Sharing our past to change the future

You Go, iIrl!

Since starting to write these blogs, one of the issues I have faced is a concern about how much to expose my past to the world. I use the word “expose” because that is what I feel happens. In truth, my past no longer has a hold on me, as it once did. Both good and bad seem to have receded into the distance as the present becomes more consuming. It is often said there is little we can do to change the past, but I disagree with this. 

When I held on to my past, as most of us do, I found myself primarily in victim mode. I felt sorry for myself, and when I shared episodes, I did it to gain accolades and sympathy. I did it to have others realize how much I had “suffered.” If I kept quiet, it was so others would see how “strong,” how “self-sufficient” I was and how I did not need anyone or anything and I certainly did not need to be “rescued.” But all of that has changed in recent years. I realize in many ways the “past” has ceased to exist. I recognize it for what it is, and I realize something else about it – it is to be shared. What happened to me is not anyone’s fault – there is no blame, nor is there any responsibility.

My mother did not beat me because she wanted to – she did it because she was conditioned. She was beaten, often and severely, and her father beat her because he was beaten, and so on. My sister beat her children for the same reason, but her children married women who did not do that to their children, so they broke the cycle of countless generations, guaranteeing a more peace-filled childhood for generations ahead. I broke it by not having children. I feared what I might do to them, and I have given my love, my love for my own unborn children, to others who needed it, so they might fill their own wells with maternal love and pass it to their own children. 

I asked my son this past summer how he dealt with the memories of his past. His response interested me. He said he lived in the present. The past was there, but he could not do anything about it. He could be in the present and live well here and by doing so, create a great future.

I was once asked, “If one child was spared pain because of what you experienced in the past, would it then be worth it?” Without hesitation, I answered “yes.” If one person could come to peace within themselves and spare their own children pain or facilitate healing of the wounds of their own selves, then, unhesitatingly, I would experience my past a thousand times over. I know I can bear the scars, the pain, the abuse and still come out as a loving human being. I have walked this road and can gratefully and admiringly look at who I have become. And there have been thousands along the way who have helped me, who have been catalysts for my own evolution and recognition of who I am.

In a recent article, "I Never Promised You A Rose Garden,” I spoke of fear and my first memories of realization, and I thought again about the nature of self-revelation. I also once again saw that I no longer considered my life as my own. By attaining my own freedom, my experience allowed others to know they are not alone, and their experiences give freedom to others to speak and liberate themselves. 

A friend responded to the article by saying she felt I had experienced a lot and managed to come out well. This was wonderful, but her own story was most important:

I was never beaten. All my father needed to do was snap an old barber’s razor strap to get our attention. My mother was former military, a Coast Guard drill team squad leader. Her voice was enough to scare you into submission and compliance. Harsh words were my punishment.

My first grade teacher called me “nincompoop” for having a messy desk. My mother wrote on one of my report cards that she guessed I was not as “stupid” as they had thought. It was believed I was not college material because I did not read well. I was recommended to be a mechanic and take vocational classes rather than college-bound classes.

Later in life, I determined that I had a learning disability; there was a 400-point difference between my math and reading scores on the test you take before entering college. That same 400-point difference was there when I took tests to enter graduate school. The federal law identifying the need to provide special education did not exist until 1975. I was out of high school and undergraduate college by 1971, so I never received any help with my disability. I figured out the best ways to learn on my own. 

To this day, I do not really enjoy picking up a book to read, but I do so on occasion. I will write characters' names down and how they relate to each other or to the story, so that I can remember and connect. When I stop reading, or even while I am reading, I have great difficulty remembering what I have read. I am extremely distractible with noise and motion around me when I am reading. You can imagine what it was like, sitting in a classroom and being told to read quietly for 20 minutes while the rest of the students were talking, moving, etc. 

Just as you, Anna, I survived! I graduated from Madison College with a B.S., from Virginia Tech with an M.A., and an Ed.S. from UVA. I had a very successful, and mostly enjoyable, 45-year career in the field of education. Rather than calling me names, I wish that people had said to me, “YOU GO, GIRL!!!!!“

I use Nancy’s own words because, as each of us tells our story, we liberate future children. We have moved beyond, but have not forgotten, the pain the little girl experienced, and we do not wish another child to suffer – we wish for all children to hear

“YOU GO” ….. ”YOU CAN DO IT” ….. “I know you! I have been you. We can do it together, and together we will both FLY.” 

Come, let us go skydiving together!

*Gratitude to Nancy Lantz for sharing.