Curious George
When I was in the third grade, I performed major surgery on my favorite stuffed animal, Curious George. He had a string on his back. When pulled, the string would cause him to recite one of six cheery phrases, including: “I’m Soft and Cuddly, I’m a Little Monkey, I’m Curious George, I’m a Curious Monkey, I Learn new things, and Let’s Count…1, 2, 3.” George’s curiosity was contagious, and I began to wonder how it was that he was able to talk. Alone in my bedroom upstairs, I decided to perform surgery. I retrieved my mom’s sewing scissors and prepared for the procedure. After administering pretend anesthesia, I carefully removed a mechanical box from George’s body, closing the wound with safety pins. I then set about examining the little tin box of wonder. This involved my smashing it with a hammer.
When I was in the fourth grade, I visited my friend, Brent. He lived down the street. His dad was a hunter (or at least he had guns). One day we were playing with our G.I. Joe and Big Jim action figures in the living room. We came upon a box of live ammunition. I was super curious about it. I persuaded Brent, who was reluctant at first, to give me a round of live .22 caliber ammunition. I hurried away from his house with my little, shiny-metal treasure in my hand and headed straight home. As soon as I got there, I went down to our basement and excitedly set out to take apart the object for examination. I grabbed a hammer from my dad’s toolbox, placed the round on the concrete floor, and began to pound. You already know what came next. On the second hit, the hammer lit the primer, igniting the gunpowder and sending a .22 caliber lead slug whizzing through the air near my head. The wooden ceiling in our basement stopped the bullet with a thud, and dust fell from the beam where it lodged. I looked up. Then I looked down in horror at the now empty, smoking brass casing. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I ran up the stairs, through the back door, and out into our backyard. What had just happened? After lying on my back and looking up at the clouds, my heartbeat eventually began beating normally again. I returned to the basement, threw away the shell casing, and went about my business. I told no one about what had happened that day. I didn’t want to get in trouble. There were very few adults I trusted. I had my reasons.
Dazed and Confused
When I was growing up, corporal punishment for perceived disciplinary infractions was accepted and even celebrated. Surprisingly, it still appears to be allowed as a matter of law in 19 states. My fourth-grade teacher in elementary school showed off his wooden paddle in front of the class at the beginning of the school year. He explained to us how its holes made the paddle travel faster through the air on its way to the recipient’s rear end. It was all a big joke until it wasn’t. My teacher would occasionally lose his temper. His chin would tremble as he pounded the chalkboard with his fist and shouted, “Damn it!” But he was far from the worst.
Our school principal was a petty tyrant with a strong streak of cruelty. On two separate occasions, he swooped in silently like an owl snatching a vole from a meadow in the dark of night, grabbing me by the short hairs on the back of my head and dragging me back to his office, where, after placing my hands on his desk, he struck me with his wooden paddle. I was too frightened and confused even to try and defend myself. My face turned red, and I felt humiliated. For the record, despite what the other boys said, I was not a participant in the cheese stick smashing ritual at lunch. In fact, I moved to another table when the smashing started to avoid any trouble. In the other incident, while I was being dragged to the principal’s office, I wish I could have told him that Ricky was grabbing my enameled Lassie belt buckle while we were riding the merry-go-round, which is why I was leaning out over the edge. It wasn’t my fault! Nevertheless, I remained silent like a lamb on the way to slaughter. Once again, I felt deeply ashamed. I was already suspicious of adults, and these incidents made me even warier. I did not dare to inform my parents about what had happened, because I did not trust how they would respond. It is equally plausible that I simply did not know what to say.
My principal’s unexpected paddling caused me untold suffering as a young boy:
When a person experiences a trauma, the left anterior frontal lobe known as Broca’s area—the language part of the brain—is deactivated. This deactivation of Broca’s area causes “speechless terror” for many traumatized people and they can’t talk about or understand their experience with words. They feel intense emotions without being able to put a label on what they are experiencing. Parnell, Laurel. A Therapist’s Guide to EMDR: Tools and Techniques for Successful Treatment (p. 17). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.
From these incidents and other traumatic events involving shaming by others in public, I conditioned myself not to trust anyone in a position of authority. Unresolved trauma can lead to posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Symptoms of PTSD vary and can range from mild to completely disabling. In my case, PTSD has taken the form of an unhealthy, codependent need to please others, a tendency to isolate and keep myself at a safe distance from others, and difficulty letting my guard down to enjoy life.
PTSD is unusually persistent:
People with PTSD have more active limbic systems and ordinary talk psychotherapy does not decondition the limbic system. The part of the brain that holds the traumatic memory continues to be triggered, acting as if present-time nonthreatening internal or external stimuli are dangerous, even if they understand that the stimuli are not dangerous and the reasons for their responses. They still have the same somatosensory or emotional responses to the old cues. You can’t reason the body out of reacting to stimuli that causes a reaction in the limbic system. Stimulation of this part of the brain causes a nonverbal response that is not changed by intellectual understanding. The limbic system continues to respond as if there were present dangers (van der Kolk, 1994). This is why so many clients who have been abused as children or traumatized as adults do not change their behavioral responses to triggers even after years of insight-oriented psychotherapy. Parnell, Laurel. A Therapist’s Guide to EMDR: Tools and Techniques for Successful Treatment (p. 17). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.
There is some goods news here. EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy was developed specifically for people dealing with PTSD. It first became popular, treating soldiers returning from combat. The VA endorses it as an effective treatment for PTSD. If you think you may have PTSD, or if you know someone who is dealing (or not dealing) with it, I encourage you to consider finding a therapist with expertise in EMDR. The harm caused by traumatic experiences can be healed. It is never too late.
“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”— Brene Brown