Telling Your Story Pt. 2

Our stories are dynamic. The details may never change, but the impact and perspective is always changing. After I wrote my story for group this session I did a fair bit of thinking about the first time I wrote it and read it aloud.

My first impression of group was not great. It was not the group itself that set me off so much as my attitude. I was frustrated that my therapist had recommended it and angry that it was not what I expected. The first night was pretty basic and more about the purpose and hopes for group. When the facilitator mentioned we needed to start writing our stories to read to the group later, my thoughts essentially centered around, “You are crazy and I am absolutely not doing this.” Based on this “homework” assignment, I almost chose to drop out.

I was encouraged to keep going and I did start to write my story about 3 weeks in. At first I was worried about what I was going to write. I debated between a summary and describing the first time it happened. I ultimately chose to write about the first time. I had briefly described it before in a journal entry but it was fairly vague and I did not make the effort to really get into writing it. Who wants to describe details of a horrible event? Nobody. Who needs to do this? Everyone.

When I started to write about the first time I was abused I started to become physically ill. As the words made it from my head to paper the details started to flow and I recalled more than I knew before. It was like I could physically feel it happening, hear his breathing, and and see the room perfectly. Essentially I was experiencing it again.

The next couple of weeks were a blur, as I wrote about so many other times it happened. I was exhausted by the end of it and had actually skipped a couple of sessions of group at the request of my therapist. I had uncovered so much in a short period of time and needed to take several steps back and process. To be honest, I was incredibly overwhelmed and could barely imagine ever surviving.

I do not tell you this to scare you out of telling your own story. Without a doubt it will be one of the hardest things you will ever do. It already lives in your head, swirling

around to the point you may think you are going crazy. The benefit of getting it out on paper (computer file) is that it lessens the pressure of hiding it in the brain. A little of the poison drains out and you gain more control of it.

Reading your story to a therapist, group, friend, pastor, family member, or whomever you chose is a lot scarier than writing it down. Once the story is told it is out in the open, no longer a secret. I was never able to look anyone in the eye while telling it and it was difficult to do afterwards. The sense of shame is powerful. When the story is read aloud we are admitting to others we feel broken, damaged, and helpless. The truth is everyone is broken (see earlier post Repairable).

Patience usually works against me, no matter my intentions. With abuse recovery I really struggle with it. I have learned so much and pushed myself harder than I should a lot of the times, but the feeling of freedom and relief from the prison of a hidden story is motivating. It encourages when there are doubts and is a positive stepping stone. I want this for everyone. I want so much for all of us to reach a point where hope is more dominant than depression, love is accepted and cherished, and forgiveness overcomes bitterness. The desire for others to feel this sense of freedom is strong in my heart. It is the equivalent of wanting others absorb what I have done and more forward. I will push others too far and forget nothing can be skipped. We all have to take the steps and do it in our own time.

I encourage you to tell your story. It needs to be told. The longer it hides inside and drags on your heart, the longer you will feel stuck. No doubt it will be one of the hardest things you will ever do. You have already proved resilient by surviving the actual abuse. Take your time and take care of yourself. Tell it in a safe place. You are not alone. I will pray for you.

The next step will be listening to others tell theirs.

Flashback

How do you handle a flashback? My reaction will vary, as I suppose everyone's does. The type of flashback also makes a difference.

At this point in the journey I have pretty much recovered every detail I am going to get. I can see what happened and have written all I know about the abuse. Most of it returned at once and it was horrifying. Lately I have discovered the emotional flashbacks are probably harder to get through. 

A couple of days ago I had an emotional flashback. Honestly, I think this kind of flashback is worse. I was watching a movie with my husband and there was a scene where the main character was hiding under her sheets, not wanting to see the thing terrifying her. The movie was suspenseful and normally I would enjoy it. This particular scene terrified me and I was done with the movie at that point. It was a scene that was all too familiar. 

When I was a senior in high school I wrote an essay about hiding from my abuser in a similar fashion. I really wish I could find that essay now. I do remember the gist of it. 

I was 4 and had a problem wetting my bed. My father put me to bed and said he was going to get my some Lifesavers as a reward for not wetting the bed. I knew that meant he was going to leave the apartment. I guess my mother was not there because I knew "that man" was in the house with me alone. I pulled my covers over my head and used my little arms to hold them down. I cannot tell you how long I stayed like that, listening for him, and hoping he did not come in. I started to feel a tug at the covers and immediately started to panic. I held them down just as hard as I could while kicking at the body that had sat down at the end of my bed. I imagine the struggle did not last long but I remember fighting so hard to keep the covers over me. Eventually the covers were pulled off; however, instead of it being my abuser, it was my father. He had returned with the Lifesavers. I remember the look on my dad's face. He had a puzzled look on his face. I felt an enormous sense of relief. He placed the Lifesavers on my bookshelf and turned off the light on his way out of the room. I still wet my bed that night but climbed up the bookshelf and got the Lifesavers, as any 4-year-old would. 

Watching the woman in the movie place the covers over her head to avoid something terrifying tossed me back into the above moment. I have known the details for years and years. I had written it at least twice, once in high school and another in college. This time I felt the memory. My stomach started to churn, my chest felt tight, and I had my husband stop the movie. I grabbed my favorite stuffed animal and tried to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night I started screaming and woke up my husband. I could not tell him what caused the scream. 

If the screaming in the middle of the night was a new thing, I could have easily blamed it on the movie. Unfortunately I have been doing this at least twice a week since I was discharged from the hospital. I originally thought it had something to do with the medication withdrawal but it has continued. 

I have to face the fact that a majority of the cause is probably emotional flashbacks. How many times did I want to scream and just could not? Even when awake, I am feeling the sense of helplessness, being overwhelmed, and terrified out of my mind. I am experiencing it on 3 levels. I am remembering the emotions as a little girl, as the high-school senior who wrote the original essay, and as the adult now having to go back through it again. 

I was waiting to post this. I wanted a way to sum it up and write about how I got through it. The truth is, while it is not completely occupying my mind and has faded into the background a little, I have not moved all the way past it. This only proves recovery will never be wrapped up tightly with a bow. It is a process. Our job is to continue the process.