At first, we’re horrified.
This thing that just happened, it’s unimaginable.
Beyond belief.
And we react with appropriate alarm.
We express our displeasure, extract an apology and receive promises.
And after it’s over, we assure ourselves, it will never happen again.
Because after all, it was out of character, right?
Unthinkable and therefore unrepeatable.
A singular exception.
A rogue wave.
And perhaps, just perhaps we did something to provoke it?
Yes, we’ll have to be more careful.
It was awful, but it’s over now.
And it’s easier, much easier, to cause ourselves to forget than to force ourselves to forgive or find the courage to forge a separate path.
It’s easier to appease than to address, easier to shrink a little, cede a bit of territory, and surrender a small piece of self, than to rise to the occasion, draw the line, and refuse to give up even a shred of decency or a smidgen of self-respect.
|
It’s easier to appease than to address, easier to shrink a little, cede a bit of territory, and surrender a small piece of self, than to rise to the occasion, draw the line, and refuse to give up even a shred of decency or a smidgen of self-respect.
And then, when it does happen again (and it always happens again), we resist the urge—fainter with each successive instance—to deal with it, and we handle it (meaning suffer it) instead.
Soon, repetition forms a pattern, and the pattern becomes ingrained, automatic, and extremely difficult to break.
What once horrified us becomes barely disturbing.
What once struck us dumb and smarted like nothing we’d ever felt before now feels like just another tap on the shoulder, followed by the familiar sting of that left hook to the chin.
It’s just business as usual. We brace ourselves, take the hit, shake it off, and move on.
We’ve convinced ourselves now that we must have done something to deserve it, must be doing something to deserve this. Why else would it be happening?
We don’t realize that we’re participating by allowing, encouraging by enabling, in effect presiding over our own torture by refusing to end it.
And sacrificing our freedom for the false security of a relationship.
Finally, we tell someone what’s happening.
Or they pry it out of us, after seeing it in our face.
Or noticing the bruises.
Or wondering where the person they knew has gone.
And when our friend finds out the situation, we are forced to confront the truth we’ve been avoiding.
“My God, that’s shocking.”
“It’s not normal, and it doesn’t happen to everyone.”
“It’s actually off the bell curve, way beyond the pale.”
“It’s called abuse, and you need help.”
And when this sharp message, delivered bluntly with neither euphemism or pretense, pierces our shield of denial, we are seized with unutterable pain, convulsive spasms of sorrow, and wave of upon wave of regret.
We’ve just experienced shock therapy.
We’ve just been shown the blinding light.
Eyes open, we get angry, then channel our anger into determination, then harden our determination into resolve.
|
Eyes open, we get angry, then channel our anger into determination, then harden our determination into resolve.
Armed with resolve, we act differently.
We break the pattern and bring change.
And then, one day, we are the friend, hooking up the wires, pulling the lever, and administering the shock therapy to someone else.
—
Originally published on Tom Aplomb and is republished on Medium.
—
Photo credit: iStock