You Get to Be a Person
The wait for law enforcement to arrive when you need them feels like an eternity. The scene felt like one of those where the main character can look around but everything else is frozen. My father was charging at me, a 6’4” 250-pound man versus a 19-year-old girl. His rage spilled out of his face and body and was directed squarely at me. Years of untreated trauma poured out of his soul and covered me in darkness. At some point, he grabbed and injured my wrist while I was trying to flee.
My father distanced himself at just the right speed when deputies arrived. He made sure to give me one last rage-filled glare before turning around with a smile. He was a master at manipulation. I remember looking on with disdain as he charmingly spoke to the deputies. He could switch from monster to human in a flash, leaving you questioning your own sanity.
I was an anxious, blubbering, mess when deputies spoke to me. In other words, a normal trauma-activated human. They belittled me as I recounted the incident through gasps of air. After bringing up my wrist injury several times, they asked if I wanted to press charges. I did.
The invalidation of my experience by family happened immediately. My mom talked to me consistently about dropping the charges. My father would show up at my work. I was fearfully avoiding him. One day a coworker aided me by ducking me into a room with a two-way mirror. Someone had seen my father entering Lowes, where I worked. I stood shivering in silence as I watched him ask for me. My coworker patted my back and assured me he could not see in. My father peered at the glass with his controlling glare for a moment too long and then left.
I managed to push through all the pressure until the day of trial. My mom, ever wanting to protect my father, convinced me pressing charges was “wrong.” She shared all the classics I had heard so many times, “he’s your father,” “you’re overreacting,” etc. The prosecutor specifically asked if someone else was requesting me to drop the charges against my father. He looked at me with kind, knowing, eyes. I said “no.”
I was not my own person in that moment. In other words, I did not have autonomy. This is such a common occurrence for people with complex PTSD. We get used to being pushed around by our environment so much. When we become adults, we don’t realize we get to be a person. We have our own voices and get to make our own decisions.
Another psychological concept I like to think about related to autonomy is internal and external locus of control. When a person has a high internal locus of control, they believe things in life that happen to them are in their control. They can make changes to their environment and choose behaviors that will make positive differences in their life. When a person has a high external locus of control, they believe things happen to them and there is little they can do to control their environment.
Like most things, balance is key when thinking about internal and external locus of control. It is important to recognize what is and is not in our control. Many with complex PTSD fall into the trap of having a high external locus of control. Again, so much of our environment pushed us around that it is hard to see what we can change. It is also hard to claim our control when there is external pressure telling us not to.
This is one of the first steps to breaking cycles of intergenerational trauma. What I have found in my journey is that there isn’t one magical day that I reached to make all my own decisions and be my own person. It’s more of a series of moments. For instance, I am being completely my own person by writing this blog. I am not asking anyone’s permission. And it’s uncomfortable as hell. But it is also invigorating.
Journal Prompt:
What was a moment/s you were completely your own person? What were the forces you had to push against to be you? What did you have control of? What did you not have control of?
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