The End of Exile

The End of Exile

There’s a woman or man like me

Waking up this morning

In Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver

In London, Berlin, Amsterdam

In Stockholm, in Sydney, maybe even in Tokyo

Waking up next to a lover, a partner, a soulmate

She’s thinking of California, New York, Massachusetts, Florida

He’s thinking of how they met in Provincetown, Manhattan, San Francisco, Miami

In Rio, or Jamaica or Amsterdam

It’s been 5 years, 10 years, 15 or like us 20

Of falling in love, of worry, of lawyers bills, of fears and new horizons

Of losses greater than could be borne – of learning greater than ever dreamed

They have friends, family, new roots of all sorts

They have bills, mortgages, contracts, commitments

Is this home? They wonder
 

For years home has been where you are, choices limited, decisions made by others
For years I have held injustice, reached for acceptance, tried to understand G-d’s plan

For years we have missed loved ones, family events, a sense of all that’s familiar

It has been a kind of wall at each side, defining a narrow path

 

And suddenly, in an instant, what has held, constrained, controlled us for decades has fallen away
I am left standing, wondering, laughing, crying

Reaching for meaning in all we have walked through

Knowing that wherever you are is home

25 years out

I got a chance to have some free coaching.  They gave me a man from England as my coach.  I did not think much about that.  I was abused in England, by a man.  But that was 47 years ago.  After 25 years of recovery most days men from England aren’t a problem.

He asked me lots of questions about myself.  When he asked about my childhood I mentioned the abuse – I don’t mind talking about it.  It was 47 years ago and I’ve been in recovery for 25 years.

Then I was supposed to write a personal inventory, and part of it was to write “challenges I have overcome.”  I wrote down “recovery from child abuse” and did not think a lot about it.  Challenges I have overcome was one of the longest sections on my list, and I felt good. 

I did not realize at the next meeting we would plow through the list and for every item he would ask, “Say more about that, what does that mean for you, what has it given you, write that down.”  About 30 minutes into it I saw “recovery from child abuse” was coming up.  I started to feel weird.  I started to become inarticulate.  I started wanting to be dishonest and to look better.  I didn’t say anything about it.  After all, I think, I’ve been in recovery for 25 years.  I can handle this.  I am intent on showing him the person he thinks I am or should be.

He said, “so you solve your own problems?”  I wrote that down.  None of it seemed the least bit true.  Child abuse isn’t a problem – it changed every part of who I am.  It isn’t solved.  Whatever part of it is solved wasn’t solved by me, for sure not by me alone.

I said, “I’m not dead.”  That wasn’t me, that was a small child speaking.  I tried to explain what I meant.  I talked about not being dead.   Like it might make sense to someone who wasn’t knocked unconscious and crushed by a terrible weight of an adult person at the age of four.

He said, “the next meeting will be very important, we should do it in a more homelike setting.”  I started to feel unsafe.  I didn’t realize it and I didn’t say anything.  He said, “do you have 5 more minutes to keep going?”  I was feeling tired and woozy.  But I like the coaching I think to myself.   I didn’t say anything. 

I said, “I don’t visualize things, I just don’t use that part of my brain, I don’t see things in my head.”

At some point I looked at all the lists of everything in my life and said, “I have everything.  Nothing is missing in my life.”  I thought about my partner, my kids, my job I love, my home.  I wondered how I could have so much in my life at 51 years old.

I drove home and went to sleep.  At 4 am my miracle daughter woke me up because she had had a bad dream.  Something clicks.  I realize I’m triggered and have been dissociating.  How did it take me 7 hours to figure that out?  I’ve been in recovery 25 years.

I remember that I know that I don’t visualize things because I cut off access to that part of my brain.  I can remember visualizing things as a child.  If I really relax, I do see things.  But I am afraid of what I will see.

My head hurts with sharp pains.  I feel I am being crushed.  I remember that the woozy feeling is a memory of losing consciousness.

In the morning I call a friend who is also an abuse survivor.  “Don’t go back to the coach,” she says.  “I’m not there, “ I say.  I’m 25 years in recovery.  I like this coaching.

I tell her I think I could access the visual part of my brain more, but I’m afraid of what I will see.  In the days following, I see houses – the house we lived in in Pittsburgh, a house I lived in in college, a glimpse maybe of our house on Rotherwick Road in London where we lived when I was abused.  I think of the word “newel post.”

“How can you not remember?” she says.  “I do remember.  In my head, in my stomach.  Sometimes I see something but it’s a slide, not a movie.”  She understands what I mean.  We talk about how only people who have been through this understand.  We talk about how not everyone who has been through it is healing. 

I think of someone who said, “I had memories in my 20s, in my 30s and in my 40s.”  I was 28 then, she was 42.  I have thought about her almost every year since she said that.  Now I’m 51.  I’ve had memories in my 20s, in my 30s and in my 40s.  Now I have them in my 50s.  I talk to my friend about some of my milestones in remembering.

I am supposed to do my coaching homework now.  I have no idea what to tell the coach.  It was 47 years ago.  I’ve been in recovery for 25 years.  Nothing is missing in my life.