From my journal for July 21, 1975
My friend Michele told me that at a party the other night several people said nice things about me: Brook from tapestry class, Carol from dream class, said i was a very warm person, also very genuine. Since i admire both Brook and Carol, this made me feel wonderful. I have to accept that this is true, because if i don’t i make the mistake of thinking i am awful. I’ve probably hurt more people and done more damage through thinking i was awful (i can’t act in this situation; a kind word from me would mean nothing; i am not important to so-and-so; etc.) and therefore needing to defend myself. On the other hand, accepting that i am (or can be) “warm” doesn’t mean that i can sit back complacently and assume that it will continue. It is clear to me that what they perceive as ‘warmth’ is produced by constant daily efforts to overcome my cold, reserved, and selfish nature. So on the one hand you have to assume that you are good, that everything you do is basically worthwhile in the long run because leading to growth and wholeness, then there is no need to be defensive or less than honest. On the other hand you must try to perceive clearly your faults, defensive postures, constrictions, and any natural tendencies to go to the extreme, so that you can be constantly counteracting, coming back to center. (The ongoing internal revolution is the only one there is) On the other hand (third hand?) perhaps this ‘warmth’ is the result of having finally let the Leo-child-self go to act in the world, instead of repressing it as ego-evil-bad-selfish-show-off; and it is through acting out this part perceived as ‘bad’ that i am enabled to become what i want to be (warm, generous, sharing, and also authentic). Paradox at the heart of it. To be constantly watching oneself, ‘counteracting’ imagined faults, is to be uptight, rigid etc. And yet to assume that you are ‘good’ and therefore don’t have to work on yourself, is almost as bad as to assume you’re hopelessly evil. The moment you express one-half the paradox, you are in danger of going to the extreme; therefore you must express both simultaneously! Aaargh, the limitations of language! At least it signifies that i have got beyond the realm of language and into the realm of truth — for so long i was trapped in the limitations of language (‘if you can’t express it, it isn’t a truth’)
Reading this now, I notice several things. One is that I was still using “i” to refer to myself. I started that in 1967, not sure why. I went back to capital I around the beginning of 1976. I describe myself as having a “cold, reserved, and selfish nature,” which amazes me now. I’m not sure it was ever true. But it is still how I experience myself until I give it words. As Erica says “It may be real, but it’s not true,” speaking of the felt sense that something is “real.” But one of the things that trauma does is screw up the felt sense. When I’m triggered, I experience the fear as happening now, but it isn’t real. It’s fear of something that was real and truly fearful in the past, but is no longer happening, there is no longer a reason to be fearful now.
I write that “i have got beyond the realm of language and into the realm of truth,” but I was wrong. Recently I’ve been experiencing that I’m out of the world of language, but what I feel is confusion and lostness, not truth. On the other hand, I have experienced truths that could not be expressed verbally.
This is what I wrote the day after reading that journal, Saturday, February 22:
Feeling very discouraged. I remember reading something yesterday about people arriving at a certain age and realizing that they are never going to do what they had hoped to achieve. I can’t think of where I might have read it. I don’t feel that it applies to me because the only thing I ever wanted to “achieve” was a level of mental health that would allow me to “have a life.” What would “having a life” look like? I would have a sense of purpose and meaning, and I would be able to enjoy things. Looking back, I see that there were times when I had that — when I was writing my book, when I was teaching astronomy, when I was teaching circle dance and creating seasonal celebrations — and I’m sure there were moments of enjoyment. But somehow they never got built into a foundation that I could lean on, or embody in some way. I think because there was some level of dissociation that kept me from feeling satisfaction. That mechanism is what I was seeing in the journal writing where I’m clearly afraid that if I allow myself to really get that I’m a good person, a person of warmth and authenticity, that I would then become complacent, and not work on all the little faults that I see so clearly. Looking back, I wonder if this is how I internalized Mother’s “Don’t think you’re so great.” I see now that it kept me from relaxing and turning outward to get to know people and express my caring. Instead I focused on myself and my faults and “how am I doing?”
I have to give myself credit for really wanting to be a good person, and to do some good in the world I cared about. I really did, and still do, care very much about the world, the world of stars, trees, and elephants, and the world of suffering human beings. It’s never been important to me to be famous, or to have a lot of people think I’m wonderful. The sad truth is that a lot of people do think I’m wonderful, and I can’t take it in.
So is this PTSD? Or the result of the attachment wound? But the attachment wound is the trauma. They can’t be separated. I was never good enough for Mother, and I’ll never be good enough for the internalized judge.
I remember that Bessel Van Der Kolk said that “all trauma is attachment trauma,” and go looking for the reference. I find it in my second blog post. He is quoted by Maggie Scarf, in her book “Secrets, Lies, Betrayals.” The actual quote is “The real trauma, and the actual cause of most post-traumatic suffering, is ‘attachment trauma’.”