when a patient projects onto their therapist, or a parent lives vicariously through a child, or a fan stalks a celebrity!  Those things are not equal to each other, but what they have in common is the observer loses touch with the parameters of reality in relation to the observed; the receiver (or taker) of gratification assumes as their own something that actually belongs to another.  If I were a true performer, I would probably like being used as a Muse by others.  I think Performers know how to and enjoy developing a Public-Persona, and can keep their private-person shielded from the public experiences.  I however am mostly “just me.”  I struggle with the idea and use of shields.  I prefer to be fully integrated and to act consciously, directly, deliberately; it’s something I work toward every day.  It’s true I know how to take on various roles in different situations, but I don’t wear them as a mask; I use them as tools or skill-sets.

As a victim of abuse I quickly learned how to compartmentalize my experiences, my world, my self.  But as a survivor and one who would thrive, I work to become fully  integrated.  Facing my fears, especially fears about my own nature, helps me heal, become stronger and healthier, and I hope eventually whole.

 

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“Where Night meets Day” by Loyan Mani (aka Maxine Noel)

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Anatomy of Ambivalence: Story of Self-Sacrifice

One particularly powerful example of my dad’s courage occurred when I was around 7 years old.  The whole family was sitting at the dinner table when there was a loud knock at the door.  We had a lovely door-bell, but as I recall, the unexpected visitor banged on the door rather than press the bell.  I remember being instantly alarmed.  My dad went to the door while the rest of us remained at the table.  I could hear his voice and another man’s.  Normally my dad would immediately invite people in, but this time I heard him go out.  The other man’s voice sounded angry and my dad’s sounded urgent.

I ran upstairs and watched out a bedroom window.  I could see the man and my dad.  Dad had taken the conversation to the front curb near the man’s car.  The other man had a gun!  It was a big gun; I think it was a shot-gun or rifle.  Learning later who it was, I imagine it was a gun the man would have used for hunting.  The angry man was yelling at my dad and initially pointing the gun at him!

I knew instinctively that my dad’s body posture was oriented to calming and consoling the man.  It looked like my dad had spread his arms out as if to show he had nothing with him.  After a while, the man lowered his gun, and dad reached out to him, maybe to take his hand.  I couldn’t hear or understand what they were talking about, but I could tell that my dad was showing the man great understanding.  Eventually the man put his gun down completely and my dad hugged him.  The man was crying.  I learned later that the man’s wife had been a patient of my dad’s.  The wife had died and the man blamed my dad.  She had some sort of cancer, and in those days there weren’t the cures or treatments we have today.

As I watched from the window, I saw the man drive away.  My dad watched him drive away.  Then I heard my dad come back inside and I ran downstairs.  My dad looked very alert yet completely worn out.  He came back to the table and we all finished our dinner.  I don’t remember how much my dad explained to all of us then and how much I learned at a later time, but I know I didn’t tell anyone at the time what I had witnessed through the window upstairs.  In fact, I don’t think I talked with my dad about that until decades later.  I do know though that at the time I believed my dad had saved his family from the angry man with a gun by taking all the risk on himself.  I can’t over-state the enduring power for me of my dad’s example of heroic courage that day.

Anatomy of Ambivalence: Basic Background

Today I want to tell you a little bit about my ambivalence towards my pacifist upbringing.  From my vantage point, I would think that anyone who understands the experience of sexual abuse on the part of the victim at all, would likely understand the goodness and necessity of boundaries.  And if you value boundaries, then you have to address the issue of self-defense or self-protection.  And if you acknowledge the correctness or healthful-ness of self-defense, then you have to contend with what it means to “turn the other cheek” and all the other teachings of Christ on which the Anabaptist stance of Pacifism was formed.

It might be helpful to give you historical background on the Anabaptist formulation of Pacifism.  But I’m not going to do that.  It’s a huge topic.  You can research that for yourself if you’re really interested.  You might also wonder what Mennonites and other Anabaptists believe and teach on that topic today.  I don’t pretend to know that; I’m no longer Mennonite; I’m not a spokesperson for those groups.  What is pertinent here is what I was taught by word and by example, mostly by my parents, and by the local Mennonite community of my childhood.

To be fair, I can’t even really say what others intended to teach me; I can only tell you what I learned, what I absorbed.  The point of this is not to assign blame (or credit).  My purpose is to articulate what it is I observed, learned, absorbed, and what is now an “issue” for me.  To begin, I will say that most of what I observed of my parents, I framed in my mind as positive, to be emulated.  Their behavior tended to exemplify what they taught.  Given the apparent agreement between their words and deeds, their teaching was potent.  My memory of my impression of the teaching/ example of other Mennonites in my childhood community (as individuals and as a group) is that others were mostly conformed to the official teaching of the Mennonite Church, but weren’t quite as powerful an example to me of how to live it.  I viewed my parents as mostly heroic in their discipleship.

I saw my parents give not only out of their bounty, but also sacrificially.  I saw them give their time, talent, and treasure to others in need, out of their love for and obedience to Christ.  I’m not saying they were perfect people.  Yet, although I know I idealized them as a young child, their actual characters and behaviors were genuinely and consistently Christ-like enough that even when I began to see them as real people (in all their wondrously flawed complexity), I continued to respect and admire their choices.  They were living their beliefs as well or better than anyone else I’ve ever known.

So, naturally, I have long admired the pacifist ideal and wanted to be a pacifist.  Sometimes I’ve even said “I AM a Pacifist; I’m just not very good at it!”  But the crux of the matter is: what do I really believe about self-defense?

***

Let me back up a bit.  My parents did indeed teach me to “turn the other cheek,” and I understood that to mean: 1) If some-one strikes you, don’t attempt to stop them with any sort of violent force, and 2) Don’t retaliate.  They also taught me that “living in peace with others so far as it is up to you” meant 1) Look out for others’ needs, and if you can contribute to their well-being it’s a good thing to do so; 2) Intervene for the under-dog; try to help others resolve conflict if you’re in a position to do so; 3) Be just with everyone and if the balance of cost has to fall one way or another, let it fall on you; 4) Root your sense of security in Christ; 5) Value living fully in God and relationships and experiences, not so much things and acquisition.

Whether my parents intended it or not, I also absorbed a distrust of military, police, and government in general.  I got the idea that what gives those institutions power is force, and often violent force, sometimes even lethal; and the fact that those entities considered lethal force a legitimate option made them for me “wordly” which meant not godly, not of Christ’s Kingdom.  All “worldliness” was to be avoided; I was not to “yoke” myself with people who had made “worldly” allegiances.

I remember having many discussions in our family about hypothetical scenarios where one would have to choose between using force to stop an attacker or accepting their actions.  The message I always got was three-fold: 1) It’s okay to explore ways to avoid harm (run, hide, stop the attacker with less-than-lethal actions); 2) But never ever kill another human-being, no matter what; 3) Pray the Lord keep us safe from such situations.  I don’t remember ever being counseled to call the police.

As a young child, this teaching of how one should face danger contributed to my sense of being a minority (I saw Mennonites as a minority even though my town was a mini Menno-mecca because I knew that our teachings were not popular in the general public.)  It also greatly enlarged my sense of vulnerability.  I knew I didn’t have the normal protections which I thought most of the world had available to them.  To some extent this made me even more vulnerable to victimization in any situation or relationship.

However, I was also taught courage.  Not only did I hear my parents tell stories of past experiences when they were spared harm (either by divine intervention or by their creative maneuverings), but I also witnessed their peace-making in real-time.

Read in my next post of a time my dad consoled an angry, armed man.

If you are working on your recovery/ healing from abuse/ trauma, you are:

  1. Courageous
  2. Brave
  3. Honest
  4. Kind
  5. Aware
  6. Imaginative
  7. Free in Spirit
  8. Unique
  9. Patient
  10. Empathetic
  11. Insightful
  12. Wise
  13. Complex
  14. Good

Hoo-ray! Keep going!  May you find wholeness.

I Know Because It Happened To Me

“So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted.  Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you the opportunity to define your own reality.  You can say: This did happen to me.  It was that bad.  It was the fault and responsibility of the adult.  I was — and am — innocent.”

(TCTH, p.27)

I know people who don’t have any comprehension of what it means to have been sexually abused as a child/youth, and in their ignorance they somehow (almost always) leap to “why didn’t you tell anyone?”  There are many answers to that question, but one of the things that is so offensive about it is that it possibly implies the continued abuse is the fault of the child/youth because, in not being able to tell someone or to get an adult to believe/understand them, then maybe some of the fault is with the child/youth.  Why isn’t the first question adults ask in the face of abuse stories, “who was the jerk?” or “where were the adults who should have stopped the pervert?” or “why is society so blind (and to some degree complicit)?”.  Or better yet, rather than ask a question that would put the victim on the defense or responsible for explaining perverted-adult-behavior, simply say  “I am SO sorry you experienced this terrible offense against you!”

I will be writing much more in future posts about my experience of having my experience trivialized/ distorted, but for now I simply want to say to my peers, my fellow-survivors: now as an adult, I am so sorry you experienced this heinous offense against your sacred, innocent person.  And I am so grateful you survived.  I pray you will find the strength within to advance your healing; I pray you will find wholeness.

Gentle Grace: Finding Focus

I’m doing two things to directly help myself progress in healing:

  1. I’ve found a pal to companion each other while we work through The Courage to Heal (and Workbook); we will meet once a month, sharing our writing exercises.
  2. I am attending an ASCA group once a month.

There are other things I do of course to help myself become whole, but these are the things I’m doing specific to healing from abuse.

Rather than keeping a comprehensive healing-lifestyle in my frame of focus, and constantly feeling like I’m failing (because I’m not consistent in everything; too often pointing out my imperfections to myself), instead I am focusing on these two things.  This is good because they are two very good things to do, but also, it is very healthy and helpful for me to focus on what I CAN do.

This seems to be a huge theme for me recently, and it has taken me by surprise.  I have spent my entire adult life thus far doing nearly exclusively things in which I am an “expert” or extremely competent.  Doing so I have built up great confidence in doing those skills, fulfilling those roles.  But when it comes to anything else, I find I have very little confidence.  I am surprised by how much courage I require to try new things.  So rather than berate myself for not attaining immediate success or consistency with ALL the things I believe I should do for myself, I have chosen to give myself life-blooming grace: focus on a few things I can commit to and then gently and gratefully do them.

May you find and embrace the grace you need today.

 

Hebrews 4:15-16Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (RSVCE)

15 For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning. 16 Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (RSVCE)The Revised Standard Version of the Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1965, 1966 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Hebrews 4:16New International Version (NIV)