The Victim & The Storm
I was a victim when I was a little girl. I couldn’t stop what was happening so I used coping strategies to survive. The most profound strategy was dissociating and, eventually, splitting into parts, but there were other strategies too: denial, isolation, pretending, avoiding, being oh so very good.
I Was a Victim as a Child
When I was very tiny, I hid behind my mother’s coat when other people were around; I still have a photo capturing that terror. Speaking of photos, I’ll never forget my uncle and father forcing the ten-year-old me to pose in a Hawaiian grass skirt without a shirt to cover my undeveloped breasts. I was horrified and protested, but the photo proves I lost the battle. My pathological shyness continued into adolescence where I was afraid of all boys, humiliated whenever a cute one showed some interest because my lips trembled and my brain froze with nothing to say.
I Was a Victim as an Adolescent
Victimization followed me in subtle ways. When I was walking home from high school in dusky dim light, a boy with red hair whom I had never seen before came up to me and told me he would give me $10 if I would let him put his hand in my blouse. I stared at him in disbelief and said, “Oh, no. I’m sorry,” and quickly walked away. When babysitting for a family of four, I fell asleep after putting the two children to bed, and woke to the father, inebriated, holding and fondling me. Was I a target or just unlucky? Somewhere deep inside I knew they had no right to touch me but the best I could muster was to APOLOGIZE!
I Was a Victim as an Adult
I was a victim when I was a little girl and I carried that into adulthood when I didn’t know how to protect my own children whom I loved more than life itself, when I had no agency to stand up to my ex-husband and demand an equitable settlement, when I crawled into a fetal position when things got rough. When we’ve been victimized as children, sometimes we reenact (unconsciously) our childhood strategies in adulthood. We may hide our sexuality the way we did when we were young. Or we might act out our sexuality. Or we may be aggressive with others the way parental figures were with us. One of my childhood strategies resided in an alter who trusted. As an adult, I pretended to trust, I literally thought I was trusting because I didn’t know any better. In reality, I was pretending trust and making really bad choices.
I was a victim when I was a little girl, but I’m an adult now. Being an adult doesn’t automatically erase the telltale signs of victimhood. It took work. Recognizing my victimhood was the first step. Acknowledging my adulthood was another step. Knowing my adult can keep my childhood victims safe was another step and communicating that effectively to my insiders was yet another. Like a real parent who loves, values, and listens to their children, but sometimes makes decisions they don’t like, I love, value, and listen to my alters but sometimes make adult decisions that lead me away from victimhood and toward a healthy, adult life.
I Was a Victim but I Am Not Now
I was a victim, but I am not now. I am an adult who (for the most part) has claimed her power and left her victimhood behind. I am still learning, growing, and healing, but a funny thing happened on the way to healing … I found my voice, I found my worth, I made amends, I found my power. If there’s a problem with the utility company, who do you think will stand up and tell the truth, me or my husband (I love him 🥰)? Who never gives up on her adult children? Who follows her passion for supporting the marginalized? Who leads in front of, next to, and behind? Who goes out on a limb to say, speak, do what others are afraid to say, speak, or do? Who never gives up on anything she believes in? Who reaches for the hope that’s the thing with feathers (from Emily Dickinson, see below)? Who shares that hope with others in every way she knows how?
I Am the Storm
There’s a meme making its way around social media sites:
They whispered to her, You can’t withstand the storm.
She whispered back, I AM THE STORM.
Watch out for the victim who claims her power. At the age of 75 (soon to be 76), one suicide attempt, one 30-day hospitalization, several relationship flops, thousands of pages of journal writing, hundreds of therapy sessions, immeasurable failures and some pretty stellar successes, I have left my victimhood behind and whisper: I AM THE STORM!
What about you?
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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.
~ Emily Dickenson
Lyn