Villagersonline : blogs : clrclady : Never a Child

From: clrclady
Date: Sat Sep 24 10:22:35 MST 2005
Subject: Never a Child

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Karen: "...walking it" (9/27/05)

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Karen: "...walking it" (9/27/05)

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be a child and how screwed up my idea of life is because of my lack of childhood. When you have been sexually abused or abused in general, you loose all concept of being a child. I see it all the time in the children that I work with. Little ones – 3 or 4 – worrying about where they will seep, what they will eat, afraid of everyone or clinging to everyone in hope that someone will care for them, worried about their parents dieing, cooking meals, cleaning, taking care of everyone around them. I believe that it is worse with sexual abuse because you are forced to create this whole paradigm as a child that you are wanting this adult thing that you cannot even comprehend and you are forced into this adult realm. You cannot even see yourself as a child. You are told you are the little helper, the little spouse, the little whore overtly or covertly. It is such a stark contrast to a child who has not been abused. I watch Ashton, and she has none of the worries that I had as a child. She is held, comforted, at peace, able to dream, and play with freedom. I was challenged 2 weeks ago to be a child, and I did not realize how much it terrified me to even think about doing that. A child is vulnerable, open, relying on others to care for them; they play and have fun; they are relaxed in a safe place. I can’t do that. I never was a child. I do not know what that means. This is the first time in my life that I have been in a totally safe place: free from demons and free from evil people around me. I have been able to rest for the first time, and it is terrifying because the whole paradigm that I created as a child to survive (that I was horrible, that I needed to make everyone happy and do for everyone, that I deserved to be hurt) is wrong. The world view that I have lived with is wrong. It is indescribable and terribly painful to destroy your world view because then you finally comprehend how horrible, how vulnerable, how not in control you were as a child. So the point to all of this is that I am terrified to relax, to not prepare for the next horrible thing that I fear will happen that I have to get ready for, to sit in hope. And this spot is so painful because I have to face the reality of my childhood. I want so badly to just not feel any of it, but I have come to realize that if you do not feel the pain, you will not feel the joy either. I see a lot of people on this journey or on the edge of walking it, and I believe it is bearable if we walk it together. So, just wanted to share some thoughts about being a child and being terrified as an adult.

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From: Karen
Date: Tue Sep 27 15:40:00 MST 2005
Subject: "...walking it"

I just had a parent-teacher conference with the adoptive parents of a little girl who--from the beginning of the year--has been openly sharing the fact she is adopted.
And she is sassy. And dominant. And overreactive. And resisting being nurtured, resisting vulnerability. And she tells stories that aren't true when she gets stressed out...
Last year I loaned you (Cheryl) the novel, "The Great Gilly Hopkins"--about a sixth grader in The System, having been abandoned by her birth parents.
She is sassy. And dominant. And overreactive. And resisting being nurtured, resisting vulnerability. Immediately, my student latched onto this book. I figured it would go one of two ways: shutting down, or opening up. Thank God, she's opening up. She's actually saying, "I think Gilly will (goes on to accurately predict the character's pattern...) She is like me. She wants to know why her mother left her."
Later today, this student's true father and mother sat with my coworkers and me. They explained how their little girl, for years, had dressed and cut her hair like a boy and had gone out and scrounged meals for herself and her two younger siblings. I could sense their godly love for her, not the squishy kind, but the determination and strength that this little girl so needs. The father bluntly asked us, "Is there hope?"
"How long has she been with you?"
"Three years."
"Oh yes," I said, emphatically, not knowing how I knew, but I did.
So I am thinking this afternoon, taking out my empathic heart, feeling this girl at age eight, such brutal lessons: I must take care of myself, not just myself but the younger ones, too, and I'm so not ready... And I thought of those of you jammed into the same place at age eight or so. "Care for the widows and orphans."

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