childhood

Unraveling

Pontiac Sunfire 1999

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the passenger seat as my son learns to drive.  I am NOT fond of driving.  I don’t feel like I’m in control behind the wheel.  It’s complicated.  Although I trust my son, implicitly, riding in cars augments my ALREADY heightened feeling of vulnerability.  I’m not an ideal driving teacher, so I sit quietly and try not to freak out unless, of course, we are about to die.

I was 17 when I was learning to drive. My FATHER thought I was doing well enough to give highway 401, the then BUSIEST and WIDEST freeway in North America, a go.  Thankfully, G1/learner permit drivers are no longer permitted to take this RISK.  We began navigating through the city of Peterborough, where we lived. I drove us down Highway 7, which had 2 lanes.  Then I continued driving on Highway 115, which had 4 lanes.  Then, I turned off onto Highway 401, which had 8 lanes.  With each highway, my fear increased with the SPEED limit.

Once on the 401, I panicked. I desperately wanted to pull over.  There is NO ‘safe’ place to sit on the shoulder of the 401.  I started crying and screaming, and swerving. My Mom and my sister (it’s unfortunate they’d come along on THIS adventure) also began to shout.  Somehow, my Dad talked me through it. (I’ve blocked out the memory). My panic, dissociation and almost total shutdown could have killed ALL of us.  I avoid highway 401 as much as  possible.

It’s little wonder that I took up pastoring in RURAL settings.  I do okay in the country on the back roads, as long as they’re paved. Once, while driving a parishioner home, I crashed my car into a tree while TRYING to power through freshly laid gravel with my sports car. (Sunfire) Fun times. Night time driving in the country presents the constant danger of deer crossing.  I hit actually HIT one and have avoided driving after sundown ever since. And then there is snow. Snow is ALWAYS scary.

Once, early in my ministry, BEFORE becoming a mother (I think this matters to my state of mind), I was driving through a rural, winter storm and slid off the road.  That’s not accurate.  I BARRELLED off the road,  jumping the ditch and landing in a farmer’s field, just inches from a large tree. I’d been making pastoral calls and was not dressed appropriately for winter.  Since this was a time BEFORE I had a cell phone, I got out and trudged through the deep snow to the nearest farmhouse. 

There were little kids outside. The mother was wary of ME – wearing frozen blacks and a clergy collar.  I steeled myself to IMPOSE until help arrived.  I used her phone.  I didn’t call the police but a nearby parishioner who pulled my car out with his tractor. My car thawed for HOURS in his heated barn. It was terribly humiliating.

This accident could EASILY have been avoided. I COULD have stopped pressing the gas. I could have TRIED to steer into the skid.  But I JUST gave up. What possessed me? How could I NOT care? In a single second, I made a decision that ran contrary to anything I dreamed I would do in similar circumstances.  I didn’t think about it for many years because, well,  accidents happen. Only AFTER being diagnosed with depression and mental health deficits after years of ministry, after having children, after MY child was diagnosed with mental health disorders – then the UNRAVELING began.

Do we know what is in our hearts, hidden in our minds? What weighs on our subconscious? When I was a child I used to think SO hard about what ‘FOREVER’means that it made my head hurt. Still does. The idea of forever and, by extension, the idea of ‘NEVER ’, torment me.  Forever and never are impossible to quantify.  If I’m honest, the idea of eternity is FRIGHTENING.  Will my racing thoughts EVER end?  Ending permanently is just as terrifying.  How can my thoughts STOP? How can I just disappear, just stop BEING? 

Somehow, something in me knows it IS eternal.  This sense grew exponentially when my brother died 13 years ago (today, actually).  I can feel eternity IN myself, and it brings both comfort and fear. It’s hard enough to open ourselves to trust in the goodness of creaturely living, let alone the eternal life of our souls! WHEN will it be well with our souls?  Do we, as we are, have to END to embrace it?

Science says that electricity, energy NEVER burns out.  I imagine that means THIS aspect of our little lives remains viable in the universe. THAT part is recycled. Stardust. Our bodies decay and contribute to NEW life on EARTH. But what of our soul?  What happens to our individuality, our thoughts, our loves – are they simply LET GO? As a Christian, I look to Jesus, but he doesn’t give ANY satisfying answers, just more puzzlement.  He says things like: there will be NO marriage, we will be like angels and belong ONLY to LOVE(God).  After bodily death, being with family won’t be the primary activity. Worshipping Love ITSELF will fill our time, and ALL will be ONE family. We’ll even meet NEW family. (Matthew 22-30) St. Paul says that we will be closer to one another than we are NOW, but not in the same way. (1 Corinthians 2:9) So – we won’t be alone, but all of this still scares me. Also, the relief of letting go, giving my brain a rest, equally entices me.

The decision I made in that snowstorm was probably LESS a decision than it was a product of my Borderline Personality- emotional dysregulation. I can be overwhelmed, impulsive, and reckless when I feel threatened. That was a recipe for disaster BEFORE starting medication to curb these symptoms.  I take better care of myself now. Our personal self care has benefits for EVERYONE we love.

Our brains are wired to survive, even in trauma. There is an INNATE awareness that life now IS important. It is important to LIVE IT. FEEL  IT. SAVOUR IT. The richness and depth of ALL human emotion come from opening our hearts to love a little bit each day. Because of our capacity for love, I trust that WHATEVER is next is GOOD- because LOVE is good.  I believe that Love will embrace the best of us UNTO eternity.  All this confusion, learning, joy, and shit, ALL of it – is somehow WORTH the effort. 

I work hard to remember to weigh my thoughts before acting. Every day, I give thanks for the GRACE to live THIS life. Life leads all of us into a deeper knowing of our souls that will somehow transform us into ONE and give us the PEACE that surpasses all of our current understanding.

Safe

My grown kids scoff whenever I remind them that I could fly. Not airplanes.  I am NOT a pilot.  What I am is accident prone, CLUMSY.  My kids often tease me that ‘it’s too bad I’ve forgotten how to fly, maybe then I’d save myself some bumps and bruises’. Funny. Laugh as they might, it IS true, I COULD fly … I really BELIEVED it was true, once. 

I clearly remember having to run to work up some speed and then DIVING forward into a flying hover, just a few feet above the ground.  I’d fly like that ALL the way to school, eating cherry tomatoes from a sandwich bag while my head and chest kept me on a steady course.  No one around me seemed to care, or maybe they didn’t notice.  It was GLORIOUS. I could reach down and touch the dirt. I could put my arms out and feel the rush of the wind on my skin and through my hair.  It was a fantastic feeling.  FREEDOM. I also remember failing the take off, hitting the ground and feeling the road burn – so what does that tell you?

I doubt I’m the only person who thought they could do it. Flying memories must be pretty common because the experience so often turns up in literature and media. Flying is a wonderful escape to another world for Peter Pan and the Darling children.  In the magical world of Harry Potter, flying was a given in the game of Quidditch.  Flying is COOL and EXCITING. Kids’ imaginations are limitless and so vivid that the veil between memory and fanciful tales can be hard to discern.

BEFORE I knew about Narnia or even what a ‘wardrobe’ was, my closet was a special place. Actually, it wasn’t a closet at all.  It opened into a vast, ever-changing  space that belonged ONLY to me.  Sometimes it looked like one of those sunken living rooms, an entertainment area from the 70s (it WAS the 70s after all) – but bigger – expansive.  It kept going and going, like a vista of memories mixed with hope and glimpses of freedom beyond my wildest dreams.   It had EVERYTHING I could ever need or want.  It was delightfully different each time I visited – something new, something exciting, something GOOD.   Having a secret place or an imaginary world – provides a safe place to practice being grown up, to try out new skills, and to build self esteem.  Make believe is an important piece of childhood learning.  It’s an escape, a respite from being too little, too weak, too quiet, too undereducated, or too inexperienced to do mysterious grown up stuff like being in charge.

In my closet I had a variety of my ACTUAL special dresses on hangers – I would carefully choose which one to wear whenever I took a ride in my flying machine.  OH YES! My flying machine! It was docked SOMEWHERE in that secret place, ready to take me wherever my heart desired.  It was rectangular and stood upright.  It was  made of dark wood, and had carved spindles binding each corner. It had a tiered, rounded roof with a ball and spire on top.  It was open to the air, and there were two little benches facing one another.  My flying machine wasn’t much larger than a telephone booth.  I SWEAR that this was BEFORE I knew about Dr. Who or the Great Glass Elevator in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!  

MY flying machine would take me over parades, over people I knew from school who would look up in admiration and wave, and CHEER, “There goes NADINE!  She looks like a PRINCESS in that dress!”  I could EVEN bring someone aboard if I wanted to. I could welcome kids who usually paid me NO mind and gain their friendship because of my secret room.  I could come and go whenever I wanted.  I could do whatever I wanted.  I got to make ALL the decisions.  People really, really LIKED ME. I felt FREE as a bird.  It was sensationally FUN.  

I never invited my family to see it, though.  It was ONLY for me, myself.  It felt safe and affirming, a place where I wasn’t ever teased, humiliated, or alone.  Where I wasn’t ever angry, or afraid.  

Often, when I left the closet, I could hear voices out in the kitchen.  I’d get excited, thinking my family was having a hoot of a good time and I didn’t want to MISS it.  But, then I’d wonder – WHY didn’t anyone tell ME?  Didn’t they notice I wasn’t there? I’d run out to look. ‘Here I am!’ But EVERYONE was tucked into bed and asleep.  It was the middle of the night.  It confused me terribly. How LONG had I been in the closet? What DID I miss? WAS I missed? Did they forget about me and go to bed?  Did they hear me coming and DISAPPEAR on purpose? I still wonder about those voices.

This is where everything gets a BIT uncomfortable.  Even the wonder of my imaginary world, full of freedom, acceptance, and friends would not console the feeling that I had been somehow ABANDONED.  It was clear that NO ONE really cared about me. These persistent feelings, no doubt, sprouted from something unpleasant and unfair that happened to me and have haunted me my entire life.  

If you’ve read any of my stuff, you know I’m the queen of OVERSHARING.  Here it comes. Beginning at a very young age, my self-worth has always been based on the APPROVAL and ACCEPTANCE of others.  I’m prone to intense DEPENDENCE on my select favourite people.  I have terrible, sometimes debilitating ANXIETY.  I am petulant, some might say I’m a little self-destructive.  It’s true, I am easily frustrated, I CAN be convinced that the world might be more cruel than it is kind, I often ooze with self-LOATHING.  My moods and emotions are unpredictable.  I struggle with feelings of EMPTINESS, SHAME, PARANOIA, and ABANDONMENT. I am impulsive, I need acceptance and attention. Can you guess my DIAGNOSIS?  I don’t think any LABEL is a perfect fit, but in mental health language, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. No two cases are ever the same, so this unique MANIFESTATION is mine alone – even so, I’m sure there are points that will resonate with others for whom emotional or mood dysregulation are everyday concerns.

My memory tells me I had a wonderful childhood.  On most counts, I REALLY did.  My parents, my whole family, were the BEST.  No family is perfect and we aren’t, by a long shot.  But, I thought we really set the standard for how families SHOULD function.  That’s the narrative, to this day. We love each other.  We set the bar. I was loved, I was cared for. I still needed a safe place to be alone.  I longed for understanding, freedom and acceptance.  I had MASSIVE tantrums, I felt injustice wielded  against me. I worried about death and, I worried about going to HELL – A LOT.  I was angry, sad, and fearful about being left alone. My imagination was a soft place to land.

I recently took a course about trauma informed care in which the instructor suggested that Borderline Personality Disorder as well as several other mood and emotional dysregulation disorders might fall under a NEW umbrella called Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. CPTSD.  As you know, PTSD can develop from an ACUTE trauma, something that happens to you or something you witness, maybe a car accident or a shooting – a SINGULAR event beyond your control.  CPTSD can develop from ONGOING trauma, something that repeatedly happened to you over a long period, or something that CONTINUES to happen to you or something you witness over and over again, including physical and emotional abuse, and ESPECIALLY in early development and adolescent years.  I find this new blanket term less negative.  It carries HOPE. Maybe it ISN’T my fault. Maybe I can accept who I AM a little bit more, maybe confusion can be relieved, and inner conflict resolved. Maybe I DON’T HAVE TO FEEL so alone, ashamed, and consumed by my disorder. 

Trauma responses vary greatly between people, even between those who share the SAME experiences. Why do some of us develop disorderly symptoms?  It’s a good question! CPTSD is caused through a combination of genetic, neurobiological, psychological and psychosocial factors.  I learned this in “The Neurobiology of Everyday Life” course I found online.  It taught me so much about the way our brains work. Our brains are uniquely influenced by these categories and each category in a disordered condition can factor in at different levels of responsibility.  In a trauma workbook, I discovered that my disorderly mind is a result of roughly 30% neurobiological/genetic and 70% psychosocial.  I don’t know if the numbers really mean anything – but it takes some of the onus off me, personally.

Does mental illness run in your family?  Maybe you have a genetic predisposition. Did you know that depressive disorders, eating, and substance abuse disorders often coexist?  This is true for people with CPTSD symptoms.  How does your brain manage emotion? Behaviour? Long Term memory? Motivation? Learning?  How does your brain deal with the effect of substance use?  Brains that display mental health stress develop symptoms in the limbic system (which processes and regulates our emotions and memory) . Did you have adverse childhood experiences that you may have been unable to process in a healthy way?

When I was seven years old my family moved to a new town.  My closet didn’t come with me and I NEVER felt it’s magic again.  I had memories of my time in my sanctuary, but had nowhere new to turn for comfort.  My life became more and more difficult for me, until, ‘KABLOOIE’ – I was a young adult, loose in the world with all the same old shame weighing me down.  I was impulsive. I felt empty and angry. I did things that could have caused me great harm.  My closest relationships were terribly unstable. (I hate you, don’t leave me!) My sense of self was largely distorted toward the negative.  My emotions were so intense I would dissociate, completely detaching myself from them. Girding this all up was my fear of  abandonment.

Too HEAVY?  Yup, sure. There’s an upside.  My children helped me to REIGNITE that sense of wonder and trust in myself that I used to find in my bedroom closet.  Creativity is an outlet for taking what’s locked up inside and letting it out by expressing it.  It’s a safe way to rehearse and address difficult thoughts and emotions.  Try something new sometimes. Take some small risks.  LEARN your heart. SPEAK with your soul.  

Psalm 139 is one of my very favorites.   Did you forget that I’m CHURCHY?  Here’s a small sermon for you.  Although I CAN’T escape who I THINK I am or think I HAVE to be, I also cannot escape from God’s LOVE.  God’s love is inescapable both on my best days and on my very worst days.  I tell myself to BREATHE about it – for me breath is the same as prayer.  Maybe these words will be helpful to you, too.  Note that the word ‘Sheol’ means something like ‘darkness- as found in what, for some, is the presumed abode of the dead’. Okay, From Psalm 139:

1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me. 3 You…are acquainted with all my ways. 7 Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.  9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and night wraps itself around me,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you;  the night is as bright as the day,
    13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
    Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
    I come to the end—I am still with you.

Whoever you ARE,  whoever you THINK you are, God, LOVE, the Ground of ALL BEING, the Creator, knows YOU and loves YOU.  You were made in LOVE’S own eternal image.  God knew you before any chaos, trauma, disorder, or illness entered your life.  LOVE knows your whole Self – the physical and the spiritual.  And, God is with you NOW, dwelling in your heart, and will remain with you ALWAYS.  You are NEVER alone.  God will NOT abandon or shame you.  You are worth EVERYTHING.  Our task is to walk in this truth, this hope, and this meaning that compels us to KEEP ON trucking on, and bring light into the lives of all who suffer likewise – because everyone is touched by human pain.  The good news is that everyone is also touched by eternal JOY.  

As an adult, I realize that all the make believe and imagination in my young life was a gift.  Today, when I’m not daydreaming, I have found comfort within myself, the self I know best in solitude and in nature.  My BEST self whom God already knows.  Self-care is soul-care.  Be well my friends, and walk in peace.

Durably Disordered

In June of 2015 my daughter (the younger of my twins) was eleven years old.  We were camping and had just come back from a difficult visit to the camp store.  Stuff happened.  I was irritated by the onlookers and wrote the following on Facebook:

“My daughter suffers from selective mutism, social anxiety, learning delays, and unidentified behavioural disorders.  I stood beside her in the public camp parking lot as she lay on the pavement and loudly invited anyone to run her over … Because her mother doesn’t care.  ‘We’ don’t love her or want anything good for her.  ‘We’ are the worst parents. 
She proceeded to punch me until I couldn’t breathe.
You all saw it.
Don’t judge her. Don’t take it personally when she won’t look at you or talk to you.
This is a very real mentally disordered reaction to not getting the toy she wanted from the store and simply from being around strangers.  Your eyes on her make her anxious, and she assumes you want something from her.  Many things set her off.  Sometimes, she chooses fright, freeze, or flee.  This time, she chose to fight.  It happens often.  It’s devastating.  If you encounter us again, please give us the space to deal with it.  Prayers and love are welcome.
Don’t tell us how to parent.  Reserve judgment.  We are doing the best we can to do right by her.  Awareness is Everything.”

I received a lot of sympathy posts.  It just made me angry with myself for trying to protect my image of proper parenting.  Nobody needed an explanation.  My own personality disorder switched on and made me fight, too.   

I don’t know what it is like to be my daughter.  She, however, identifies with me.  She sees me get flustered, sweaty, angry, and popping pills.  We normalize each other’s behaviour.  It’s a daily struggle for everyone who lives with us. The pressures of life weigh heavily upon anyone who is mentally ill or somehow neurodiverse as well as for caregivers.  Mental illness is common, but my daughter says she often feels strange and alienated. Some days she feels like she should never have been born. Other days are tolerable. Once in a while, she has a happy day. We celebrate those moments. 

She began medication for anxiety, depression, and selective mutism when she was nine.  It was a hard decision.  I loved her spunk, bounciness, brightness, creativity, and  joie de vivre.  We were terrified that we would lose those beautiful parts of her personality.  It did change her.  I can only describe it as a kind of numbing.   Her intense emotions were replaced with a void of unfeeling. Her expressive body movements and her voice became less marked.  As the years wore on, we added Autism Spectrum Disorder to her greatest hits list.  Looking back, it all makes sense.  Cradle to nineteen – she has quirks that make her as unique as she is complicated.  She is a fabulous artist and extremely knowledgeable about insects, animals, and the natural world.  

I’m writing this after a couple of hours with the Newfoundland ponies that my friend at Poppy’s Haven so generously allows my twins and I to interact with.  Today my daughter wasn’t feeling her best.  Whenever she overextends her effort to be social, she manifests physical symptoms.

Oh, but the smiles!  Oh, but the sound of her voice!  Oh, but the delight she took in caressing, grooming, and whispering to the ponies!  It was so great for both girls.  Combined, the three of us are a walking ball of tension and anxiety.  Not today though, nope.  We even visited with my friend’s Newfoundland dog.  What a beauty.  He sparked much conversation.  

Today I caught a glimmer of the brightness I rarely see since starting my daughter’s meds.  We are so blessed to have a safe place for her to enjoy and practice being herself.  I am forever grateful.

Please. Help us normalize mental health.  Talk about it and fight against the stigma.

Dough boy

Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?

My childhood memories are full of the good ‘healthy’ stuff of the 70s and 80s. My family camped every summer. We’d hunt for perfectly shaped sticks to cook our dough boys. Strange name. It’s like Bannock dough made from teabisk mix. Our sticks had to be straight and just the right thickness. We’d carve off the bark and carefully wrap dough around it, then cook them like toasting marshmallows over the fire bed. They puffed and browned. The best treat ever. Slice one open while it’s hot. Add a little butter and strawberry jam – yum. The best of my childhood races to mind.