My first conscious memory of childhood happened when I was about five or six. My mother and daddy had been separated for about two years so my mother, brother and I lived alone in a little house on the main street in Norco, Louisiana. Norco, which is an anagram for New Orleans Refining Company,(aka Shell Oil) is located due west of New Orleans. It is a small town where everyone knew everyone. Back then, in the 1940's, life was simpler and for most people it was safe. There was no such thing as mass murders and though there probably was violence happening in the world, we didn't hear about it in our small town.
Most of the houses on our side of the street were little cracker box houses, all the same, all in a row. My grandparents lived three houses down from us in their own little cracker box. For most, I think life was idyllic, but it wasn't for me.
I was known as the family "scardy cat". I could not describe what I felt nor did I have any power over it, or understanding about it. I was just a scared little girl. When teased I would either cry or fight back. That is all I knew to do so I lived with the fear, terror and hypervigilance for most of my life.
Here is my memory:
I was sitting on my bedroom floor playing paper dolls. My mother was cooking and she needed to go to my grandmothers to get something. She told me to come on with her and that we would be right back. I refused to go because I was doing what I loved more than anything, which was playing paper dolls. She kept urging me to get up and go with her and I kept refusing, so she said, "I will go without you then. I will be right back. Will you be okay?" I knew she was just going right down the street and would be right back so I said, "Yes."
She probably was not gone for more than a minute when I heard a creak on the floor board. I immediately panicked because I imagined there was a monster in the house who was going to get me. I jumped up from the floor and went running through that little cracker box. I ran out the door and onto the screened in front porch, then into the yard screaming all the while. Because I was so small I could not reach the latch on the gate which led to the busy street so I stood on the gate screaming and crying at the top of my lungs.
My mother came running down the street and when she opened the gate I threw myself against her. I don't remember how long it took to calm me down. All I do remember is the terror I felt at being left alaone.
As I thinking about this, I was reminded why I was so terrified over being left. When I was three my daddy and mother separated. I do not remember the incident but obviously my body and my emotional being has always remembered it.
Before my brother died, he gave me the details of that day, which he remembered because he was five and a half. This is what he told me:
My grandparents had taken my brother and I to their house and later that afternoon they brought us home. They dropped us off and my brother, being the big brother, brought me into the house.
When we got inside our mother was sitting at her vanity crying. My brother went to her and asked her what was wrong. She told him our daddy was gone and we were alone now. My brother says he told her, "don't worry mommy. I am going to take care of you." He sat with her and tried to ease her crying and her pain. Eventually she stopped crying and that was the end of the story as he told it.
As I listened to his telling of the story, I found myself wondering where was I and what was I doing. I asked him about it and he told me as far as he could remember I was just standing there, alone, crying. I asked him if he remembered anyone soothing either one of us and he said he did not think so.
What I remember about my daddy is that he was my knight in shining armor. I was his princess . I loved him and I knew he loved me. Nothing could have prepared me for my daddy suddenly being gone, with no explanation as to why. All I remember hearing eventually was that he was a drunk and he loved his liquor more than he loved me and my brother. At the age of three I understood none of this.
As I look back on that impactful, horrendous event, I have a clear understanding of why I was always so afraid of being left. That incident left me with a huge hole in my heart and also a huge issue of abandonment, which I carry with me today, even though, thanks to the healing work I have done on myself, it is nowhere near as debilitating as it had been for most of my life.
Knowing the experiences I had as a child, I am very clear about how trauma affects the human brain, psyche and nervous system, and how unhealed trauma continues to inform our life until we summon the courage within to allow a healing process to take place. It can be scary to face our darkness and fears but ignoring them will not make them go away. We can only pretend for so long.
Thanks to the help of two wonderful therapists over the years, today, I can be left alone and I can let the feelings in. I have learned to embrace my emotions knowing they are okay and I am okay. I also have learned how to not abandon myself, so I know I am never alone. I comfort my little girl within and give her sanctuary and a soft place to land and allow her to feel safe and to know she is loved.
Memories can be a gift, even the painful ones, and can be a catalyst for deep healing.
Afterthought: I encourage anyone who is considering the healing path, to not attempt to do this alone. Experience has taught me the importance of having a professional trauma based therapist in my life, I have not been alone on my healing journey. I have been blessed with wonderful heart sisters and brothers who have come into my life over the years who have walked with me, sat with me, cried with me and been with me on the path.
WHEN THE STUDENT IS READY, THE TEACHER WILL APPEAR!!!
