Trauma was also observed early in my life, and not just physically experienced only through
participating-within-events experienced. When I was three, my parents were fighting, which they had a
tendency to do. This time, my mom was pregnant with my middle sister. I have no idea what they
were shouting about, but as most fights between couples go - it's about absolutely nothing important. I
remember the shouting became more aggressive, and they got into each other’s faces. The next thing I
knew, my dad had let his rage get the best of him again, and eventually, he shoved my very pregnant
mother to the ground. I stood there frozen, crying, knowing it was impossible to intercede for I was
only three. The typically reactive rhetoric came from my mother's mouth, consisting of “I hate you”.
This was the snapshot of an unhealthy relationship, and my desire to run from this utter chaos. Thank
goodness my little sister was okay, and as an outgrowth of that experience, I know firsthand early
destructive experiences within my life. I know there are still parts of me capable of tapping into that
same rage, yet I have become more and more attuned to managing it via healthy recovery.
The neighborhood I grew up in Hitchcock, TX only had girls my age, and we lived there 'til I was 7-years-old. To this day, I have zero contact with any of those girls I grew up with. Two of the girls who I would spend time with the most lived closer to me and were closer to my age. One of the girls was a year older. I will give her the name "Friend 1", and the other was a year younger. I will give her the name "Friend 2". I preferred to hang out with "Friend 2", but she moved away eventually. Considering that, she would come back and visit every now and again because her grandma also lived in our neighborhood. "Friend 1" wanted to be in a friendship that involved her being in control and would ask me to do things that would cause me pain to quote / unquote be her friend. Since I was in a neighborhood with very few friends that were my age, she had the relational upper hand. The one time I felt she took it too far was when I was in first grade and actually was also playing with "Friend 2". Too, her parents were alcoholics, though they tended to keep to themselves - always drinking and smoking inside. That was their top priority. We were in "Friend 1’s" backyard that day trying to find things to do, and we came to a set of holly bushes. I can estimate today that they were about 6-8 feet tall and 10 yards in length. "Friend 1" wanted to see how far "Friend 2" and I were willing to go to, and told us to climb under and through the thorn bushes knowing it would stab, cut, and force us to bleed in the process. Both Friend 2" and I refused at first, but without remorse "Friend 1" demanded we do it or leave and never come back. Even though I considered option B for a few moments, I went into the bush first and the expectations were met in every way. I started to crawl on my hands and knees and my clothes began to tear as the thorns had their way. The thorns then pierced my skin as I crawled, and tears began to run down my eyes as "Friend 2" soon followed behind me. "Friend 1" stood there laughing raucously as we pushed forward into the bush deeper and deeper. I thought to myself - What kind of friend this is? and What the heck am I doing? 10-15 minutes later, I made it through the bush with tears rolling down my face and blood rolling down my slightly chunky 6-year-old arms, back, and legs. "Friend 2" came right after me, and she received the same outcome. I had had enough with "Friend 1" that day and headed home. I had made the decision that I was going to let my parents know what had happened, hoping forlornly to understand why might some "Friend" do this to us. When I went home, my mom was watching my little sister who was around two. Plus, she was pregnant with another sister. Hence, she was miserable and overwhelmed. I instantly went from a whimper to an outburst of sadness and tears, screaming to her about what had happened to "Friend 2" and I. When I was done, my mother calmed me down, but her response wasn't remorseful. Instead, she acknowledged that what had happended was bad prior to following up with a response of - just "don't go over to her house anymore".
I needed someone to stick up for me and help me slay the dragon with the name "Friend 1", but instead my pain and anguish was passively brushed off. Through this experience, one thing was reaffirmed to me once again: I could not trust anyone to be there for me, and trust was a thing that was given in small pieces. As Mr. Dan Siegal says, trust is essential for any childhood - to me safe, soothes, secure, seen.
This sums up several early episodes within my story where trauma and shame tainted my understanding of trust and what the perception of a loving caregiver should be. I felt I was all on my own and the wandering of the wilderness began along with learning to callous over my emotions and run away from any curiosity of opening up. Instead isolation and loneliness seemed to make the most sense because there I was safe.
