I'm a Survivor
In
recent weeks, I have encountered several situations that brought up this
concept, in conversation or in my own introspection. I’m really just
hashing out my thoughts on it at the moment & I do that best by putting
things into words, as best I can at least. So, here goes…
I’ve
written before on the idea of each person living & measuring their life by
their own yardstick.
It seems to me that as individuals there is no other way for us to view &
judge things except
through the unique lens of our own experience & understanding. With
that in mind, I sincerely believe that no two people will see, experience or
react, to a situation the same way. Too many variables involved for that to
occur, so…while we can, will & often must
make judgments (from our unique perspective), it seems to me only prudent &
reasonable to accept the possibility that we could be mistaken. No one will
handle or react to circumstances in the exact
same manner that another person would. We are not robots with identical
programming, regardless of how many similarities we may share.
With
that understood, let me get to the meat of this writing.
I am
tired of the “helpless victim” mentality that pervades our world today. YES, people live
through horrible, mind-boggling, traumatic events. YES, people are
victimized by OTHER people. YES,
such things have lasting repercussions, most of which are negative to the
extreme. I am not trying to be a foolish polly-anna & insist that all
things are rosy. I know, from personal experience, that bad things DO happen to
good & innocent people, through little or no fault of their own. This is
not my contention.
My issue
is with the choices people make in the aftermath
of such life-changing events.
I’ll
share an example from my own life, to better illustrate the crux of the matter,
as I see it. I was molested in my childhood, more than once & by more than
one person. It altered my perception of men, trust, & the appropriate sorts
of interaction I should seek in my future relationships. Following the final
incident, I was placed in foster-care for my own safety & was fortunate to
have foster-parents who provided a truly safe haven. I was also placed in
several counseling programs, some more productive than others of course, &
I participated in them with fervor.
That was
the moment of choice. The crossroads in my life that thrust upon me a decision
that would forever change the way I viewed others who had experienced similar
traumas. I CHOSE to ACTIVELY participate in my own healing.
I’m
sitting here wondering if I need to reiterate that….
In the
group counseling sessions, I watched many of the others express their feelings
of helplessness, powerlessness, & hopelessness. I decided that I was not
going to resign myself to the idea that I would never heal, never get past this
injury, never know a healthy relationship with a man. I shared my own terrors,
my own feelings of helplessness. I also shared my sense of rage, my hunger for
retribution, my craving for redress. I shared my need to take BACK power over my
life, my choices, my health, be that mental, emotional or physical health.
After 6 weeks, I asked my caseworker to permit me to drop the group sessions as
I felt they were no longer productive & to her query of why I felt that, I
replied that I did not wish to wallow in the pit of self-pity. It was time to
climb out
of that dark, tear-soaked pile of victims.
I did
continue to see a counselor three times a week for nearly two years. In the
years (ok, decades ;-D) since then, I have sought out further counseling, at
various times, for various reasons. I worked hard on recovery.
I did not want validation as a victim, I wanted to take back my place as a
whole person, & the only path towards that goal that existed for me was the
path of the survivor.
I chose
that path.
Let me
assure you, I did not avoid all the traps & pitfalls along the way to where
I am today. I fell prey to a few poor choices, influenced by the warping
effects of what I’ve experienced. I own those mistakes. They are mine, I made
them, & I learned from them. I actually value most of them a great deal, as
they are the indelible marks of life’s lessons on the yardstick by which I
measure my personal progress. There are some mistakes I even made more than
once, especially regarding my relationships with men. However, I was not a
victim in any
of those situations. I was responsible for my own choice to participate, &
good or bad, I learned from it. I also survived.
I look
around me today at people who have experienced traumatic circumstances & I
see a very stark demarcation amongst them. I look into the many pity-pits &
I see the wailing, moaning, teeth-gnashing hordes of victims & there,
scattered among them, a few brave souls, defiantly clawing their way out
of the pit in which they find themselves. I’m astounded to see the many hands
that grasp at them, trying with all the repressed fury of a violated human to
drag those Survivors back down into the hopeless pit of victims.
I often
stop & reach down to pull the Survivor up, lending my own strength, however
paltry, to their upward motion, against the weight of their trauma, their scars
& the seething minions of helplessness hanging from their ankles. If those
few want to survive, then I feel it’s my duty to do what I can, whenever I can,
to help them find a moment’s refuge. Someone did that for me, gave me that safe
haven where my spirit had the calmness to see that I did, indeed, have a choice
in my future. I consider it similar to the concept of “paying it forward”. It’s
not because I expect something from those survivors whose hands I might hold so
briefly. It’s not about what I get back for my effort. It’s about sharing with
others the opportunity that I was given so long ago, the opportunity to choose.
The opportunity to survive.
So, when
you are there, climbing & clawing your way up out of a pit of pity, &
someone’s fingernails are digging into your ankles, pulling you back down. When
that feeling of despair wells up sourly in your throat & you want to cry
out with rage, kicking at those “poor pitiful, lonely victims”, look up. Call
out, ask for help & accept it when it reaches its hand down to you. If you
have to kick loose a few victims, do so with no regret. Don’t look back &
get caught in the trap of the pity-pit. Kick free, & do like me – listen
for those faint calls from the survivors as they climb, & answer them
whenever possible.
One day,
the victim who tried so desperately to pull you back just might tire of the
salty brine of the pity-pit & start climbing out, hoping for help as they
feel the tenacious breath of victims on their toes. They may even cry out,
& you may hear them. Do you truly think they will refuse your hand because
you once, long ago, kicked them loose, in order to survive? Trust me, they’ll
be damned glad that you made it! The only people who will reject you are the
people who want to remain in the pity-pit. They reject anyone who proves that
there’s life to live after victimization. They reject that choice, they
deny that responsibility & they won’t survive.
Make the
choice, don’t look back, & pay it forward. I did, & I’m a survivor.
