The shame I held for so long, that came from being a child who believed if something was wrong it was always my fault, goes beyond the feeling. When you have CPTSD, and it develops that young, it becomes neurological. It becomes biomechanical. It becomes part of how you see the world, and times of stress, danger, and tragedy, all of it gets wired into shame, and you become haunted by your inner voice saying, “it’s your fault she died. It’s your fault he died. It’s your fault your parents are fighting. It’s your fault you’re getting beat up. It’s your fault. It’s always your fault.”
And for me, that wiring got connected to my empathy. I think people are born with some enhanced things about them, and if you cultivate and grow those traits, you build upon them and they can become very strong. One of mine was empathy, and a kind of softness of my heart. This slammed right into that wiring, and both enhanced those traits, but twisted them. I made things like soothing my Mom not just about empathy, but about personal responsibility. It was my job to help her, because it was my fault she was sad. It’s this strangely self-centered viewpoint, where it’s not about you, but you’re taking on responsibilities and burdens that aren’t yours to carry.
And then my own, actual, personal mistakes and times where it was my fault got amplified. If the thing I did wrong was a 2 out of 10 mistake, it became a 20 out of 10 mistake. The only way to avoid this is perfectionism, so you think. And then I drove myself to achieve, and all of that? In hindsight it led me to a form of burnout when I was 12. My Dad used to say, when I stopped caring about grades and things, with this kind of angry, shameful sigh, “you decided being cool and popular was the most important thing, and you lost your potential.” Only when he was drunk, and only when he was sad or mad. When he was sober, he’d tell me how proud he was of me, and praised me. But I never really knew which person I’d get.
And after this last year, I can see it. Like, by 2024, I was burned out. Again. A pattern I’d been repeating since 1986. But it’s the last time, and I know it deep inside. Because the gift I got, the gift from deep inside my mind, was an act of love and compassion.
I wish I had superpowers. I used to wish for super strength, or the ability to fly. But the gift I gave myself, the vision that my unusual, symbolic, artistic mind gave me, I wish I had a healing ability now. That I could simply hold that feeling in my hand, and give it to someone.
The best I can do is this. Just tell a little story about what’s possible, what I experienced. But telling it no longer from a place of trying to fix, or escape shame. Telling it now from a place of gratitude.
There’s so many ways to develop a work ethic, and your heart, and your artistic voice. I wouldn’t recommend or wish the way I did on anyone. But it’s like I wore shackles while I developed my muscles, and now that the shackles are gone, I can leap 1/8th of a mile and nothing but a bursting shell can break my skin. And this last couple of years has been using these for the first time in my life with those shackles gone.
That’s what I’m thankful for today. And I’m so deeply grateful.