And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know that place for the first time –
T.S. Eliot
In the Beginning
Living a life of fear, anxiety and self-centeredness is a lonely one. That was my life for well over half a century. My weak ego was a wonder to see. I was the most interesting person I knew. Just ask me. Always ‘slaying the dragon’ while I saved the day, I was a hero in my own mind. While the exterior of my life appeared more than adequate with all the rewards of success, those outsides did not reflect my insides. The dreams I followed were no more unusual than others. But I carried my share of issues, many I did not recognize, even with plenty of therapy.
It’s been my experience that many of us are ‘walking wounded;’ some of us carry more trauma than others. My was a self-centered desire to prove to the world that not only did I deserve to exist, I deserved everything and anything I wanted if I could justify it-sometimes not even that. I just wanted what I wanted. Plagued by doubt, guilt, and daily anxiety, I was a walking doormat of the people-pleasing variety with no boundaries. This was my life until the ripe old age of 66.
The Day I Met My Inner Child
One day on assignment in Paris for my company I picked up a book by the recovering alcoholic Catholic priest: John Bradshaw. I remembered watching his PBS programs in the 80’s about the family. I ordered his book: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child. Never one for organization and focus, I realized that I was desperate enough finally to try to get to the bottom of my own trauma and emotional pain before it was too late so I read the book methodically like a cookbook. I followed the instructions to the letter as I did every exercise in the book.
One morning as I waited for my train, preparing for my 45-minute ride to work in the busy metro station of Chatelet, a feeling of sadness descended over me like a grey shroud. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. “It’s here.” I said to myself. “Go with it. Stay with it.” Passengers in the station and then on the train noticed as I slumped into a seat sobbing.
As the train pulled into the station in the far suburb of Marne de Valee, I exited and walked around the block of my office building, round, and round. I began talking to my child-Benji “Why did you leave me alone?!” “I was only six!” My parents had a terrible, gut-wrenching divorce. After I listened to Benji cry his eyes out I spoke to him as an adult comforting him: “I know what you went through. I was there too. It was God-awful. But now I am here. I am never leaving you. I’ve got you and God’s got us both.”
Finally, I began to calm down. I worked the rest of the day utterly exhausted. I felt different, like something in me had profoundly changed but it was too early to understand any of it. I took the train to our apartment, texting my wife that I would bring home a sandwich from Subway so she wouldn’t have to cook dinner.
Only she would be insulted by a generous gesture: “Do I tell you how to do your job?!” Go figure. All the way home I was seething. I couldn’t understand how this gesture could be construed negatively. As I arrived at the apartment, I looked directly at her: “You take that back now!” She began to try to justify her abusive behavior: “You must have taken it the wrong way.” “Apologize now!” I said. “OK, I’m sorry,” as though she really didn’t think she’d done anything abusive.
I went to bed peacefully, waking the next morning refreshed as the sunshine streamed through the windows. As the days, weeks and months passed, I grew stronger.
You Have the Strength to Heal Yourself
While always on guard, I was no longer a people-pleaser. Sometimes I would feel a bit like Luke Skywalker learning how to work ‘the force’ in that I would aggressively push back at someone when it probably wasn’t necessary in a stance like: “ Don’t mess with me!”
I became strict with my boundaries when most of my life I had none. Quite a change from the person I had been most of my life. But I managed to regulate my behavior over time. I retired a year later in 2017. The day I walked out of my retirement party my life-long companion- anxiety, was gone.
I thought about John Bradshaw’s words: “The first time you heal your inner child the trauma will dissipate almost immediately.” That was exactly my experience. I’ve visited ‘Benji’ a few times since then. Sometimes we confront those wounds and others. Sometimes I weep a bit for what was lost or never received but the sadness passes quickly.
I like the man in the mirror I see these days. It’s a continuing journey but I know the path now with that boy I love. And should we fall off that path, the man we become will catch us.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: creativecommonsstockphotos