My "Stammer"

I went and saw the movie "The King's Speech" last night and was struck at how the story relates to my own process.   If you haven't seen it,  it's about King George V's second oldest son, Albert,   who steps forward to become king after his brother abdicates in the late 30s.    Albert has a speech impediment;  he "stammers".    He goes to an Australian speech therapist,  Lionel Logue,  who resides in London.   

Disclaimer:  I am basing my observations on the movie depiction of these historical figures.   I cannot say if the depictions in the movie are historically accurate.

During the course of the speech therapy,  Logue discovers that Albert has endured trauma as a child,  and realizes that the trauma is very likely to be behind Albert's stammer.    Logue subtly and artfully guides the prince,  who becomes King George VI,  in addressing the speech issues on a technical level,  and in helping Albert acknowledge and work through his unresolved trauma.   

The trauma Albert was said to have endured went back to when he was 3 and 4 years old.     In the movie,  Albert tells Logue that he was abused by a nanny as a child.   The nanny favored his older brother, David (King Edward III,  who later abdicates) and harmed Albert in various ways over three years time before the parents discovered what was happening.   The nanny did things such as pinching Albert to make him cry when he was presented with his brother to their parents,  the King and Queen,  so as to make Albert look bad in his parents' eyes.  She also restricted Albert's diet to near-starvation level,  something that likely affected both his physical and psychological development.

It was at this age that Albert developed the stammer.   The movie also depicts what it is like to grow up as a Royal,  the coldness of family interactions,  the overwhelming weight of duty and appearances.   It is clear that,  once traumatized,  Albert was not able to heal from his trauma within his family context.   In a way,  it seems fortunate that Albert had a wound which was so visible.   The whole nation was well aware of his stammer,  especially from the time he addressed the nation in 1925 via a radio broadcast,  when his stammer was painfully apparent to all.

The stammer was so detrimental to Albert's ability to be an effective monarch that he was driven to address it.   His motivation was so high that he was willing to do just about anything to overcome his impediment.    Ignoring the problem was not an option.

I can relate to this story in several ways.    First,  I also came to a place in my life where my own "stammer" was profoundly affecting my ability to lead a successful life.    My own issues did not manifest as a physical impediment like a stammer;   they were more subtle but very real nevertheless.   My issues became an impediment to my life as much as Albert's stammer was an impediment to his.

A key to Albert's healing and to mine is acknowledging the trauma.   Once we have clearly named what happened we are on the road to recovery.    Our issues are no longer impressing their signature on us within the context of our own unconsciousness.   We are awakening to their affect and our higher self can begin to get psychological leverage against them.   Working with a skilled therapist can be very helpful,  though it is not required.

In Albert's case,  speech therapy was much more than just learning how to form words better.   Logue established a relationship with Albert early on that allowed the prince to trust and relax.   My wife rightly pointed out that Logue reparented Albert through the course of their therapy sessions and continuing friendship.    Albert was able to open himself to a model of human relationship that he had never experienced with his family of origin.   Albert did have a warm and loving relationship with his wife,  which is probably a key to his being able to develop a warm friendship with Logue,  and through it,  heal himself.

Just as Albert's wife did for Albert,  my wife is someone who advocates for my healing and who has shown me a model of human interaction that I did not get as a child.   Like Albert,  I am trying to have a happy childhood as a middle aged man.   That is to say,  I now have the opportunity to experience the following factors in human relationships:   healthy boundaries,  mutual nurturing,    stability,  clear and compassionate communication,  that I did not have as a child.     

The movie suggests that Albert's speech was something he had to work at his whole life.   It's not like he was suddenly "cured" and became a gifted orator.   Rather,  it seems he was in recovery,  a long-term process that has to do with one's healing,  growth and being in touch with our higher self.   

Overcoming trauma takes time.   Charles Whitfield,  in several of his books,  states that working through trauma is a multi-year process.   For me,  the simple fact that I am actively addressing the trauma is changing the way I  live my life.   Rather than feeling like there is some kind of force pressing in on me,  I now experience being the proactive force in my life.   

I feel very hopeful because I can now see that my path leads toward an unfolding rather than a closing in.     The "closing in" signature is what I mentally inherited from my parents.   I am beginning to see how I am gradually and increasingly growing into the person who can perceive the inherited pattern and can then choose a different path out my higher self.   I have the support.   I have the tools.  I have the understanding.

This is not to say that it's easy.   It's not.   I am putting a lot of mental energy toward my healing and I'm guessing it will be that way for a while.   But,  like King George VI,  what's inside of me has enormous motivation to shine through,  and overcome,   my own version of the  "stammer".

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly,  Ben

Realizations

I have had a couple of realizations in the past week.  

First,  I now realize that I have been fairly spacey since my therapy group retreat three weeks ago.       I think that my processing of the trauma around my dad at the retreat brought me into a place I've never been before.   I am letting myself go into the feelings about him.   I am letting myself feel more wounded than I have before.   And as these feelings come up I have a traditional coping mechanism that kicks in.   That is,  I "check out".   I have been trying to connect to other people,  my wife,  my step-daughter,  people at work.   But I am feeling pretty checked out.

I think it's because I am letting some of the trauma from my childhood  into my experience more.   It feels pretty shitty.   But it also feels good to be acknowledging these true feelings,  shitty or not.   Along with this realization is the acknowledgement that I have spent my whole life trying to keep these experiences at arms length.   They deeply affect who I am but I fear facing them.   During my twenties and most of my thirties I was able to, more or less,  go on my happy way and pretend like they were somehow not part of me.   

Then,  a few years ago all of the "stuff" from my childhood started pressing in on me.   I became more and more affected by the baggage I had been successfully ignoring all these years.   I came to realize that I was going to have to go "through" the stuff in order to get to the second part of my life.   If I chose not to do this work I had the sense that I would stay at the same level of personal evolution that I'm currently at,  and that life would probably get harder for me.   

So now I am in the thick of it.   At least,  that's what it feel like.   All of the scary shit I've been carrying on my back since I was six years old I am now talking about and trying to process.   And so,  at some level,  I am re-experiencing the trauma.   I go "up and out",  I "check out",  I get dreamy and fuzzy headed.    I feel sad.

The second realization  is that I am still in relationship with my dad.   It struck me the other night as I was coming home from work,  "I am still in relationship with him."   This idea hit me like a flash of light.    My dad died in 1983 by his own hand.   I was fourteen.   I had not seen him in eight years.   I was very bonded with him when I was little but then I grew up without him.      I never really  grieved his exiting my life and I never grieved his death.   I was too busy coping with my life as it was.   My mom took me to a few sessions with a psychologist when I was seven but I don't think I processed anything at all, really.   I was a little clam who had shut his shell very tight and was not going to let go.   It did not feel safe to do so.

Since my twenties I have been very interested in spirituality.   I have a very strong sense that life does not begin at birth and that it does not end with death.   This has been an established belief of mine for about seventeen years now.   I have had experiences with my grandparents and my aunt,  a strong sense that I was still in relationship with them even though they had passed the threshold.    I did not have a sense that they were "gone".    They were present to me in a different way.

Somehow I have excepted my dad in seeing myself being in relationship with someone beyond the threshold.   It's hard to blame me for doing so.   He chose to abandon me and had only the most minimal contact with me in the years before his death.    The manner of his death was deeply disturbing.   I have every reason to be very pissed off at him.   And yet,  the "flash" I had the other night made me wonder if I might give his being more attention.    For my own benefit.

See,  as I explained to my therapy group the other night,  the signature of him and of my mom are strong in my life.   They both fizzled out of their careers at about the age I am now.   I was influenced by their experience and there is something inside of me that "wants" to spiral down in similar fashion.   Obviously,  it is not my higher self that would want such a thing.   It is the part of me which is self-destructive.   

I recognize that voice as one which tells me I am not good enough.   The voice berates me for being somewhat of a hermit.    It tells me that if I get something crappy in life it's because I'm not worth any more than that.   It tells me that I should be happy my life's not worse,  and that it could get worse any time.   It's not a nice voice.   

Luckily,  I am on to its tricks the vast majority of the time.   I tell myself that because something happened to my parents doesn't mean that I have to repeat the pattern.    I listen to the bit about being a hermit and,  rather than see myself as "less-than"  use it as an opportunity to reach out to others.    I see my life as blessed in so many ways.

My dad's exiting my life, his death,  and how he died have left  deep psychic scars on me.    It often feels to me like a gaping hole in who I am in the world.   I feel weakened by the facts of his life and how they interact with mine.  I feel unsure of myself.  The path he led which ended with suicide was deeply sad and confusing.   The arguments of the lower self won the day.   That has imprinted on me.    What is my path through that gnarled,  dark and lonely wood?

I wish I could work it out with my dad and reach some kind of resolution around it.   That's not really possible.   But I can light a candle on his birthday.   And think about his good side.   And acknowledge him as an important person for my life.   I am thinking that it may help me to work through the deep and lasting pain I carry with me.   

Spirituality is the torch I carry with me in these woods.  I know that I have the courage to face what's in the dark,  in my facet of the darkness.  My courage now and my ability to keep moving my process forward is what gives me hope.    I will come through this journey a changed man.

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly,  Ben

Looking Up

Part of my process is realizing that,  to heal myself,  I must be able to look at a great number of details.  I must study myself like a scientist.   I must be willing to look at the little things that I often might blow by.   Noticing the little things can shine light on larger themes,  and deepen my understanding of why I am the way I am.

In my therapy group I've been reflecting on why I  behave a certain way.     Members of the group have pointed out that often when I am talking about difficult parts of my early life I often look up at the ceiling rather than maintain eye-contact with those in the room.    They have gently pointed this out on several occasions.   

So why do I do this?   My best guess is that the behavior is an echo of events from the time I was five and six years old, ones which I've talked about a lot.   And there seems to me good reason to do so.  The events in question have shaped my whole development process and who I am today.   Let me explain.

When I was a young child (birth to four) I received what Eva Marian Brown calls "Good enough parenting".   That means that,  although my parents were not likely to win any awards for their parenting skills,  they were doing a good enough job for my development to proceed through its natural steps in a healthy way.

But between the ages of four and six my environment became much less supportive.   We moved to a new state.  Several months later my parents divorced and my mom and I moved to a town several hours away from dad.   After nine months we moved back to dad's town but I started getting molested by my babysitter.   I spent time with dad but saw him depressed and alcohol-soaked.   Several months later my dad moved out of state and I never saw him again.   

These successive shocks to me,  each more damaging than the previous one,  shook my little world at its core.   My world was becoming dramatically less safe and neither my parents nor anyone else were able to give me support to help me navigate the heavy weather.   I  was forced into a situation where I had to respond to various blows without someone helping me through it.  In a certain very real sense,   I was on my own.

In my last post I used a term,  "inverted" to describe what I did to survive.  What I meant by this term is that all of the radiance I was projecting out into the world reversed direction.   I adopted a protective gesture in a basic way.   My energy turned inward in a way which was not healthy for me.

The inner part of me,  my higher nature,  what Charles Whitfield calls the "Child Within" went "out".   That is to say,  my inner self,  under "attack" from outside forces,  actually tried to exit my body.   Healthy development leads to "integration" where the body and the higher self are closely aligned.    The body gradually becomes closely aligned with the higher nature,  and unfolds in harmonious development.    My inner self,  which up to that point had integrated in a healthy way into my body,   now went "up and out".    In a certain spatial way I was up and behind my physical body.   I could not exit my body but I could get as far away from it as I could while still being,  technically,  in it.

One of the facilitators of the therapy group showed me a picture of what I was describing.   It was from a book by Barbara Brennan called Light Emerging and shows the space around a person where the area above them has bulged up and back.   The picture sure looked like my experience of what life has been like for me.   We inhabit not only our body but the space around our body.   The space around our body is also "us".   So perhaps one way to say what I did at age six was to push my being out of my physical body and into the space above me.   

As a child I was still able to function.   I did reasonably well in school,  etc.   but I was always very dreamy.   Spacey would be another way to say it.   It also created something of a split,  which is not uncommon among humans:   I had a higher side and a lower side.   A noble and radiant side contrasted with a cold and thoughtless side.  A light-filled part of me and another which was a wounded animal clawing for survival.

My work as an adult has been to try and knit those two sides together;  to integrate all the parts of myself and bring healing to the wounded parts.   I have tried to become more grounded and not so spacey.     I have tried to acknowledge my darker parts and thoughtless actions I have towards others in the past.     I have made progress.

But I still look up when I talk about my trauma.   The little boy who was trying to fly out of his body to get away from danger stills shows up in my eyes.

Becoming aware of this little detail will help me to heal that little guy.  I can let him know that he's safe now and doesn't need to fly away.

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly, Ben