PTSD Summer 2013
A few years ago I met a healer who does energy work, stopping in Maple Creek to visit some regular clients while travelling to Manitoba from B.C. A friend asked if I would like to have some energy work done; Indian Head Massage, among other things.
I agreed to have a session as I had recently separated from Patrick and was on an emotional roller coaster. As it happens, this woman was also a psychologist who worked primarily with indigenous people on the reserve where she lived.
After I explained some of my story the first thing she said to me was I had severe PTSD. I really did not understand what she was talking about. When I went home after the session I had to look it up. I was surprised at how accurately it described my way of being. It felt incredibly satisfying to have an actual description. It brings a sense of peace to realize you have a recognized condition, something others can understand.
As the idea settled in I also realized I was no longer scared of my story and what had happened to me, because I now understood it on a completely different level. My fear originated from my lack of understanding.
When she revisited Maple Creek the following summer we had another appointment, which was more of a counseling session. She came to my home this time and we talked, me telling her more about what I remembered from my past.
She sighed, took a deep breath and looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I know that it is wrong for me to compare on an ethical level, but what you have gone through in this life is unbelievable. It is far worse than anything else I have heard. I have seen some pretty awful situations in my time, but nothing like this.”
She strongly suggested that I write my story. I expressed my concern that first of all I did not have enough of the pieces, and it would seem quite unbelievable to people. Secondly, I had no proof of what I have experienced. At this she turned to me and said, “You do not need to prove to anyone what happened. You carry the truth of what you experienced and it is not your responsibility to prove that. You are the one that lived through it, no one can say otherwise.” What she said to me is accurate, yet at the time I was unsure of my ability to effectively convey my story. I have her and a few others to thank for the motivation to begin writing Finding Home.
Since having this session I began to wonder why it is I am so attracted to stories about crime, or mysteries needing to be solved. This seems to be a common thread I only recently grasped, or at least before did not see it as meaningful or significant. It is like trying to remember the details of a dream. They are at the edge of your memory, but you can’t quite recall them. It feels the same with this realization now I have grasped it. Something I knew but could not identify now holds an important place in the puzzle.
In many mysteries a common trait of the guilty, no matter how severe their act, is the ability when questioned to provide a very persuasive expression of innocence. They are masters at passing blame to the more vulnerable, steering attention away from them.
Until faced with a crucial piece of evidence providing undeniable proof and ultimate conviction, they are surprisingly capable at portraying innocence. I believe this has been the most difficult concept for me to accept regarding my adoptive family. In the story of my life there exists a level of impenetrable secrecy, for the most part beyond my reach. Only with the aid of spirit was I able to break through to the truth.
It is entirely possible for those guilty of engaging in such horrid acts against me to be able to outright deny them, if and when confronted. With the distinct disadvantage of all evidence of my past locked away, I am left without tangible means to prove my conclusions.
This light bulb moment has helped me understand that although I may lack evidence to prove it, they are indeed guilty. I should not doubt what I know to be true. I now understand I do not have to prove their guilt, rather they must prove their innocence, providing the evidence I am wrong. I have come to realize the fear associated with trauma makes one want to doubt worst case scenarios. It is so much easier to believe in goodness, or something less severe.
However, once one accepts the possibility of a personal violation, doubt begins to disappear. The gentlest way for me to accept this was through my dreams and visions bringing back emotions connected to these events, without having to relive the devastating impact of each heartrending trauma.
My silence and my fear gave them power over me. I am now reclaiming the right to own my story.
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