(Part 3 of Storm-Child)
As they sit at the table, these 3 separate parts of my soul, I am struck with the realization of just how young the child seems to be.
I don’t have a lot of memories of my earlier years, and what I do have aren’t ones I like to revisit too often, but I’m guessing that he knows my life at around 5-6 years old. He seems very overwhelmed by the things he’s experiencing, and it’s like he’s afraid to grow any older.
Which is a feeling I can certainly relate to.
He seems very worried about doing things wrong, as though he’s going to be punished for any infraction at a far greater level than his mistake/offence would deserve.
And while I can’t say for certain, it seems like he doesn’t feel like he has anyone who will protect him, because he doesn’t seem inclined to run to anybody for comfort, or security.
He’s just sitting there, waiting for the next crisis, the next evolution of dread.
And it occurs to me that he has so very little space in which to explore who he is, and experiment with his life in a way that has good boundaries and defined barriers to keep him in and the world out.
He seems to be carrying a weight on his shoulders far heavier than someone his age should have to bear. While it in some way ages him, he also seems to be bowed down under that burden, as though he has no one who will help him carry it.
Which is I guess where I come in.
Because my role here, with the young child, is to help him break the emotional linkages that he has, in his inexperience and immaturity, created to help him understand and function in his world.
He suspects every action to precipitate an argument, every error to produce excoriation, and every breath could lead to a beating.
And what he needs to understand is that there is grace, mercy and kindness in this world.
Because when he grows up with these same emotional patterns, he’s going to find ways to interpret every situation as a danger, every unfortunate event as a punishment, and every desire he has as selfishness, because he knows that his family has little, and asking for something can cause another of the fights he so desperately tries to drown out each night with a pillow over his ears.
In some ways, that young boy, that poor child, is so afraid of everything that living seems only a preface to dying, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
His lack of connection takes from him a foundation, so that he is blown to and fro by chance and the cruel disposition of the human condition.
His lack of anyone to talk with means he will internalize the falsehoods of his interpretations, and never bring them into the light of friendship and kindly understanding.
His lack of someone to protect him will make him distrust everyone, and a child who cannot trust has no basis for joy in the world.
So as I talk with this young boy, this trauma-trapped remnant of my soul, I have to encourage him to trust where he does not believe, talk where he would rather be silent, and become while he would rather be still.
Because his feelings have carried my soul into heartache, and I have to bring us both out of that.
— Dr. Alan Barnes
@maddrbmusings