“Courage Starts with Showing Up and Letting Ourselves be Seen.” …
Sometimes it is not easy to climb out of the prison of pain, silence, and shame. Sometimes I feel trapped in a fortress without a direct way out. I can see the trails that lead into the forest of wonder through the windows, but I do not know how to get to any of them. I want to beg for help, but I do not even know how to do that. Get down on my knees and sob and sob until all the water in my body has spilled onto the floor, run through the carpet, and left me awash and alone.
Alone with my grief. Alone with my shame. Alone with the past. The past that controls the trajectory of this moment and the next and the next.
How do I work my way back from this ledge? How do I know I am standing on a precipice? American author Melody Beattie has been quoted as saying: “Our strength will continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak and vulnerable.” I so often feel scared and weak and vulnerable. Do you?
Interestingly, shame researcher, Dr. Brene Brown says: “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it is the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it is our greatest measure of courage.”
So am I courageous when I share that I felt broken this week. Broken in half and quarters. I have three sons. Three sons that I love to the moon and back, but who do not love each other. Who do not communicate with each other. My husband and I have a wonderful relationship with each one individually, but not as a family. All we wanted was a family and we do not have a cohesive family. I feel so sad. I feel like I failed each of them. And I failed myself.
The trigger began when one son complained that I had shared a significant event with one of his brothers and I was told not to do that again as he wanted no contact with that brother. Friends, I just broke. I went to a very dark place. I, honestly, questioned whether it was worth living/carrying on. I was thrust back into my past and into deep shame. The pain and shame of my own childhood.
I, Bess Hilpert, write in my book, Finding I:
“I tried sleeping in the bottom of my closet under a pile of clothes when under my bed no longer kept me safe. I felt scared all the time. I hurt all the time. Even in a house with twelve other siblings and two parents, I felt completely alone.
As children, we were not allowed to speak unless we were spoken to. Silence reigned in our large house. Even when my father beat us, we were not allowed to cry or scream or make noise. If you did, you received an even worse beating.
The beatings came with bruises that must be hidden. The limp had to be hidden behind a lie. A scarf could hide facial markings. Long sleeves and long skirts could hide a myriad of recriminations for my mistakes or my bad behavior. Hiding mirrored the darkness I felt in my head and my heart, and it got worse.
Silence muffled the relationships between we brothers and sisters, too. Without the ability to communicate or share with one another, no deep connections took root. Our home resembled more of a war zone where you did not know who the enemies were, and you did not trust anyone’s motives. This did not prove to be fertile ground for the development or nurturing of connection.”
In Braving the Wilderness, Dr. Brene Brown asserts “Sometimes the most dangerous thing for kids is the silence that allows them to construct their own stories-stories that almost always cast them as alone and unworthy of love and belonging. Shame is the most powerful master emotion. It is the fear that we are not good enough.” She goes on to say in her book The Gifts of Imperfection, “the dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It is our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.”
“The silence in the house would only be broken if my father and mother were not home; and, as scared children, we would take our frustrations out on each other, by hurting each other. Sibling allegiance ebbed and flowed with the situation, so yesterday’s friend might be today’s enemy. This meant there was no place in that great big house where anyone could be safe from potential harm. I admit, just like everyone else, I would scream and kick and pull hair and punch. We mirrored our father’s meanness on each other because we really did not know anything else.
Some of the most frightening fights came when an older brother, who is now deceased, would chase my two older sisters around the house with a butcher knife in his hand threatening them. I truly thought if he caught them, he would kill them. Recalling this memory as I write this has my heart racing. And after what I have learned in my research, a part of me is asking since this behavior was so manic, was he bi-polar and undiagnosed? In the sixties, mental health was a dirty word and filled with deep shame.
Chaos (wrapped in shame, fear, and blame) reigned until we heard the door open, and everyone scurried back to their rooms in silence.”
I did not have a loving or cohesive family growing up, and now my own family is mirroring this disconnection. Where my growing up experience was not my children’s growing up experience, was my mess the message I passed forward? Is this the perfect example of transgenerational adversity?
I could not sleep. I disassociated in order to “function”. I went numb. I admit I walked in this state for a few days. I did not bring out my toolbox. I did not look for someone to hold space for me. I was hijacked by an overwhelming sense of failure and deep, deep shame.
And then God reminded me of the preciousness of life in a split second. That split second helped ground me back in this moment. Not the moments of my past that I was clinging to, but today right now.
It happened with a phone call from one of our sons. Our grandson, his son, was being rushed to the ER. Our son was afraid his son may have bacterial meningitis, an infection of the membranes that protect the brain and spinal cord. It can be deadly, and quickly. Our son was holding the tension of keeping his family from falling apart and his deep fear of losing his son. As he asked for our help, we heard in his voice the pain only a parent can understand when faced with the possibility of losing your child. At first, my husband rushed in to rescue and fix with words that did not allow for my son to acknowledge his fears. But then we shifted. We both took a deep breath, brought ourselves into the present moment, opened the toolbox with holding space in it, and said we knew he was scared. And it was normal to be scared. It was this quiet acceptance of the depth of the feeling that unleashed a torrent of tears from our son. Tears that made him feel seen, heard, and understood. We did not try to fix anything. We just sat on the other side of the phone and listened. Did it take away his pain? No. Did it change anything? No. But he was able to feel the full weight of his emotions without feeling as though he needed to be strong and in control. It is now a feeling he knows and will make him more of a loving parent and man. Our grandson, thankfully, did not have bacterial meningitis, and I was reminded of the preciousness of this moment.
Speaker and Professor, Dr. Alane Daugherty beautifully teaches us, “Full presence can calm emotional chaos enough for you to see the opportunity where you saw dread. Engaging in that opportunity with full presence and deep connection can change a moment, a life, and many, many subsequent moments.”
I was reminded of God’s grace. I was reminded that it took more than fifty years for the wounds of the past between me and my siblings to heal; but heal they did as we all traversed through life.
It made me grateful for what I have in all its imperfections. I had been able to be there for my son and experience deep connection. I got to hold my precious grandson’s hand, feeling my fingertips soothe his fears and resetting both of our nervous systems once again. I had been given the opportunity to create a felt sense of safety deep in all our bodies. What a gift.
And being reminded that healing can happen and does happen lifted my weighted spirit. I have a beautiful, and intimate relationship with my siblings today. The trials of yesterday have been replaced with a presence of deep love shared by all the siblings. I can hope for this for my own family. And I do. 😊
So perhaps Dr. Brene Brown is right: Vulnerability is courage. Or as she is quoted as saying: “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen. Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they are never weakness.”
For today, I was able to find my path out of the fortress I thought I was lost in. For today, I was able to breathe, be present, and hold space. And truly holding space for my son was also holding space for Bess.
Let us go out this week and find an opportunity to be Vulnerable. To be Courageous. There is Hope on the other side. Perhaps you will share with us what that looks like for you.
I will leave you with this lovely quote from Spiritual Thought Leader and Poet, Mark Nepo: “I am humbled to admit that the only difference I see on Earth between being strong or weak is the honesty with which we face ourselves, accept ourselves, and share ourselves, blemishes and all.”
Until next time, friends.