Conciliation

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It's astounding how difficult it is to get heads and hearts on the same page. Encapsulated in the same body, our two most vital organs are not far from one another. They're practically neighbors situated on the same northern end of our anatomy. Yet, the two regularly seem at odds with one another.

So often, we find ourselves mediating arguments between our brains and chests. We express confusion at the recognition that what we know differs greatly from how we feel. We startle or act impulsively when we want what we know we should not, and our beliefs frequently stop us from pursuing what seems right.

We tell each other how to cope with this disconnect all the time. Slow down. Listen to your heart. Think it through, we say. It's all very wise and thoughtful advice. If only our souls could hear it.

Reconciling minds and hearts is not easily done. It's a fool's errand in which what you want and what you need are rarely running in the same direction. Yet we keep trying. We strive each day for that perfect world scenario when our heads and our hearts finally agree and we can live in peace. If there is such a thing.

Working On It

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Right after I accepted the job that got me started down this path, and shortly before I actually began doing it, I had a rather significant freak out. I remember it distinctly.

I was sitting in my cleverly designated "office" (also known as my parents' dinning room) anxiously fiddling through HR paperwork. Like the good-little neurotic employee I planned to be, I had logged into the company email remotely to set up my account preferences so they would be ready in two weeks when I actually started. Excited, I realized that I had already been added to the team e-mail list. The curiosity tagged the over-achiever in me, and I clicked the first of several messages open. What I discovered was an overwhelming amount of information about deadlines, time frames, and expectations all cloaked in some kind of agency jargon that made no sense to me.

Shit, I thought. I don't know how to do any of this!

Then I did what any responsible and mature 23 year old woman does. 

I ran crying to my mommy.

Through broken breaths and heaving sobs, I frantically described for her what a massive mistake I had made. I told her I wasn't ready. Like a crazy person I speculated about my imposter status. I rationalized that I had wanted this job so badly I had actually tricked several experienced mental health professionals into thinking I knew what I was talking about.

Likely bewildered, my mother patted my back. She looked me in the eye and frankly told me to put on my big girl pants and get over it.

"Of course you don't know what you're supposed to be doing!" she shook her head with exasperation. "You haven't done it yet. That's what training time is for." She explained that I hadn't tricked anybody into anything, and that all new jobs have a learning curve. Then, she abruptly instructed me to calm down already.

Honestly, I walked away from that interaction feeling like my mom had no idea what she was talking about. I mean, she hadn't seen those e-mails. She didn't fully understand the magnitude of my predicament. Now, several years later, I'm not so sure.

I find myself in a rather similar state of panic over ineptitude in my current position. I wake up nearly every day thinking to myself, what have I gotten myself into? Most of the time I'm convinced I have no idea what I'm doing. More often, I think about how I seem to have fooled each of my supervisors into thinking that I do. On more than one occasion I've actually practiced a "coming clean" type of speech that will explain my actual ignorance to this group of highly educated individuals.

It's definitely not a good feeling, but when I think back to other times I've had these sensations I'm reminded of my retail job in college when I fretted excessively over just what particular style to fold the t-shirts in. I also think of my first actual job at a movie theater, and the shame I felt when the manager accused me of misrepresenting my (very real bike race) concessions experience because, to him, that meant knowing how to work a pop tower. The common thread here does seem to be new jobs.

Perhaps what's even more important is that I eventually learned to work that pop tower and I am now an expert shirt folder. Also, those deadlines and time frames where concerning treatment issues that would eventually become so important to me I went to grad school so I could make a serious career out of them.

Maybe the freak out is all just part of the process. Maybe that irrational panic and absolute conviction that I'm an imposter is just proof that I'm ready to learn. And maybe, just maybe, my mom was right after all.

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If you yourself have ever found yourself afflicted with a similar case of the unnecessary worries, read this woman's blog.  It helped me a LOT.

 

Knowing I Don't

There's this saying. It's a bit of a brain bender, but I find it incredibly accurate:

The more you know, the more you know you don't know.

As I write this to you, I find myself 2/3 the way through an advanced degree program. I have more knowledge than ever before, and I've never felt more dumb.

Logically, this makes no sense. My brain is so full, yet it feels utterly empty. So empty in fact, that I struggle to find the words to describe it to you.

See, it is as if my mind is a bucket that has been placed under an eternally running faucet. At first, it started to fill with beautifully clear liquid knowledge. Then, as it came faster, the solution inside stirred up. The pressure of incoming information muddied the water with an influx of air bubbles. What was once contained safely in my mind began to spill over the edges; making room for the fresh supply.

The inherent dilemma is that I can't hold it all in. As the deluge continues to build, the bucket will start to rust and eventually it will wear down because of the weight it contains. Knowledge will leak out at an increasing rate. It's a giant mess, and I find myself frantically trying to mop it all up. Only, I can't because patching holes is nearly impossible while it pours in, and there seems to be no stopping it.

Asking For It

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There's a story in one of my favorite psychology books about a young girl who was repeatedly molested by an adult in her own home. The story is fascinating for several reasons. Perhaps the most notable intrigue in the story involves the girl's peculiar response to the trauma. This girl, recognizing that the abuse only occurred during states of extreme intoxication on the perpetrator' part, began to provide the man with freshly opened beer bottles.

Those of us fortunate enough to grow up in healthy homes with trusting adults are often baffled and outraged by this story. We wonder why she would do that. We speculate about her self-sabotaging or masochistic tendencies. Our healthy relationship foundations impair our ability to see this seemingly illogical reaction for the highly adaptive behavior it is. Because he only ever molested her when drunk, and because the girl couldn't stand waiting around wondering when his next bender would be, she took matters into her own hands. By initiating the very circumstances that result in her recurrent traumatization, this girl took control of an otherwise reckless scenario. Instead of maintaining a perpetual sense of terror at the unpredictable potential of another incident, she made it happen on her terms.

You actually see this kind of behavior in traumatized kids all the time. For many it involves emotional explosions that practically demand punishment. It is those kids who, despite every promise of rewards for good behavior, blow up at the first seemingly insignificant issue of the day. It's really common conduct, and yet it leaves foster parents, helping professionals, and school faculty understandably confused. It can be difficult to comprehend why a perfectly capable kid will repeatedly self-destruct.

These kids don't see the world the way we do. Their development has not been securely guarded by the trusting adults most of us knew. They do not have the expectation of safety and happiness that every child deserves. Unfortunately, moving them to safer environments doesn't magically change that. They have already grown to know the world as a dark place of disappointment. Maybe they have had some good experiences, but those are disproportionately infrequent in their memories. Getting smacked around, yelled at, and sent to a cupboard under the stairs are things they can count on. They know abuse is going to happen, history has proven this to them. They live every day knowing that eventually they will fall asleep and their nightmare will begin again.

Maltreated kids do not have much experience with interrupting or ending their traumas. Many of them don't believe it is even possible. They often lack the hope to hang on and try to repair their lives. To them, the worst is coming. It always does. With this hopeless outlook, the only way to prepare themselves, is to control when.

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