I've come to see that the bullying had swallowed a slice of the pie, which rounded out my sense of self-respect.
I've come to understand that trauma, left undiagnosed, festers as painfully as an abscess eats into solid bone.
During those decades when wounds to my self-image remained invisibly raw, my subconscious sent SOS signals to the conscious side of my mind, indicating—all was not well.
However, those signals were so unclear that all I felt was needled by anxiety, pain, confusion or—shame. And thus with no clue that raging furies were buried deep inside me, I did not feel safe and sound, peaceful or—whole.
Perhaps that last train of thought summarizes the way trauma, lodged within the subconscious, interferes with clarity.
You see, when we're young, Mother Nature instructs the subconscious gatekeeper to hold raging furies at bay, thus protecting a child's tender ego from feeling stampeded by cruelty on the loose. However at some point, Chicken Little must figure out how to cross the road, where a child’s narrow view of reality expands and matures. Otherwise childish judgments, concerning 'right and wrong', will continue to limit this chick's ability to heal, for real.
It's important to note that in addition to giving us loving hearts, Mother Nature gives each child streaks of negatively charged energy, crackling with jealousy, retaliation and misplaced anger, as well. And as human nature is a mixed bag of tricks—denial provides repressed anger with a 'safe' place to hide for only so long.
Eventually passive submission gives way to unexpected explosions, seething with unresolved anger, which shock the socks off everyone in sight—including the person, who is passive, no more. (If, during times of personal growth, I seemed strange to others that makes sense, because each time repressed anger emerged, I felt like a stranger to myself.)
Once I grew wise enough and thus, courageous enough, to confront those furies, lodged within my central nervous system—for years—my subconscious gate keeper signaled my conscious mind to discover one set of furies—feasting away at my 'piece' of mind—at a time. And while you watch me tunnel toward dislodging one set of mangy curs after another, you, too, may acquire a deep sense of why I choose to tunnel through yesterday's darkly masked fears toward the light of a brighter tomorrow.
Though I believe in THE POWER OF ONE, that does not mean I tunnel toward the light all alone. More, later, about the trusty crew who cheer me on in support of my quest whenever my instinct to peel away a layer of fear is strong.
As I'm accustomed to searching for cages, hidden beneath trap doors inside my subconscious, I was not surprised when my conscious mind found it tough to unblock. In fact, I figure that traumatic experiences are like climate in that electrifying storms thunder down on sunny days more than once in each lifetime. And as you can imagine, problems deepen when storms rage in secret, within.
Being that I’ve worked to retrieve lost slices of self respect before blogging, I was patient when my hidden fears balked, stalled, and blocked my ability to tunnel toward success. I accepted the need to muster the courage to peel away layers of self protection before my dive was able to free another 'piece' of mind, which had, mistakenly, been tossed into the same holding cell as that busload of furies.
I've also found it interesting to note that each time another tunneling quest meets with success, this insight lights up:
The true villain in each story proves to be the negatively focused side of human nature, which is in need of further examination and exposure.
As this has proven true, repeatedly, you’ll watch me call upon positive focus to uncover and dislodge hot spots of negativity from my mind, again and again.
Each time insight unblocks the narrowness of my scope, the light at the end of a tunnel reawakens a piece of my self-esteem, which had succumbed to a comatose state of confusion, long ago. In short, I've come to understand why the mind of a child transforms into a series of complex—mazes!
Each time I exit a maze, you'll watch my spirit replenish its sense of wholeness, anew. And because of that fact, I believe you, too, may recognize how the POWER OF ONE—holding hands with the POWERS OF MANY—works tirelessly until survivors of trauma morph into well rounded 'thrivers', again. And Amen to that!
On the other hand, if you were to ask why some survivors lug the burden of trauma, unknowingly, straight to the grave while others quest toward emotional recovery, here's what I'd say:
Each time I called out—HI MOM! I’M HOME!—my secret sense of war torn shame felt doubly salved—because Dad’s love for me had been as openly expressed as Mom’s.
In case that fact makes you wonder why Annie won't tell her parents the whole truth about having been brow beaten, repeatedly, by that busload of bullies, then here's what I'd say:
Patience, my friend, you have little clue as to what else my subconscious had need to secret away when I was a tot. And in addition to that, we have lots left to discover about denial. RR&R
To date, this process of assembling my 500-piece puzzle has just begun. That means we’ve only compiled one corner of the bigger picture, which will show us why my husband and I met, dated, fell in love, created a family, and split.
If you're anxious to know how denial affected our split—well—I've just begun to crack this egg, which means the chicken that crossed the road has barely been hatched.
And as haste makes waste, I think it best to saunter leisurely thus, carefully, along the path of Annie's life until every relevant puzzle piece has been retrieved. Bottom line: I believe in thoroughness, so please rest assured that I'll do my homework before posting. :-)