Hello from the micro-acre,
The summer I did my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at St. Luke’s in my hometown of Sioux City, there was a lot on my plate. I had been diagnosed with what then was determined to be Ulcerative Colitis, I was on leave from the seminary, was planning a wedding at the end of the summer, and perhaps, most importantly, I was working diligently to figure out who I was. That might sound a bit surprising for someone who was almost 29 years old, but what my rotation in Peds, Peds Intensive, and Peds Oncology taught me that summer was much more than I could have ever anticipated. I remember asking my supervisor, the Rev. Dr. Steve Pohlman if he put me in Peds (my brother had died at 26, leaving little children under the age of five) because I had experience with that event or so I might understand that event in my life. He looked at me calmly, smiled, and answered simply, “Yes.” And then he walked away. In addition to our weekly meetings, our verbatims, our critical incident reports, our morning pre-surgical rounds, and daily floor requirements, we did a family of origin assignment. There was a lot.
As previously noted in this forum, and certainly more than once, I do not have a typical family background (e.g. the mom, dad, two and a half kids, the white picket fence, and the dog, that quintessential American Dream). Being on my third family before I was 5, and having three different names on my current birth certificate should be enough to dispel that typical experience. So doing a family of origin was both arduous and emotional. It was the first time I looked at the reality of the family I had been adopted into (which again is still related to my biological father, through his mother). It was the first time I had to verbally come to terms with how my childhood experiences had shaped the person who was getting married at the end of that summer. I am still grateful to my supervisor for the gentle and thoughtful manner he handled that event, which was more traumatic than I could even realize at the time. I had little understanding until later that fall that my mother was chemically dependent on prescription drugs or OTC drugs because they were doctor prescribed. I have little or no understanding that my mother suffered from what we would now call PTSD from some of her own life experiences. And I was certainly not prepared for how all of that would affect my own life or relationship with my soon to be wife.
Now forty years later, I see things so differently, profoundly so. While I was succeeding on a number of levels, and that is what many saw, inside, I was a floundering little boy still wanting to be loved and appreciated. Two events that summer really brought that home. One was a conversation with my adopted father about his life and how he saw it; the second was a conversation with my mother about my sister and me being adopted at the ages of 2 1/2 and the later months of my being 4. The stark reality of those conversations and what they revealed have stayed with me to this day. And yet, what I choose to do with all of that, what I can manage moving forward, what I allow those events to do to me are all on me. What four decades of wandering (ironic that it is about 40 years, and the Biblical connection to that number), what a little more than four decades of pondering and a significant number of those years in counseling has done. Are there moments of lament? Most assuredly, there have been. Are there moments of avoidance, pretending against all, that I might just forget or ignore? Again, undoubtedly so. And perhaps most significantly, but not easily, there have been periods of profound learning. And while that learning is neither continuous or always progressive, there has been learning just the same. The Biblical process of lament is well documented, and certainly perhaps the most famous lament is Psalm 22, the words Jesus is believed to have cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?!” What incredible words of seeming abandonment, of desperation. In my desire to be as transparent as possible, I remember somewhat regularly wishing as a child that I would just die and not have to be in the Martin house. That is a sad admission, but an honest one. I remember asking God why we were adopted and not allowed to stay at my Grandmother’s where I knew I was loved (I did not understand how her struggle with alcohol had a bigger consequence)? So lamentation was a normal part of my growing up.
And to be sure, I have little doubt that all of us have those laments. I have been in conversation with a high school classmate, and we have shared significant stories from our childhood. Things that happened behind closed doors, and were not discussed in public, and yet what it demonstrates is each and every one of us have those areas of struggle and to some degree trauma. And yet, what to do with it all? Victimization whether it is done to us, or we do it to ourselves, is terribly damaging. And continuing to be or allow, to consider ourselves, perpetual victimhood becomes a learned helplessness. This is not to say changing the pattern is easily accomplished, I am implying no such thing. The struggle (that seems to be a common word here) and consequence of being the victim is a distorted understanding of agency, or at the very least, a less than optimal use of one’s agency. The balance between allowing someone to grieve their past, which is necessary, and the difficult work to move beyond it, which is perhaps at best no longer allowing it to control their life, is not a one-size-fits-all proposition. Furthermore, trauma has an uncanny ability to reassert itself into our lives, even when we believe we have done the arduous work to move beyond that event. I know that sort of Scrooge’s Christmas Eve visitation all too well.
Yet, coming to terms with the ghosts of our past keeps them from controlling our future. Learning who we are as well as why we are is a significant piece of mastering our lives. Being profoundly honest with the person we see in the mirror allows both allows for our understanding the person we have become, but more importantly, offers the opportunity to create a life of possibility. In addition, my choosing to overcome my victimhood allowed me to forgive my mother. The freedom sensed through that forgiveness was life-changing. It was not until I forgave her that the deep-seated sadness, hurt, and anger disappeared from my life. I had to learn to forgive. The weight of that lack of forgiveness, often expressed in seemingly unprovoked anger had done damage to me more times than I could have ever realized. The burden of that life affected me personally and professionally in ways unimaginable. While the title of my blog posits it as an either/or, more accurately, it is a both/and. Lamenting the difficulties of our life is appropriate because it acknowledges those events. Learning to move beyond with a sense of self, with a belief in agency, and the ability to change gives us hope, allows us the possibility of goodness, and creates a bond of love, for life and for the other.
Thank you as always for reading,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 