Trigger warning: Sexual assault, rape, – not detailed.
Life is layered. More than one thing happens at a time.
So far, I have chosen to write about the things that shaped me in singular observations, (my birth, my Nana, my father). There will be more of these singular stories to come, those people/ times that I feel warrant their own lengthy viewing. But life is not just made up of the big ongoing events, there are single moments and encounters that have had a profound effect on me. These scenes did not necessarily involve main players in my life, not all were bad tragedies either. But to understand how the mental patterns in my head have been reenforced, it is important to understand the little things that have happened to solder the wiring of my brain.
I was about six. My Nana had a neat little house with blue trim and white picket fence. It seemed out of place next to the main road way that ran in front of it. There was always traffic, sirens at any time of day. On this particular beautiful day I was playing on the front step. The usual bustle of traffic going by, when a car veered off the road, crossed my Nana’s lawn, onto her neighbour’s and crashed into the front of the house. The car had been going at quite the speed, it hit the next door house with such force the driver flew through his windshield and through the front window of the house. I watched all of this with a front row view from my Nana’s stoop. I still feel startled when I remember this. I think it made me a little less trusting that things are always going to be good. That we could trust feeling safe.
In the giant back yard of this same little house, I would open hours lying on the grass, looking at the sky. Playing in the dirt and holding court with the plants. The coolness under the crab apple tree in the heat of summer, was a welcome refuge for a tea party. My Nana and I would take lawn chairs out in the middle of the yard and have tea and she would tell me about the different birds we’d spot, using my Papa’s ancient binoculars. These are some of the times I really felt connected. I did not have the language then, that I do now, I am blessed to be able to recall this feeling in my very marrow when I am out in nature, walking in the woods, playing in my garden. That are some of the most peaceful, spiritual moments I have. I am glad I had that in my childhood early on. It left a positive imprint on me, one that I seek out as healthy self care.
In that same little house I loved the kitchen, the bath tub and wooden toilet seat in her bathroom (seriously, as a kid I would be in there for hours reading, it was the most comfortable seat in the house.). I hated the basement. It was old, three quarters finished, cold. Filled me with the worst dread. I have nightmares of hiding near the washer and dryer in that basement. It was in that basement I was molested by a male relative. He would drag me down there to play hide and seek. I think he was about five or six years older than me. He’d find me, and lay himself on top of me and rub himself on me, asking if I wanted to play hotdog. My Mom and Nana upstairs and I couldn’t tell them or he said he’d beat me up, plus it was just a game, he’d try to convince me. It happened three or four times. This reenforced me giving in for peace, and not having any power.
There was a boy who lived across the street from where I grew up. He was five years older than me. All the girls on my street had mad crushes on him. My parents let him babysit me when my sisters weren’t around for the task. He would wait till my folks were gone and pull me into the room under the stairs where we kept all of the board games. He would kiss me, with his tongue. It always felt so gross, he kept trying to jam the slimy thing in my mouth. He was so well loved in the neighbourhood I couldn’t tell. I knew it didn’t feel good, but everyone loved him so something must be wrong with me. I feel uneasy thinking about this, another early betrayal of trust. Another early experience of betraying myself and my instinct because it would ruffle others. I struggle with this still.
I was eight years old when Raiders of the Lost Ark came out. There was a little gang of us that hung out, I was one of the youngest. It was summer and the kids got permission to be able to see a movie with out parents. It was so exciting. My Mom was reluctant but I told her it was just a little adventure movie, it would be fine. Yeah, that melting scene at the end… I had nightmares for weeks after. But it was worth it. That sense of freedom I had when I was out with my friends. That was the moment I knew I really do love my independence to experience different things with different people. And considering how anxious I can be, I love scary movies, I like controllable fear.
I could devote a few paragraphs to the multiple times I have been sexually violated in my life. I have thought long and hard, and rather than dissect each one, looking at them en mass has shown me is that a victim needs to feel heard. They need to be believed. That you can’t make assumptions of how these things will happen. I was assaulted as a young teen at a party with my sisters friends. I never told her, but her brother in law saved me. I was raped at a high school party. I was molested by a female classmate in elementary school. I understand how these things reenforced my lack of self worth. My being invisible unless there was a use for me. I can see how this had started to create that constant need for validation, that I was good, I was wanted, loved.
The absolute rush I got in grade six, the first time I wrote and directed a play. It was well received and elaborate. The first time I saw my words in print, in grade one, a story in the inter school magazine. The first time I won an award for one of my plays in high school. The first time I treated a client as a professional, not a massage therapy student. The first time I taught a class. The first birth I was asked to attend as a helper. Sitting one fall day and listening to a homeless gentleman’s story. He thanked me, for reminding him he was human. All of these things made me feel so incredibly useful. So needed for the right reasons. Any time I can connect, through touch, through words, teaching, I still get that same feeling. A warm rush, like I am glowing, plugged into the universal energy. That I have purpose.
I can see how these things all fit in to help create light and dark. I am sensitive to those that feel unseen. I love to share ideas and conversation, to be truly connected. When this is out of balance I become needy, paranoid that I am repulsive, worthless. I truly want to help who I can, when I can, but I have to be mindful it is not to feed my own monsters. I can not seek adulation, gratitude, indebtedness, acceptance, love as the payment for being of service. When I start to feel the “what about me and my needs” whine start, I am learning to step back and see if there is an underlying cause or if I am just depleted.
It will always be an inner dance, a negotiation. Sometimes I will get it right. Sometimes I won’t. That’s human. it is something we will all do. But not all of us will try to learn from it, try to grow from it. You can’t have the expectation that life will become exactly what you want. But you can align a little better if you’re willing to work at it.
Thanks for reading.
Standing Still at the Speed of Light 