Transcript: Episode 97
97. The Giver
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
The Husband’s parents are here for the weekend, because The Husband has a show, a production, this weekend. The musical he’s written is about The Giver. It’s a book lots of people have to read in highschool. It’s about a society that has gotten rid of everything bad to save the people from suffering and pain and hurt, which also means they don’t feel any good either. Like everyone else, I read the book in highschool, and I’ve listened to The Husband’s songs in the car, but going this week to his musical was the first time I had gotten to see the whole thing the way it’s presented on stage.
And there was a lot that reminded me of what we’re going through right now in therapy and everything else. I think it was just a good metaphor, just that part, about how when we dissociate ourselves so much from our feelings or what’s going around us, then that may be protecting us or ourselves or each other inside, from pain or from suffering or from things that hurt, but it is also true that doing that keeps us separated from things that are good too.
Even in neutral examples that aren’t big scary ones from childhood, like learning to make friends for example. If you stay away from people in general, that’s safer and you don’t get hurt as much and you certainly don’t get abused if there’s no one around. But it’s also true that if you don’t try or if you don’t reach out or if you don’t connect with anyone, then you’re pretty well isolated and on your own and you don’t get the good things of friendship or safety or love from others either.
It’s like a castle under siege and the high walls and the thick stones may protect you and keep you safe, but they don’t let good things in either. And soon you’re out of food or out of water and there’s no way to get out, no way to escape. In the world of therapy they call it a closed system and one of the things that therapy is supposed to do is open the system a little bit, exposing people to healing by presenting good things at the gates of the castle. The therapist for one, being safe and connected, but even that takes time to open the door that much, to believe that what she’s saying is true, to practice the things that she says and to try them out and see if they fit and if they’re real and if they’re right and if they’re good.
But then safe family, too, like The Husband and our children, or maybe for yourself, whoever it is that you have found to create your own family, whether that’s a partner or a friend, or someone you’re safe with, to let in a little bit. And then even after a long time, we’ve been with The Husband more than seven years. So sometimes it takes a long time to stretch that, but even as you let the doors open a little bit and let the castle walls down and let them move a bit, there can be good things as you leave its walls from time to time - things like fields and streams, things like markets and villages and places to explore, trees to climb, adventures to have.
Sometimes you can do this with friends, although it takes a lot of work to find good ones, especially when you’ve been through hard things. The therapist says that someone who’s your friend won’t have to tell you you’re your friend. They won’t have to convince you that you’re friends. They won’t have to keep saying it over and over again, because you’ll already know and it happens naturally, and the walls of the castle become kind of like boundaries. Because when your boundaries are too rigid and you don’t let anyone in, then nothing good comes in either, even though you’re just trying to keep the bad out. But if maybe instead of castle walls, you could imagine giant stones like StoneHenge, where there were gaps between the walls, that might be a little bit better, because you could still protect yourself from the bad, but also let in the good. And maybe if this were a magical world, those big stones could even move - they wouldn’t have to be stuck and planted in the earth, but could roll or move or however they work for you. So that the circle around you gets smaller when you did need more protection, because there are times you do need good boundaries to be safe, but you also need the boundaries to be flexible.
And so when you are safe, it’s okay to push those walls out a little bit, to let the gaps widen, to fill your castle with fresh air, to feel the breeze come through, to gather things that nourish you, whether that’s good snacks or soft blankets or roller blades, maybe a swimming pool, running and playing in the fields, picking clovers, planting flowers, or gathering them, or maybe just painting them. Whatever it means to nourish you, whatever it means to help you, there’s got to be air in there. And sometimes that’s true with people too, when it gets to be too much, or boundaries aren’t respected, or it feels too invasive, then the walls come close again, until the danger has passed, while you deal with whatever triggers they were, while you wait for the storm to clear, and that's okay. It’s part of being safe, and it’s part of learning to take care of yourself, which is different than just hard things happening to you.
There’s something empowering about knowing how to care for ourselves, about knowing how to keep ourselves safe, about knowing how to choose, not just good people, but also good times, and good pacing, and what is right for you, and the Others inside, and your soul.
So in this musical, the problem becomes that because they’ve worked so hard to protect themselves from everything that is bad and everything that hurts and everything that causes pain or suffering, they also don’t notice anything good. They don’t see beauty. They don’t feel love. They can’t see color. That’s the story.
So the main character is a boy, but here’s the funny thing that feels so much like DID, so much like therapy, so much like dissociation, the whole community of people have worked so hard to turn everything off, but to do that they can’t remember anything that triggers those feelings for good or for bad. And so there’s one person designated in the community who holds all the memories of things that are good and things that are hard. And in the story the main character is this boy who has been chosen to become the next one who holds these memories, but he can’t do his job until he completes his training and part of his training is learning to receive these memories. And he receives them from the one who came before him. And so since he is receiving the memories from the other one who was before him, he calls that one “The Giver.”
So The Giver of memories passes on the memories to the one who is becoming the next Receiver of memories, and that feels a lot like therapy. Specifically what got my attention was how the boy has to learn to tolerate memories and not just tolerating the memories, but tolerating the feelings that come with the memories, and not just tolerating memories and tolerating feelings that come with memories, but tolerating the questions that come up when you have feelings and when you have memories.
This was really important because one thing we’re learning right now is that therapy is about a lot more than just getting to know the other members of the community inside. Therapy is about a lot more than just giving memories or sharing memories or receiving memories. Therapy is about connecting them, that when this happened I felt this, and then when this happened another part of me felt this, which was a different feeling than what I felt, or that when this happened this is what I heard and this is what I saw and this is what I smelled and this is what I touched and this is what happened to me and how I felt about each of those pieces and what I thought and what that experience was like.
And it’s about holding all of those things together and holding all of those things at once. That’s why it’s overwhelming. It makes sense now. I never understood why it was so hard if it’s such a simple thing. But what I saw in the musical, while I was watching the play or listening to the songs, what I realized was that it’s not simple at all, because there are so many layers, not just because there are so many parts, but because there are so many layers of the experience itself, and so many layers to my response to the experience, and so many questions that come from the response.
I couldn’t stop crying. As the musical went on, I was overwhelmed with pride for my husband, that was my first experience, and I worked hard to stay present and enjoy the show with him, because he’s worked on it for more than a decade and it’s a big deal and I’m really proud of him. But it was also such a powerful experience for me in the remembering, in the learning how to remember, in the learning how to tolerate remembering, and in realizing that it’s okay to have questions because of the remembering.
And then as part of the story, the main character learns not only to hold the memories, and not only struggles to tolerate the memories, but he also has to decide consciously and intentionally whether to stay cold and distant and alone or to remember and know and feel. The metaphor was not lost on me, and there was something about this, something about the year of learning about DID, even something about Africa and escaping it, something has shifted and something has changed that has made me stronger, wiser, more awake, and more solid somehow. And without better words to explain it, I’m somehow more protective of that solidness.
At first I thought the castle walls went up and the walls grew thick because I was protecting myself, because we had been injured again, and because we had been hungry again, and because things had been hard again. But what I realized is that it’s more complicated than that. Somehow the experience of things being hard, but also getting myself out of it, and also caring for myself after and giving myself permission to take my time, and to heal, and to do it well, while I could, while I am safe, while I have the therapist, while I have The Husband, something changed so that my walls weren’t up only because I had been hurt, but because I was protecting myself, and because I have the right to decide when those walls come down and how far they move apart and how wide the gaps are for how much good I want to let in.
And all of this was happening while my daughter was in the hospital again, while we were going to therapy on a different day than usual, while the in-laws were coming for the play, to be proud of their own son, to invade my home as mother-in-laws do, and to take over as much as I would share with her. I tried to function. I cleaned the house for his mother. I made sure the children were organized and clean and ready for the visit. I laid out towels and an extra blanket on the bed, in our room, where they would stay. I moved the older two girls to cots in the middle girl’s room, so that my husband and I could stay in their room, which is the attic, which is a strange congruence between the inside and the outside.
I made sure we had our things out of the bedroom, especially the notebook and the bear and anything special or private, as well as the clothes that we needed while his parents stayed so we wouldn’t bother them, and so that I would feel safer, so that we would feel safer, because we had what we needed. And so somehow, sleeping in the attic room was a trigger, but in a good way, as if for just a moment, I was home, but still safe, and young, but still grown, somehow feeling things I don’t know how to process or what they mean, or how to stay aware entirely and present with the experience itself.
I made sure dinner was ready when they arrived, which was hard because I also had to braid the hair of the children of my two brown daughters, with their thick, long curls. But I managed it and I stayed present for it, and I didn’t need anyone’s help inside, not that I don’t want them, and not that I’m not one of them, but it was good for me to do what I’m here to do, to do my part, instead of hiding, and to help the system work together as a team, with things flowing more smoothly, because they can just do their stuff while I’m doing mine, instead of them trying to take care of me too.
I made homemade tacos, and cooked the shells and chips from scratch, not even using the corn tortillas in the fridge, but started with the [inaudible] at the beginning, because it’s a favorite of the children, because it’s a favorite of John Marks, because it’s a symbol of having enough.
But my favorite part was when the in-laws left, which sounds terrible to say, but it’s true and honest. They left to go see his how, to go be proud of him, to go fill his cup, but I could stay here, alone in the quiet, for the first time in weeks, having space where children were not pawing at me, space where I could sit without being interrupted, time to think and write in ways I’ve not had in weeks and weeks.
Since it was a month since we went to Africa and they were all out of school when we came home and appointments and extra work since we got home. I’ve not been able to talk to my friends, even when the gaps were open, I’ve barely participated online, because it’s not been what fed me. Not that I don’t love them and not that I’m ungrateful, but it was for me a season to simply sit in the sun, to watch the sunset, to sit with the fireflies, to breathe fresh air outside where I was free and had the freedom and could come inside or go outside, could eat or drink, to move about as I pleased. I needed time to not be held captive, time to just be here, time to be home, time to gather my strength, and in doing so it is strength that I found.
And so I’m feeling better in many ways, but watching this musical made me afraid, not in a trigger way, not in an emotional, crying kind of way, but in a feeling my feet dug into the earth, ready to face things, ready to be strong, ready to handle things on my own in new ways. And that means not just remembering, but also feeling, and knowing, and asking the questions that come because of it.
Maybe I’m starting to believe the therapist, that I am strong and I am brave. Maybe I’m starting to understand that I always have been, but thinking about all this, talking about all this, it all feels big. It feels like a breakthrough somehow, one that I’m not afraid of, and yet am intimidated by. I still can’t look at all the pages in the notebook, but I’m holding it more and carrying it around and touching it and sometimes I almost start to turn the pages. There are things that I’m learning, and pieces falling into place that give me context and help me to know the others. And I’m learning that this is exactly right and it’s okay.
There’s a pacing that must come with the learning to tolerate the feelings and learning to tolerate remembering and learning to tolerate the experience of questions that come because of all of it. Sometimes my questions are simply if all of this could be real, as if denial circles around to still haunt me. Even in the moments I’m feeling my strongest, even as I’m most ready to face things, it’s so easy to feel like I don’t know what’s real or not real. Because if it’s not real, then what is wrong with me that all of this is in my head? And if it is real, then what is wrong with them that they let it happen for so long, that no one did anything, that no one came to rescue us, that everyone just watched?
That’s part of what is hard. It’s not just the remembering. The remembering is bad enough, the remembering is hard enough, but anything remembered brings up so many questions. And the questions are sometimes worse than the remembering, sometimes.
It’s been intense enough that The Husband gave us a blessing. By that I mean something that is tradition from our church. It’s like a prayer over our heads, but not in a scary way, it’s in a good and gentle way, something soft, something safe. But if it’s a trigger for you then don’t listen to the rest of the podcast, because I want to share about it. I want to talk about it. I need to talk about it.
Because this time, he didn’t just bless me, he blessed all of us, in an act of love deeper than anything I could have imagined, and an act of service in a way of something I could not have done for myself, and in some effort of offering some comfort, he reached out. Over three hours, it took. He reached out to each one of us, that he knows, that I know, and talked to them individually, spoke to them individually, words of wisdom and counsel and guidance and love. So much love. Love for each of us. Love for all of us. Love for all of me. Love for me.
It’s bigger than what I can fathom. It’s better than what I can process. And I’m going to need time to listen to it again and again. Out of respect for the Ordinance itself, the actual act of giving the blessing, I could not record it or share it on the podcast, but there are notes that I took, and some of those, not all of it, but some of it I want to share here. It was a powerful experience, something that could not have happened in therapy, but in our unique situation, with our unique faith tradition, happened so naturally with The Husband, with walls coming down, and castles opening up, in ways I never could have imagined. As if he were in the attic with us, as if he were walking through the forest with us, as if he were in the porch at the other house with us, as if he were inside with us, as if he were setting us free, by simply telling us that we had already set ourselves free.
It has been several weeks, almost three weeks, since we came home from Africa, and we were there for two, so it’s been more than a month since we have had time alone with ourselves, time alone to be inside, to process, to gather our strength, to communicate with each other, to take time for the notebook, or to funcion again. And this was a powerful thing that gave us space and strength and room to grow and breathe, to come back into our own skin, this skin that we share, and to be okay, and to even have hope.
And these are the words that he said to Dr. E, he reminded her that she is loved and appreciated. And that she could have time to study and time to nourish herself, that the family is aware of her sacrifices as she keeps our schedule and pays our bills and does so much to try to provide for our family and that she’s accepted just as she is.
To John Mark he said that he brings joy to the people around him, and that we are grateful for his smiles that he brings to our family and that now time is safe and reassurance that he has done a good job delivering the whole team to safety.
He reminded MK that now time is safe and that our family now is safe and that she is loved by him and the children.
For our One that is for the mother, who’s name I don’t have permission to say, but for her, who’s only eight, he told her that she’s already good. That the mother has died and the father is gone as well. And he blessed her to remember that and to know that she cannot be hurt anymore.
For the One for the father, who is 13, he explained the flow of time and reminded her that in the present, we are safe. In the past, even God heard our cries for help and our tears of sorrow and the depth of our pain. And reminded her that what happened was not her fault, and that it is over now and that we will never again be hurt like that. He encouraged her to talk to the therapist and to trust Molly and Others inside who can help and guide her as she receives help she’s waited for for so long.
And for Dawn, our little one who runs away, he explained how she’s tried so hard to get away, looking for a place of safety. And he reminded her that we are safe now, that we are safe here, but that it’s also okay to take time for ourselves, take time to leave the house and explore, time to play in the park, and time to do all the things that meet our needs, her needs, to have this pace that she needs to heal. And that we are not in trouble for leaving or for trying to rest or in trouble for needing to get away, that that’s okay. And that he knows we need the freedom to move and be. And that we aren’t in trouble for it and won’t be in trouble for it, that she is not in trouble anymore.
And he called Cassi a warrior and talked about how she has been brave. And about how we are not in danger anymore, but could still use her strength to help us as a team. He reminded her to be gentle with others who don’t have her strength yet, and to know that their weakness is not the same as stupidity or foolishness or badness, that she can believe in them and in us and know that we are all trying.
To Em, the one who is a mother, he said that she is loved. And that when we are human, we cannot hide our mistakes, but that being human does not mean that we have to live in shame. All of us are learning. All of us make mistakes. All of us get overwhelmed. But we are still loved and we are still cared for and our connection with those safe people around us are not at risk or in danger because of it. And that even she is strong and brave.
He talked to sister and about the situation with the brother and other issues that are related to that. And about being caught in the middle, between a mother and a father, who are fighting, who are hurting each other, who hurt their children. He said it’s okay to be angry about what happened. He said it’s okay to be hurt about what happened and it’s okay to talk about what happened, that they are not our secrets, and that now time is safe, and that we will not be punished for the things that we say, the stories that we share. And that no one has permission to control us or has authority over us and that we cannot be harmed by anyone now, in those ways.
He spoke to Molly, our chaplain, the one who used to work with hospice and hospitals, and now cares for the Littles inside, since we’ve begun therapy, and learned how to do that. He talked about how her faith is powerful and good and gives others hope. He talks about how she is from a time before the hard things happened with our children and before the hard things happened in our marriage and how it keeps The Husband connected to us and us connected to good. He said it gives her a unique perspective that gives others strength and peace and hope for a better world, a different world, a world that is safe and good and where they are loved. He said she is a light in a dark night and a gentle companion and that she also should take the time and space to feed her own soul while she cares for so many in the family, in the system, and in the friends that we have.
He spoke to Emma and said she is a gentle spirit who loves us well. He blessed her with the capacity to understand and believe that she is loved, that the children love her, and that the therapist cares too. And that we inside are here to keep her safe and well, to keep eachother safe and well, and that we do not have to be afraid. He talked about making friends with the Others inside and how we are all a powerful part of each other and who we are together. And that she would find ways to tell her story as she heals, to reach out to others who also struggle, and to share what is good and right with the world, even when the world can be such a scary place at times.
He said, to Sasha, that the podcast is a good thing and that reaching out to others with trauma is a good thing. And that through this, we will also make new friends in ways we have never had before. And that it shows courage. And that those who reach out to us also have courage. And that in the past, all of us have felt invisible and ignored and neglected and hurt and that this is why it’s so important we have each other. He talked about the healing that comes through these efforts and through the interviews and through the sharing of our story, and that compassion would be poured out on those who don’t even know that being cared for is possible. And he blessed the podcast even. And he blessed the listeners even, to know through the podcast that they are not alone, that they are not abandoned, that they are not condemned to their past, the things that they have been through. That they may know that they are seen and heard and known and loved.
To Others, he shared about what they have done to protect the girl, what they have done to protect each other, and how they have been a miracle for each other and for the system as a whole, to provide and protect against all odds when surviving was impossible, and yet we found a way together. And so together we can still work, together we can still get through life, together we can still heal.
He talked about seeing hard things, expressing scary things, and trying to do the work to lift the burden of trauma, from ourselves inside and from others outside, even while we all still struggle. He talked about building relationships with others inside and outside, connecting with each other, making friends, and knowing how to help each other heal.
He spoke even over Taylor and talked about her living in the woods, where shadows were real and scary things happened and where she has been so alone for so long. He reminded her that he is real, that the therapist is real, and that the Others will not always be so afraid of her, because we are learning. That it will take time and practice for her and for us, but that we are allies of strength together and we need each other when life is hard. He promised that spring is coming and that it is true, even for her, that we will see the sun rise and feel the rain fall and we will know that we are safe.
He spoke words that are cleansing and healing and strengthening and empowering them and I had to share part of it. I know I can’t share all of it. It’s just sacred and private, but it was so moving, not just the things that he spoke, but that he would reach out to each of us as individuals, that he would reach out to all the parts of us, all the parts of who we are, all the parts of me, and send love there and send hope there and send peace there.
This is hard work that we’re doing - healing from all we’ve been through, as you know too well. But I am ready. I’m ready to look and I’m ready to see and I’m ready to know, even if it’s not all at once, even if there are days and moments and weeks and months where I have to pull the walls closer to protect my skin that feels so very raw while so much is pouring out of me, while so many memories are pouring into me, while I feel what there is to feel and ask the questions that come with the feeling. It’s hard work. It’s exhausting work, but it’s like in the musical where there may be suffering and there may be pain and there may be hurt, but there is also good and beauty and love.
[Break]
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