~The Intractable Nature of Fear and Anxiety in the life of a childhood trauma survivor
Since I can’t possibly know what life is like through another person’s eyes, I can only speak for myself. Having said that, childhood trauma survivors have a lot in common. It doesn’t matter what our particular brand of abuse was; the effects are universal. And two of those effects are fear and anxiety. I hate them. I hate dealing with them. I hate feeling them. Just when I think I’ve put them to bed, up they pop…yet again. It is frustrating to work so hard on healing only to find the same old twin struggles still getting in the way of living life.
The usual trigger, stress, isn’t the only catalyst. Happiness can be just as bad. In my childhood, happiness was a signal that something terrible was about to happen.
Why do abusive narcissists constantly try to snatch happiness away? Why does a celebration, holiday, achievement, or happy event become a chance to create chaos, fear, and anxiety among family members?
Sitting on my back porch in southern Arizona, contemplating these questions, I looked up into the beautiful Arizona sky. There is no sky like it on Earth. A huge, unobstructed horizon, blue a robin’s egg and filled with glorious, puffy clouds, greeted me. My porch faces the back of a set of boring duplex housing units like my own. A few scattered bushes, orange trees, and blades of grass dot the landscape. I live among the retirement set. No one plays loud music, has a dog off-leash, or ever creates a ruckus. Status quo peace and quiet are the name of the game around here.
For the last two days, the monsoon season broke the monotony. Kicking up the wind, storms brought that rarest of desert treats—rain, along with brilliant sunsets and sweeping cloud cover. Having passed us by, all that was left was the wind. It continued to whip up my porch curtains and set the mesquite trees atremble.
Suddenly, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. From out of nowhere, far down and to the right, a giant beach ball rolled between duplexes and into the common area. The size of a Volkswagen, the ball was clear but covered in bright swirls of color. I sat straight up. Who in the world owned a beach ball like that? Especially here? Lifted on the wind, it bounced high into the air and disappeared behind a ficus tree. I’ve got to get a picture of that! Hurrying to the carport, I jumped into my wheelchair and took off toward the back of the house and down into the common area. There was no beach ball to be found. I looked around. An old lady sat in the sun, oblivious to the world, much less to rogue beach balls.
The joy that had made such a sudden appearance now left only questions. Where was the owner? Where was the beach ball? Joy in the life of a childhood trauma survivor is just about as big an anomaly as a giant beach ball in a retirement community and just as elusive.
At the center of my heart is a core of fear and anxiety that I have found extremely difficult to dislodge. In my morning meditation, I came across the following: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”
Punishment-exactly what I lived under in the home I grew up in. My parents hated joy. My father, ever filled with gloom and doom, always wanted to crush any feeling of happiness anyone might have. My mother hated a celebration more than anyone I have ever met. When asking my brother to put his finger on what was wrong with our family, he summed it up to the lack of love. I think he was right.
Just like that beach ball, the harder I chase joy, the more elusive it becomes. I cannot force fear and anxiety to leave me alone. Instead, I must be willing to release control. When I do that, fear and anxiety lose their platform and up pops the joy. It seems counterintuitive.
Why do abusive narcissists snatch happiness away? Because controlling everything gives them a false sense of power. It doesn’t matter who they hurt or how much they destroy. They must have control at all costs, and if I want to send fear and anxiety to the pit of hell where they belong, I must release control and let the joy come quietly bouncing into life. Sounds simple. I know it isn’t, but I’m going to catch that beach ball if it’s the last thing I do. Defy trauma, embrace joy.
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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
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Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.
