Painful Childhood Experiences and Mature Perspective
Painful Childhood Experiences and Mature Perspective
Why Integrating Our Past Helps Us & Future Generations
1976
When I was four years old, I attended a preschool named, The Little Red School House. Here is where I learned how to tie my shoes, realized how much I loved to sing, and where I experienced fear, betrayal, and sadness.
One particular day, my preschool teacher announced that she needed to leave our classroom for a few minutes. We were told to stay seated and to be quiet. She then put one of my peers, my friend (or so I thought), in charge. Her job was to let the teacher know if anyone spoke or got out of their chair while she was away.
I was an especially chatty child. My oldest brother even called me motor mouth. To my face. The nerve. Given this piece of information, it’s probably no surprise that I didn’t keep quiet like the teacher requested.
Instead, I commented on a beautiful painting that was hanging in our classroom window. The sunlight was shinging through it illuminating the colors. (A fact my classmates needed to be alerted to in that exact moment, of course!)
After I spoke, I remember searching my friend’s face for clues: Would she tell on me? No. she won’t. Oh. Wait. It looks like she’s going to tell on me.
When our teacher returned, I was promptly outted for my disobedience. I was then instructed to join her at the little sink in our classroom. Her intention was to wash my mouth out with soap for the heinous crime of speaking while she was away.
I had seen the mouth washing done to other kids and it was awful. I never wanted that to happen to me. Actually, I remember feeling pretty certain it would never happen to me because, all things considered, I was a “good” kid and mostly it was boys getting their mouths washed out anyway. (Poor boys.)
As my teacher headed to the sink, I jumped from my chair and ran straight for the door.
My mother worked across the hall. She took care of the toddlers. My instinct was to run to her for protection. Not only would she spare me the humiliation of having my mouth washed out with soap in front of my classmates, but she would also admonish the teacher for attempting such an act in the first place. Surely.
It did not go as planned.
My mother did not wrap her arms around me as my loving defender. She did not scold the teacher for attempting such a cruel act. Instead, she placed me in time-out on the floor of the tiny bathroom located in her classroom. I remember being cold and feeling alone. I remember wishing she would come and tell me that she wasn’t mad at me. I remember being scared and I remember feeling sad.
Something inside of me hardened that day.
The Making of Us
There are many ingredients that go into the making of each of us. Our genetics, family history, and the environments we live in as children play a large part. As Rob Henderson, author of the forthcoming memoir, Troubled: A Memoir of Foster Care, Family, and Social Class explains in his essay, It Hurts As Much As It’s Worth It:
Researchers have posited what are known as “sensitive” or “critical” periods in early childhood. These developmental windows occur in the first five to seven years of life. At this stage, humans are especially sensitive to environmental inputs.
This period is timed by evolution to coincide with the age of direct biological dependence on parents (particularly mothers). Children (largely unconsciously) adapt their survival strategies based on the care they receive from their mothers. The treatment they receive serves as a cue for environmental conditions.
-Rob Henderson
Stephen Porges, creator of the Polyvagal Theory, suggests that when our autonomic nervous system is activated we instinctively turn to social engagement for help, support, or comfort. If no one comes, we fight or take flight. In extreme cases of fear or trauma, we freeze and/or shut down, sometimes even blacking out.
This nervous system activation leaves an energetic mark, an imprint or code that says this is how the world works or doesn’t work.
Bessel van der Kolk explains in his incredible book, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma:
After trauma the world is experienced with a different nervous system that has an altered perception of risk and safety.
Dr. Gabor Maté adds to the trauma conversation by suggesting that trauma isn’t necessarily what happens to us, but what happens inside of us as a result of the experience. This is a great explanation for why there can be such variation in how people respond to the exact same situation. Each person is having a completely different internal experience that is based on their nervous system histories, temperament, and their ability to make sense of, accept, and integrate the experience.
When it comes to our childhood, these “sensitive” or “critical” developmental periods shape the way we see the world. Without the comfort, regulation, and rationality that supportive caregivers offer, especially in the face of a traumatic experience, our nervous system changes.
As a result, several things can happen:
we can become more sensitive to stressors and have heightened or exaggerated emotional responses to similar events in the future,
we may shut down our emotions or disassociate, and/or
our ability to trust and depend on others can be compromised.
All of this can lead to poor psychological health and poor interpersonal relations, of which the consequences can be life-long.
On the other hand, when we are raised in low chaos environments and with loving, consistent, and dependable caregivers who help us deal with life stressors that undoubtedly arise, we are more likely to develop healthy coping skills. This correlates with healthy relationships. We know that good relationships positively impact a person’s sense of self, act as a buffer against lonliness, and encourage pro-social attitudes and behaviors.
To further enhance (or complicate!) the conversation, Mark Wolynn, author of It Didn’t Start With You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle provides evidence from his professional clinical experience that some of us could be working through unresolved pain and suffering passed down from our ancestors. (This idea fascinates me and has led to some serious investigation into my own family history.)
Thankfully, he indicates that we have some control over how we process generational pain and trauma.
“Most of us carry at least some residue from our family history. However, many intangibles also enter into the equation and can influence how deeply entrenched family traumas remain. These intangibles include self-awareness, the ability to self-soothe, and having a powerful internal healing experience.” -Mark Wolynn
Alice Miller, a psychotherapist, provides further insight about processing our pain. She theorized that children who experience brutality or trauma but have “enlightened witnesses”, people who show them love, offer them a listening ear to vent their frustrations, and recognize the injustices done to them, will not grow up to do unto others the harmful behaviors that were done unto them.
This is good news! We are not destined to carry on unhealthy generational patterns. Or, as I like to say, our family tree is not our destiny.
But, there is conscious work to do.
Bring it Forward to Heal
“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”
-Jesus
Running out of that preschool classroom was not the first time I ran from danger and it wasn’t the last. My nervous system had been primed to escape an impending assualt. I had been spanked a few times by my mother’s hands, hit with a belt by my dad, and knocked around by my brothers.
My “sensitive” development years also included parental job loss, evictions, a dog attack and face stitches, illness, electricity loss, martial discord, financial instability, three different schools in two years, and witnessing physical violence and aggression in my neighborhood. I got pretty good at reading faces and body language and I could sense when trouble was brewing. It’s why I knew my classmate was going to tell on me that day and it’s why I was prepared to run.
My life wasn’t all scary or chaotic, though. There was laughter, joy, and imperfect, familial love. I knew my parents loved me. They told me as much. There were large swaths of time when I felt cared for, adored, and safe. There were times when I really liked my parents, too.
We settled into housing stability by the time third grade rolled around. The five of us moved into a small, 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom duplex. An upgrade from the two bedroom duplex down the street. I had my own room again, thankfully! It was the place I called home until I left for college a decade later.
As I matured, I could see my life more clearly, more intellectually. I learned about my parents’ unique lives and their own childhoods which I know influenced who they became as parents. My later obsession interest in psychology and child development helped me see that they didn’t understand the concept of repair after a relationship rupture. They weren’t aware of the critical brain development periods in childhood or what “trauma” was. They weren’t even conscious of their own emotional landscape or how to calm their own nervous system, so it’s no wonder they couldn’t help my brothers and me navigate our big feelings.
Eventually, I would integrate my childhood as part of my story, not as the determining factor of how my story unfolds. I knew my parents did the best they could with the physical and emotional tools they had. What Tony Robbins once said also helped:
“If you’re going to blame people for all the shit you better blame them for all the good, too.”
Admittedly, it took me a while to embody Tony’s message. The negative can definitely overshadow the positive. Dr. Rick Hanson, author of Buddha’s Brain: The Practical Neuroscience of Happiness, Love, and Wisdom, talks about our brain’s negativity bias:
“…your brain preferentially scans for, registers, stores, recalls, and reacts to unpleasant experiences; as we’ve said, it’s like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones.”
He goes on to say:
“Consequently, even when positive experiences outnumber negative ones, the pile of negative implicit memories naturally grows faster. Then the background feeling of what it feels like to be you can become undeservedly glum and pessimistic.”
Powerful to know, right?!
We are wired to hold onto our unpleasant experiences. Evolutionarily, we had to be highly attuned to where the danger lurked because it could literally mean death. While many of the physical dangers of the past no longer lurk, our brain still stays vigilant. This is why thoughtfully examining our lives with an eye towards finding the good and “blaming” our ancestors for what they did well is a critical piece of our own healing. We don’t even have to talk to our relatives or ancestors to do this. You can write letters to people you will never send and even to your deceased loved ones. I’ve done this for years and it can truly be a balm for the soul.
Healing and integrating our past is an inside job. It’s a path you must consciously (and painstakingly) embark on, whatever that looks like for you. If we hope to provide a different familial experience for our own children we need to bring forth what is within. I like what John W. Whitehead says:
“Children are the living messages we send to a time we will never see.”
Think about the messages you want to send to the future.
In peace,
Missy