Who Will Rescue Me?

I remember standing out on the playground in second grade, hiding behind a tree. The kids always picked on me because I was quiet, different, and they somehow knew more about my home life than I realized. They knew that I had no dad and, strangely, two moms. They knew that I was always quietly reserved, rarely spoke, and always seemed to be crying. I was the weird kid. I remember hiding behind that tree and wishing that I had never been born. I would cry out to the universe, confused and consumed by all this sadness. But I didn’t know why.

Children who have experienced complex trauma will often have great difficulty in identifying, expressing, and managing their emotions. I’ve always been a sensitive person and tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. I am getting better, but there are triggers everywhere. Some children, however, may express their emotions in more aggressive ways. They may become despondent or even combative with their younger siblings or fellow peers. They don’t understand the hurt that they are feeling and so they act it out in the best way they know how.

I am only just beginning to understand how my own childhood trauma comes into play in my everyday life. More than once, something someone has said to me has triggered an immediate, hypervigilant response. On many occasions, I have called a romantic partner my Mother after something they have said to me. Because in that moment, their comment has transported me back to a specific time and place where I felt vulnerable and attacked.

I remember reaching out to my mother once, desperate to feel her love for me. I just wanted to know that she did, indeed, love me. Was that too much to ask? I found I could express myself much better in written form, so I wrote my mother a letter. I can still see it clearly in my head; I had a small notebook with bright yellow paper. In the letter, I told her how I felt and how she made me feel. I asked her why she never tells me she loves me? She wrote me a letter back, on that same bright yellow paper, and said, “Well, you never tell me you love me, either!”

As children we hope—no, expect, --our parents to be there for us. We expect them to nurture us, protect us, and care for us. We shouldn’t have to beg to be shown love. And it should never be “I’ll say it if you do.”

Treat Me With Respect

Throughout life you will encounter a full range of experiences and human interactions—from your parents, classmates, romantic relationships and coworkers. Our grandparents spoil us, lavishing us with gifts, candy, and I-love-yous. Our bosses sing our praises, promoting us and telling us what star employees we are. Our friends share our accolades, bragging about our academic and financial prowess. But these are just words. Physical expressions are far more revealing than the words that are being shared.

Jeff used to sing my praises to everyone we met. He would be practically beaming as he told them how proud he was to have me as his own. He would tell them what a wonderful woman I was, and how he had “waited his whole life” for me! He would get on social media and dedicate a love song to me every night. One night he dedicated All of Me by John Legend to me and posted “Because of you, I laugh harder, cry less, and smile a lot more. From me to you, my priceless soulmate, lover, and queen...forever your loving and devoted King...xoxo” Pretty sweet, huh? Tugs on the ‘ol heart strings? Well, keep your pants on, because the very next morning I woke up to the following text message from him:

‘We forgot to do my medicine, so I did it myself (I used to take his pill bottle into the bedroom to him to take his daily meds). You always remember my medicine...always, always, ALWAYS remember my medicine. But you immediately deny that is POSSIBILITY “could have been”passive aggressive--without even pausing for a single moment to consider the "possibility." Passive aggression can be Intentional or Unintentional (He liked to make sure he aways gave me a definition of what he was referring to in an effort to degrade me). Do not come into the bedroom to talk to me about this. I may be getting sick because we argued yesterday afternoon instead of me sleeping.'

Two different modes of words. But the actions behind the second set of words spoke volumes over the words themselves. He couldn't tell me these things to my face, because he was too lazy and didn't want to waste his time explaining it. He would rather go take a nap, because his wellbeing was more important than mine. He was able to manipulate and degrade me, without even opening his mouth. He basically showed me how little regard he had for his "queen." In that moment, my happy, cheerful disposition was shattered. I was suddenly sad, confused, feeling stupid, and very fearful. I wanted to hide away somewhere so I didn't have to face him when he awoke.

Sometimes the message is in the body language. We all have at least one person in our lives that we don't necessarily like, but we tolerate them. For example, that one stinky aunt who comes over and hugs you a little too tightly, but you have to hug her back because she is your aunt. You make a half-hearted attempt to hug her, but your arms are limp and you just want this horribly awkward moment to be over as quickly as possible. Sometimes, however, the message is presented in an entirely different way. I used to have a newspaper route when I was 12. Didn't we all at that age? I remember on night it was particularly cold. It had snowed heavily all day long. The snow was so deep that you couldn't see the lanes in the road. The weather man said it was -30o and the temperature was rapidly dropping as the short day started to close. It was always dark before I finished my paper route. I used to get so scared because the road that led back to my house had no street lights and was lined by tall pines on either side. This particular late afternoon started out fine; at least I could see my way down the road at the beginning of the route. But as the late afternoon turned into evening and the sky started to darken, the winds began to pick up. They were cold and biting, and whipped at my face. I started to lose sensation in my legs. I kept waiting for someone to come and get me, to rescue me from the cold. But no one came. I trudged along in the cold dark. By the time I made it back home, my legs were completely numb.

All of these behaviours showed me how little I mattered to those people. My own parents thought it was perfectly fine to leave a 12-year-old out in the cold dark of night, alone, in a blizzard. My romantic relationships showed me my own value was dependent on what I could do for them.

ABUSE LEADS TO UNHEALTHY HABITS

Growing up, we are taught to establish heathy habits to ensure we live a fulfilling life; eat a healthy diet, exercise regularly, get plenty of sleep, and, of course, drink plenty of water. Good habits not only benefit our physical health, but they also have a positive effect on our emotional, spiritual, and mental health. They help us to become more productive and energetic, and they help us to move forward. Habits are behaviors by default; something that we do daily, and generally on autopilot. Think about your drive to work. You get up, get dressed, grab your coffee, and when you get to work you can’t even remember driving there!

So, what happens when we start developing negative habits? It could be something as minor as biting your fingernails or picking at your lips. It starts out as a nervous tick when you get stressed. But over time those short fingernails become painful and bloodied nubs with torn cuticles and split nail beds. Your lips become cracked and overly sensitive.

When it comes to invisible abuse, such as emotional abuse, those who experience it often suffer silently, ensconced in confusion and most often psychological distress. Victims question themselves and doubt their own experiences. So, they develop coping mechanisms that turn into habits, which push them backwards.

The most obvious coping mechanism is substance abuse. Some start smoking to relieve stress. But then that becomes a habit, and then an addiction, until it negatively affects your overall health and wellbeing. Many turn to alcohol or drugs, with the same or similar outcomes. But there are other habits we form to protect ourselves that could prove to have negative outcomes as time goes on. For example, we may avoid others. We think if we stay away from family and friends then we won’t have to explain our pallor or dark circles under our eyes due to lack of sleep and anxiety. We don’t have to answer questions or shy away from prying eyes. But soon, family and friends will just give up—stop coming around—and then you really ARE alone. Some develop dangerous behavior patterns such as gambling or even self-harm. I don’t need to explain to you the negative effects of developing a gambling habit. Some people will cut themselves in order to feel something—anything—other than the internal anguish going on in their heads. But cuts lead to scars and more dangerous modes of self-mutilation, even death.

My own coping mechanisms are to tense up and to hold my breath. I am always in Fight or Flight mode, because I don’t know how people around me are going to behave. I am tensed, poised—ready to spring into action and flee at the first sign of danger, or retreat into myself. I have walked on eggshells for years; held my breath fearing the wrath headed my way because I said the wrong thing or because I didn’t do something right.

Still others try to avoid reminders of the trauma at all costs. We all try to avoid bad memories or shut out negative feelings to reduce stress. But this is just a short-term resolution. I know I do not like thinking about my trauma. I really don’t like talking about certain things, either. I feel like people will judge me (why not? My own mother did!) or make fun of me for crying. I fear their ridicule, afraid they will tell me that it wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be. I fear the pain of more rejection and reliving those memories.

But then I realized something. Everything is a trigger for me. EVERYTHING. For example, the other day I was writing a name on a birthday cake with a tube of blue gel. Someone said, “Not too small!” They were not yelling at me, simly ensuring I wrote the name big enough for everyone to be able to easily read it. But I instantly regressed into a little girl, being admonished for not doing something the correct way. My hands began to shake and by the time I finished writing the name, it looked like my grandson had written it! So, the pain is always there anyway. It’s lurking beneath the surface—just waiting to spring forth. I still hold my breath on a daily basis. I only realize I am doing it when I am suddenly gasping for air. I still catch myself tensing up throughout the day and I must make a conscious effort to tell myself to BREATHE, and to relax my muscles. I also realize that there are a lot of people out there feeling exactly the way I do, and unsure what to do about it.

My coping mechanisms turned into habits that are wreaking havoc on my body. I am no longer in a relationship with my narcissistic abuser, but I am still broken—and I don’t want to be. I am ready to take back my life, to gain back my own inner strength and sense of self-worth. I am ready to create new habits and to thrive! Are you?

SURVIVAL MODE

This morning I woke up feeling raw and emotional. I felt vulnerable—and I realized I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I’ve been vulnerable my entire life and it hurtles me back into so many scenarios. When someone endures emotional abuse, they question everything about themselves. They question their surroundings—is this a safe place? If not, where will I go? Who can I turn to? They question their beliefs—Am I really that bad? Maybe I am (insert negative name here) as they say I am. Maybe this isn’t that terrible, and I am making a fuss over nothing. And most importantly, they are constantly questioning their own feelings—Why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel lonely when they tell me how good I have it here? Am I wrong to feel hurt? Angry? Confused?

I have some head and spinal injuries, as well as fibromyalgia. I have lived with chronic pain all my life. Some days are good, others are worse. At night, I am plagued with back spasms that often rob me of my sleep. Last night I had a particularly painful episode. My back spasmed and my body twisted and contorted so much, I felt like I was in ‘The Exorcist!’ When doctors ask you what your pain level is on a scale from 1-10, mine was a solid 15! When I was finally able to get out of bed, I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or cry. I hate being in this much pain. Moreso, I hate being a burden to anyone. Jeff used to tell me that he never would have gotten involved with me had he known “how sick I was.” He said he felt trapped because he had to take care of me.

For this reason, I am afraid to show how much pain I am actually in. Once, I passed out from extreme pain and menstrual cramps. When I came to, my mother was yelling at me for faking it all! My lifetime of emotional and verbal abuse taught me that I need to remain silent. Endure the pain quietly. No one wants to hear me complain. No one cres about my misery and if I voice it, they might want to get rid of me too.

THAT is what invisible abuse does to a person.