posted a few days after the fact

[zana16]

I just came down from what was, for me, a rather significant freak-out.

It was kind of surreal, since I'm used to being the calm one. I'm the person you want if you break a bone or something; I don't panic. Or at least, I hadn't come across a situation where I'd panic in quite some time. I'm VERY good at squashing any emotions whatsoever when I know that other people are going to be panicking around me.

It's just a plumbing problem, and I didn't even realize I was panicking until I found myself hiding in the kitchen leaving Emily to take care of it. I couldn't understand at first why I just couldn't go back and help out. I tried, several times, and each time I watched myself end up back in the kitchen, trying hard not to shake. And I couldn't figure out why.

I'm feeling horribly guilty and also disappointed in myself for not sticking to my self-imposed "Zana quietly and calmly to the rescue!" style I'm accustomed to, and even a little proud of, in myself.

I finally realized what part of the problem was: I didn't understand why no one else was panicking. My subconscious was bracing itself for there to be yelling and recriminations and guilt-tripping but most of all yelling. I didn't expect anyone else to be quiet and calm; I expected to have to be quiet and calm in response to an out-of-control anger.

Damn, the issues we can blame on our parents.

But even when I realized that Emily was not going to yell, berate, or do anything else that is patently not in her character, I still couldn't shake myself out of it. For me it's never been "fight or flight"; it's always been stay very still in a corner, make yourself as small as possible, do not make eye contact, and above all, do not say anything. Removing myself from the premises, if this can be done without future screaming incurred, is a good way to go.

And what the fuck is that, anyway? It's not like I was ever beaten or hit or physically harmed in any way after I outgrew spanking. My father never laid a hand on me in anger, and only once on my brother. It's all just words, and I don't even remember them now. Sticks and fucking stones. Words you can't fight back against, but fuck. that. It's not like I was abused. My parents loved me, and that was never in doubt.

So how come I came out so scarred?

That's not what love is supposed to do, is it?

Comments

[sylvanstargazer.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Having to be the grown-up responsible one is hard. Especially all the time, especially growing up, and *especially* when we end up playing peace keeper for other people. It's not something I was even aware of doing until I was no longer in that situation. Until I had the chance and it was safe to flip out. Sometimes our minds let us feel only what we can handle.

Words can have at least as much of a lasting effect as physical harm, or so all the social workers I know tell me. In some ways more, because it's easier to understand physical harm. There are things that pattently aren't okay, and it's easy to recognize those. It's much harder to understand things that might never have been said, but might still have been expectations. Like being expected to be the calm, competent one, to be able to handle other people's anger, to not be allowed to feel what you do or say anything at all, much less anything out of line, to have to constantly watch and censor yourself because unlike the people around you, you could.

Love is different than safety. I find it hard to understand that sometimes, but it's fundamentally true. You can be loved and still not have everything be good and wonderful.

*more big hugs*
Beth

[zana16.livejournal.com]

Love is different than safety.

Maybe that's part of the problem; I've always believed that people who loved you would do everything to keep you safe. And I know my parents believe that, too, it's just... other things got in the way, I guess. Love is different than safety. That's pretty profound, really. Wow.

[chaos-rose.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

[zana16.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

[katicalocke.livejournal.com]

I'm the same way, actually. It's amazing and frankly scary what words can do to a person. My sister and I weren't abused either, but we got yelled at enough, mostly about cleaning our room. To this day, when my mother gets angry and yells, even if it's not at me, I have an overwhelming urge to clean something, because as a kid, cleaning made the yelling stop.

[zana16.livejournal.com]

I don't know why Pavlov's dogs were so controversial; it seems obvious to me that people are conditioned, especially as kids. I guess maybe I didn't realize that words could be just as potent as other factors, though. I mean, the clinical scientist part of me can parrot all the things I've learned about the lasting psychological effects of words, but I never really believed it.