Surviving
child abuse and recovering from its effects have been the over-arching themes
of my life story for a few years now, and I’m completely fatigued from it. I've told those few who are close to me about my recovery, but
I’m not sure how much more open I should become. I don’t want to forever
be known as “the guy with PTSD because he was abused” or “the child-abuse dude
who fell apart for a few years in his 30’s.”
At
the same time, however, I want to scream from the rooftops about it so others
can learn from what happened to me initially in childhood and then much later
in life. Maybe a father out there somewhere stops himself before bouncing
his 8-year old’s face off a fender because there was some dirt still left there
after the kid washed the van. Maybe there’s a college student out there
who will hear my story, realize what he went through as a kid wasn’t normal at
all, and go get help sooner rather than later.
Look,
I’m not trying to be some martyr here or anything. I don’t need anyone to
feel bad for me. I don’t want sympathy. This is not some
vain-glorious pursuit of self-aggrandizement. I’m just trying to fashion
a silver lining in an otherwise completely dreadful set of circumstances.
Recovering fully would be sufficient enough, but I’ve gone through hell and I
want more than to just break even.
It’s
been suggested to me by several people in the mental health field that I should
marshal my experiences, education, and ability to communicate in order to do
some good for others in this particular area. I’ve been told that I
should write a book, become a peer mentor/counselor, or maybe consider being
more of a public face since so few men are willing to do so.
It’s
one reason I started writing this blog. This might be the foundation of a
book, a jump start into writing for periodicals, or maybe this will stand on
its own and be effective at helping others. Of course it's quite possible
this will be something that nobody really reads or cares about, and that's not
the worst thing because I’m terrified that this will be the everlasting
impression I leave… the thing for which I’m remembered (assuming I’m remembered
at all!).
Yet
I’m also starting to wonder if maybe I should just continue to do this
anonymously because I don’t want this to become the predominant aspect of my
identity. I truthfully don’t want to identify with it forever even though
I know it will always be a footnote on every page of my life story. I’m
still anonymous right now because I’m not completely convinced that I want to
be forever associated with having recovered from Complex PTSD due to physical
and psychological traumas in childhood. Just typing those last few words
and envisioning people reading it with my name attached to them stresses me
more than just a bit.
On
the other hand, I know that there’s no way to make a true impact
anonymously. If I’m going to have any measure of success at realizing
that silver lining, I’m going to have to put my name on it. Otherwise I’m
just playing into the societal stigma and reinforcing the fear many men have
about admitting what happened to them really messed them up. How can I
encourage men to be brave and face down the problems they face as a result of
their childhoods if I’m not stout enough to openly own my personal experiences?
It’s
just that I want my identity to be more about who I am as a person, the things
I enjoy doing, and the ways that I spend my time:
I’m
a granola guy who loves nature, camping, rafting, fishing, hiking, boating, and
generally anything else done outdoors.
I’m
an over-the-top football fan who convinced a bar in the heart of Chicago to
become an Atlanta Falcons watching spot that fills up every Sunday bringing
Dirtybird fans together and now has Falcons flags, banners, and a 10-foot
blow-up guy out front on the sidewalk. It’s such an amazing thing to be a
part of.
I
write football columns and articles for a Falcons website affiliated with
Sports Illustrated.
I
tutor adult learners trying to get their GED, pass the US citizenship test, or
whatever their goals may be.
I’m
a loving and occasionally overzealous father of two girls who knows way more
about My Little Pony than any 30-something man ever should.
I’m
the old guy still streetballin’ at the gym with the young bucks.
I’m
the grill-master-forever-in-training who loves nothing more than to hold court
while turning racks of ribs and Vidalia onions on a hot summer day.
I’m
the MacGuyver-ish dude who gets a bizarre pleasure from fixing damn near anything.
Don’t
even get me started on my geeky side because that’s at least another 3
paragraphs!
My
point is that there’s so much more to me than just being a child abuse
survivor. But if I come out hard and heavy, and I really do this right…
then will the rest of me get swallowed up in the process? Does everything
else in my life get overshadowed? I have so much trepidation that I will
forever be stamped by what I’m in the process of overcoming instead of simply
getting to actualize all of the other aspects of my identity.
Of
course, that’s the problem. This is part of who I am and nothing
will ever change that. Either it’s a known fact of my life, or it’s
something I try to hide forever.
No.
To hell with that. I’m tired of hiding this as though it’s something I
should be ashamed of people knowing. I didn’t ask for a childhood like
that, and I surely didn’t want to be in recovery from it 15-20 years
later. Those who will think ill of me or keep their distance as a result
are exactly the kind of people I don’t want in my life anyway. Maybe
it’ll be a great way of filtering out the wrong kind of people, and then they
can identify me as whoever or whatever they please.
My
identity is mine and will not be subject to any label placed upon it by others. Being a child abuse survivor may end
up being what people most know me for, and it will always be a part of me, but
I won’t let it become all that I am because I’m a hell of a lot more than that.
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