A couple of months ago I wrote about how I had intended this summer to be focused on working through trauma that I've resisted dealing with. For decades I didn't even admit that the trauma existed, let alone the situations that caused it.
I never wanted to admit that I had endured years of abuse from my father, abuse that extended into my adult years. I always felt that I deserved what he put me through, that I was a stupid, incompetent person (I won't say what he often really called me) incapable of making my own decisions and certainly not worth anything.
Never mind that I
- Won numerous academic awards in high school and belonged to honor societies
- Wrote for my local newspaper at 16
- Have two bachelor's degrees in history and English
- Hold a master's degree in religious studies
- Have held responsible, high stress jobs....
Yet, because my father drilled my stupidity into my head, I never felt any of this was important. In fact, I often would sabotage myself by making mistakes in one way or another.
I don't really want to get too involved in talking about the abuse here just yet, but I have been trying to figure how to work this out. I've been afraid to really get into what emotions I feel.
I don't really want to get too involved in talking about the abuse here just yet, but I have been trying to figure how to work this out. I've been afraid to really get into what emotions I feel.
If I even have emotions when it comes to this.
Because I'm afraid I am all too clinical about this.
And as usual, because I am clinical and rigid and...whatever... I was compelled yesterday to 'research' what art by abuse victims is 'supposed to look like.'
Like this, according to Google...
And other similar things. And I found some fantastic art that didn't seem to be 'about' abuse
 |
| (I couldn't find the name of the artist who did this) |
And yet I recoil at doing anything that is directly related to what I went through. I would start to collect things that's related and it would sit. And sit. And sit. Gathering dust and cobwebs, as I continue to do my usual collage work. Unable to really think of doing anything else.
Which isn't a bad thing. People love the silly collages and the more pensive pieces. Nothing wrong with that.
But why can't I just let loose and feel like I'm accomplishing something wonderful? A couple of my friends can't understand this, can't understand why I can't play.
It's a question I can't answer, even though I try to play.
Someone else did tell me that if I get enjoyment out of what I normally make, then it's therapy.
But I can't help but think I'm supposed to be doing something else.
Am I?
later,
lin
First, {{{hugs}}} aplenty for you, my friend :) It's my own personal non-accredited feeling that you can't force yourself to face what you endured until you're ready. The details of my story are different from yours, but the bottom line is close to the same - and even with a two-year jump on you, I'm telling you, working through it happens when it happens. And I do agree with whoever told you that if you're doing art and it feels good and you're enjoying it, then you *are* playing and it *is* therapy! You're accomplishing so very much, Lin - I know for a fact that just by telling your story and getting it out there that you are already helping other people (me! me! me! amongst others) and - my final bit of wisdom for now, I promise - I have found that that, too, is one of the best therapeutic methods around <3 xo
ReplyDeletethanks so much. I wish I could shake this feeling but it's really digging at me
DeleteThis blog post in itself is therapeutic!!! Thank you so much for sharing Lin. XO
ReplyDeleteAww Lin, what a hard thing to have to deal with. I would agree with whoever it was that said if you enjoy what you are doing, then it is therapy. Everyone's experiences are different and therefore everybody's therapy will be different. You can't force yourself to do what you're not ready to do yet. Love and hugs x x x
ReplyDeletethank you, my friend
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