By Your Scars

There’s a classic story about a father teaching his son a lesson about anger and the permanent damage we can do with our words. It’s called “The Fence”. You probably know it but in case you don’t, here it is:

There was boy who had a bad temper, struggling to control his hurtful words and actions. 

His father gave the boy a bag of nails and told him every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into their wood fence. 

The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, 

he discovered that it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. 

As he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. 

Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. 

His dad now had him remove one nail for each day that he controlled his temper. 

It took months, one by one, removing a nail for each day but finally all of the nails were gone.  

The father took his son by the hand, led him to the fence and said, "You have done well. But look at the holes in the fence. They fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar, just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. 

It won't matter how many time you say "I'm sorry", the wound is still there.

-Anonymous 

 

This story of course has a great lesson about the long term impact we can have when we are reckless with our words and actions. Even if we feel bad, apologize, and are forgiven, some scars will always remain. 

But this story also provides a metaphor with the damaged fence representing a damaged person. And while we should definitely be careful with one another, the scars we bear become who we are. They are our stories and what makes us unique. We don't see each other as polished pieces of wood, each alike and flawless. We fit together with our friends, chosen family, and partners by the way they see and tend to our scars.  The way they make space for our heartaches, hold our pain, and look straight in the eye of our adversity and don't look away. 

I know you have your scars. 

I know the places it hurts. 

I don't wish those parts of you away. 

I know you by your scars. 

It's Fine

credit: https://giphy.com/explore/im-fine-thanks

In the past week, schools have closed, businesses have shut down, basic supplies are hard to find, we are restricted from gathering... and so much more. A lot of people are struggling with anxiety and depression. And that makes a lot of sense. This is hard to process and we don't know what is going to happen next.

My life is effected in several specific, immediate ways and the potential duration and severity of this situation could have many negative impacts. But I don't feel anxious or depressed at all. I feel calm, optimistic and energetic. I didn't think much of this at first. Maybe I'm just one of the lucky ones that is naturally resilient!

And then this week, Vicki Peterson of The Mighty wrote an article called "Feeling Calm in the Midst of the Coronavirus Pandemic Might be a Trauma Response". Oh. Damn. That's why this feels ok. I have so much practice carrying on when things are falling apart around me. My brain is actually wired differently.

I had a lot of feelings reading this article.

First, how lucky I am to have so much trauma that I can rally through a pandemic! Wait, lucky? That seems kinda messed up. I've never fault grateful for my trauma. But now, I can see how my resilience can be a gift in difficult situations. I am around a lot of people that are struggling right now. Remaining calm has allowed me to gather information, organize people, and make plans to help others.

Second, it hurts to be so seen. Every time my past trauma is brought into my current reality, it stings a little. This article was hard to read because it is right. I forget that little life stresses feel big to me and huge issues seem like a breeze. That's not normal. I've known for a long time that I'm most comfortable when things are a mess and life feels dysfunctional. I get anxious when things are good.

Third, a key point in this article is the eventual crash. Some day, it will knock me over all at once. But what I know from my past is that it probably won't happen this week, or this month, or even this year. It's like to happen years from now when I'm explaining to my children what it was like to live through this time, when I out loud admit all the hard parts, they will fall like pieces into one complete puzzle and I won't be able to look away. That's when the crash will come.

In this moment, I'm not oblivious. I'm not brave or unusual. I've just been in enough dark places that help me embrace these truths:  I know that things are bad. I know that bad things often get worse. I also know it's possible to come out on the other side.