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Beginning Again
by Suzanne Vadnais Monson
"Even though we know that forgiveness misused or misunderstood, can become a
tacit partner in the wrongs around us, we also know that, properly applied, it is
the glue that holds the human family together. It is the way to bridge the loneliness
that too often surrounds us."
-- Kent Nerburn in his book: Calm Surrender: Walking the Hard Road of Forgiveness
"Do you have a relationship with your parents?" The question is innocent
enough, understandable. I'd just finished giving a presentation on what it means
to be a child at risk to the arts organizations gathered at the Tenth Annual Rural
Arts Conference for Northwestern Wisconsin. I'd given the 10-minute version of my
story, explaining that it takes a lot of courage for a child who is being abused
to come forward and ask for help.
The woman who wanted to know if it was all better now, some 20-odd years later, was
a kind and concerned arts educator. She was struggling to understand how people with
doctorates could abuse their children. It's tough to get this. The stereotype is
that child abuse happens in homes where poverty and ignorance reign. When people
hear my story, they disconnect. I am too articulate, too intelligent, too whole to
have been abused in the classic sense of the word.
"It took me many attempts, a lot of therapy, and some radical thinking to realize
my parents were invested in keeping my role in our family system clearly defined
as the bad seed," I told her matter-of-factly. "If I wanted to heal, wanted
to have a shot at living my best life, I had to challenge this role." She watches
me, listening intently.
Tough to follow
"I know it's tough to follow this without a background in trauma recovery, but
the best way for me to explain this is to share my experience. I get sick every time
I interact with my parents," I continue, feeling the tension thicken in my stomach
as I speak. "My mother doesn't remember forcing me to eat laundry detergent
when I was a toddler. My father denies using me as a sex toy when I was an infant.
If I attempt to discuss these things, my parents stop talking to me."
I watch her struggle to resolve what I am sharing. It isn't a happy ending. No, I
don't have a relationship with my parents. For me to have a relationship with my
parents requires that I deny what happened. In dysfunctional families, no one can
have more self-esteem than the abusers, and they don't have much. I send the whole
carefully constructed lie into a tailspin just by showing up intact, asking questions.
That I took my parents to court and won is a problem. That I talk about what happened
publicly is a problem. That I care about my health and well-being is a problem. That
I believe I deserve to be happy is a problem. Rebuilding my life is not what my parents
had in mind. Pretending that what they did never happened, participating in the widespread
denial that has pervaded my family for three generations, is the plan.
Try it on
There was a time when I believed that if I forgave them, I would be able to heal.
Enough of the popular literature supports this theory, so I thought I should try
it on. Even though my body reacts every time something as innocent as a scent triggers
a traumatic memory, I thought it was just stubborn rebellion that kept me from moving
beyond the outrages and inequities of what had happened. What I am coming to realize
is that Kent Nerburn is right: forgiveness misunderstood can become a tacit partner
in the wrongs around us.
We live in a culture that desperately wants to believe that parents don't knowingly
hurt their children. We can't handle the truth. There are parents who do knowingly
hurt their children. They believe their children need "discipline" to be
kept in line. After all, weren't they treated this way? Today's version of this justification
is drugging our children into obedience. If they act in ways we don't like or understand,
give them medication. It's really just a new form of an old belief system: Children
are to be seen and not heard. Children should be obedient. Children are property.
I met a man who runs an at-risk program for children at the art's conference I attended
who told me he knew a teacher who believed all children should be on Ritalin. We
are coming to believe this is an acceptable way to deal with the natural exuberance
and boundary testing that defines childhood. We don't have time for it; it messes
with our schedules and carefully orchestrated plans.
One thoughtless act
My husband tells a story of a third-grade teacher he had who made his childhood experience
with learning a struggle in one thoughtless act of humiliation. When the teacher
announced it was time to line up for the first class trip to visit the library, Jim
put his hands to his mouth and imitated the sound of a horn, "Do-to-do!"
"Who did that?" the teacher demanded. Confused, Jim looked around the room
wondering what had so angered his teacher. When no one responded, she raised the
stakes, "If you don't tell me who made that ill-mannered sound of a trumpet
blowing, no one is going to the library."
He was stunned. She meant him.
"Do you mean this?" he asked, repeating the offensive act of spontaneous
enthusiasm.
"You know that is what I meant young man," she chastised, grabbing him
by the arm and dragging him out into the hallway. "You will not be going to
the library. You are going to sit here in the hall for the next hour and think about
what you've done."
The class left for the library, with frightened glances and snickers at the boy who
sat crestfallen on the floor. As the other classes passed him, they jeered and made
fun of him, humiliating him further for his thoughtlessness. How could he be so stupid?
Didn't he know children aren't supposed to do anything without permission?
Child abuse comes in so many forms. For Jim, it had nothing to do with his parents.
He seemed to be a target for teachers bent on imposing their authority. Did the gym
teacher who ordered him to perform a flip on the mini-trampoline care that he was
terrified of doing this? Did he intentionally not spot Jim so he fell and smashed
three vertebrae? Did spending three months in traction end his enthusiasm for learning?
Did he drop out of school because he came to believe all teachers were cruel?
A lifetime later, he fell in love with a woman who saw a book for taking the GED
on his bedside table. She was a teacher who specialized in working with kids at-risk.
She asked some questions. Together they worked through the grief and rage he carried,
and when he graduated from school with a degree in Network Administration, they had
a little party. Not one of those misguided teachers was suffering for his rebellious
determination to "show them" by dropping out of school. He found his way
to forgive himself and begin again. Ultimately, forgiving ourselves is the beginning
of all true healing.
Suzanne Vadnais Monson is the owner of Come Out and Play, a business built around
products and workshops that encourage authentic expression. Her enrichuals©
cards, a deck of 64 creative ideas for diving deeper into discovering your best life,
are available for $24.00 from the author, postage included. Contact Suzanne at (715)
294-4522 or e-mail her at comeoutandplay@cornernet.com.
Copyright (c) 2002 Suzanne Vadnais Monson
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