It's just who I am...?

As I get older, I continue to experience soul-shaking moments that are clearly unremarkable to those around me. Each glimpse paints a clear picture of what could have been... and each moment shoves me under the surface, gasping for air. My childhood produced far greater damage than I realized. I think this is probably hard to comprehend for someone who has had a fairly normal life, loving parents, healthy parents, healthy family, healthy friends. Now, I know despite all those things being true, people with wonderful lives have terrible things happen as well. And nothing I say next is to diminish anyone's experience of something terrible. But I have to say this... while a terrible, isolated incident absolutely has an impact on someone. It is not the same (not speaking to better or worse here - I will never speak to someone's experience) as repeated, prolonged exposure to violence and abuse. The ability of the brain to shape itself accordingly... to survive. Period. "Survival mode" is discussed often, but being in survival mode isn't even the worst of it. The most painful part about trauma is after the healing (if you're lucky enough to get to this point at all)... healing is expected to be the hardest... but that didn't even come close for me. The most painful part is living with people who were never hurt in the same way, 'normal people', and seeing that even after healing, my basis of reality will still never be normal. That shit... is absolute devastation from the inside out.

One day, more recently than I'd like to admit, someone at work decided on an icebreaker about wishes. She asked, "Oh, when I was little I used to wish for (I honestly don't remember, probably a pony), what did you all wish for when you were little, why, and did you get it...?" Just a simple question. I thought for a minute... wishing? Stupid topic, but okay. I don't remember wishing for anything, nothing, ever... I was a little taken aback as I looked around and noticed people were like, really deciding what they would share, a few annoyed people, but quite a few very excited to discuss this. I was shocked as people began to answer... Disneyland trips, clothes, a car, parents to be remarried... lots of things. People shared about getting these things... I was so frantic... think, think, think! What have I wished for? Surely there's something. I probably wished for my dad to go away, maybe.... okay, well, can't share that... Then it really hit me; I honestly don't think I understood the idea of 'wishing for something,' like... I genuinely didn't even know it was an option... I had never thought of something I wanted and gotten it (in childhood), not really... not in the ways being discussed (very casually) in this room. Like, what do you mean you told your parents you wished to go to Disneyland, and they just took you... to make your wish come true?

I was overwhelmed. As a mostly healed 38-year-old adult. Massive waves of emotions started thrashing around in my chest... anger, hurt, devastation... quite frankly, I wish I'd been able to calm the fuck down, and lie - tell everyone I once asked for a pony and got it. We could all smile and laugh and act like that is a normal part of childhood. But I've never been good at that. So, I held my breath until I couldn't hold it any longer, stood up, started to exhale to keep myself from crying (this is my famous trick), and walked to the bathroom. Where I proceeded to ugly cry, silently, into a wad of toilet paper until I had no tears left. By the time I returned, the icebreaker was over... and everything was fine.

-

My house (my space anywhere, really) is always immaculately clean. This has been true for as long as I can remember. If my area is not clean and well organized, I cannot complete anything else until it is that way. I do dishes immediately. I take the trash out the second it's full. I clean out the fridge before I grocery shop. My desk is just-so before I start any work. Absolute. Perfectionist. "It's just who I am." If things are not perfect, I tend to spiral... mentally, emotionally... then physically. I know it sounds dramatic, but my body will physically react to disorganization, untidiness... tight chest, shallow breathing, all right before the sheer panic and total paralysis sets in. It's ridiculous. But it's just who I am, you know...

My brother and sister-in-law (who, by the way, is a real-life Saint I'm pretty sure) bought a house a few months after my husband and I. I was so excited for them! We bought a house built in the last 20 years, so newish by any standards. Well, they bought a new home; not one inch had ever been lived in. And the second I walked into it, I was envious... every wall freshly painted, crisp white everything, the baseboards looked like a Lowe's display, every appliance with a sticker and no fingerprints. I melted like butter, 'they're so lucky.'

They live pretty far away, and our mom's house is in the middle where we often meet as a family, so I didn't end up back at their house for roughly six months. So, I decided to pop in one day that my sister-in-law happened to be around. I was so excited to visit and sit around in their perfectly white kitchen... I opened the door, and I was shocked.

What the fuck?

A thought that was clearly showing as my sister-in-law walked over to greet me... "Yeah, uh, it's a little messy in here. It's been a pretty long week." The more I looked, the worse it got... I'm not kidding... a week... this shit hasn't been cleaned since the day they bought it. There is no fucking WAY. The kitchen counters are full of crap, the kitchen table is too, the carpets are disgusting, and the kitchen floor is covered in crumbs and dirt, big enough to literally pick up. At least two piles of laundry that I could see. Those white baseboards... just covered in dirt, with wisps of dog hair lining the bottom and corners... for the love of fresh white everything. How could anyone... I was so disappointed! Weird thing to be right... I was also, probably a real bitch, because I honestly couldn't get over it, or myself. But again, she's a Saint.

I called my brother the next day and expressed my deep concerns... yes, about their house, as I said, mostly healed. I was really concerned that something devastating had happened in their lives that must have kept them from cleaning their house.

He said, "No, she's just not like us."

"Okay... She doesn't clean her house? That's not normal; she's depressed or something."

"No, she's not. She chooses to ignore the house so she can work, go to the gym, sports events in the evenings, family time, cooking. I honestly think if she tried to add 'keeping the house clean' into the mix, it would make her depressed. We just choose to do a good clean like once a month..."

"Well, how can she work when it looks like that? How does she know where the kids' things are, like uniforms? I mean, cooking, the dishes... I don't really get it. I mean, doesn't that bother you?"

"Yeah, it does. We've had a heated conversation or two... But I watch her every day, do only what needs to be done, and choose to be present and happy instead... and she reminds me that I also only need to do what must be done, and that I can be happy and present too... because the house will always need to be cleaned... ya know?"

Again... the air sucked right out of my lungs. Hold your breath, Bev, it's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

It was the first time in my entire life where the burden of being perfect shifted from numb endurance to emotional fatigue... perfect, or not perfect... I didn't know that was a question. It pummeled me like a herd of elephants. It never, and I mean never, occurred to me that I had a choice.

That's the funny thing about trauma: I can heal intrusive thoughts, addictive behaviors, emotional patterns... I can heal the negative things in my life that were leading to undesirable outcomes. And instead begin to create this beautiful, normal life... but it still shows up. It shows up every time I'm unable to relate to something ordinary, an innocent question that I can't answer, or a choice I didn't know I had. Trauma lives in memories, sure, we know this. The memories are the things most frequently used as the starting place for healing.

What experiencing that trauma has taken from me, though... that is much harder to heal. It can't be healed proactively... Because it's not even something I know about or understand until it's presented to me, like in tiny moments above. Every single one strikes me like lightning... another wound, to heal out of retrospect.

For those of you on your healing journey. Hang in there. I see you.

Here's my wish... that we are all strong enough to make it out of a war that was never ours to fight... that we are diligent in tending to our wounds, especially the ones that tear open over and over... that we develop a self-love so deep, it allows us to act with intention and remember we have a choice now.

Love always,

Bev