Non-survivor Privilege

To the person I once called Friend,

It wasn’t like I was going to drown you with a bunch of statistics or give a five minute crash course on PTSD and narcissism.  Nor was I going to make an emotional plea about living with abuse as a child and as an adult.  I didn’t do this, did I?  My words weren’t asking for sympathy, I was sharing a part of me.  I made a decision about my life that doesn’t look pretty, in fact, it is so ugly that to even think about it sometimes I fall apart.  When you asked me why I didn’t talk to my parents?  My answer wasn’t long and distinguished seeking validation, it was simply: It is healthier for me.  I ended it there.  I wasn’t going to justify what I had done nor was I going to lie not because I thought you didn’t have the ‘right’ to know the truth, but because, you see, you did have that right as my friend.

It took every ounce of strength, energy, courage – the little I had left from fighting other battles that come from surviving the abuse – to voice the truth.  To say that you deserve hearing it because you are my friend.  To say that this is who I am.  Not hide behind a web of lies I got tired of keeping track of in my head.

As hard as it was to face that hurdle, I face a bigger one today.  Because half of it isn’t really getting up the courage to say it out loud, that really isn’t it.  To have the truth come out of me in one sentence with 5 words that may seem so trivial was one of the most freeing moments.  To not condone what my mother and father had done to me anymore.

But it really doesn’t matter, does it?  It is abnormal, not something anybody wants to hear or consider.  Because to consider it might make you uncomfortable for five minutes.  And maybe, just maybe, that uncomfortability wasn’t worth friendship.  True friendship, anyway.

To you, the person whom I once called friend, however abhorrent my 5 words were, yours were by far the ones that cause people to fall, to lose hope, to feel pain so unbearable it causes you to stop breathing.  These words written to me after I told you I was in contact again with my abusers were of gladness and understanding for how they must be feeling.  I thought it was betrayal, maybe part of what I felt when I read your words was betrayal.  I was hurt, sad and angry.  But what were you thinking and feeling when you wrote those words?  I don’t know, I may never know.

What I do know is that it partly came from privilege.  Privilege, you may ask?  It isn’t a privilege to live without abuse, it only becomes one when you think your story is the only story with merit, worthy of consideration.

Take care,

TR, a Survivor

Sympathy vs Empathy

It’s kinda hard to go back.  Looking at it the old way, the way you looked at it for years.  It’s how I felt about sympathy and empathy this month – two three syllable words that I often misspell and confuse.  I wanted to share with you my 1 month with the 2.

If you had to ask me before the month of October I would say that expressing sympathy is a safe bet for me.  If I haven’t walked a mile in your shoes than how in the world can I empathise with you?  I can’t empathise with you, my dear emotionally healthy friends – what is it like to interact rationally, compassionately with your FOO?  And my dear emotionally healthy friends you couldn’t understand the battle of an ACoN even if you tried.  You probably need to first run the marathon in our shoes before you came close.  Harsh, ain’t it?

That was my truth with sympathy and empathy.  But it came to a head when I started reading more about shame.  And more specifically trying to understand how to work through the emotion instead of hiding from the world like I would normally do.

I read more about it in the book, I Thought It Was Me (but it isn’t), by Brené Brown (not drinking the kool-aid).  Her approach to working through shame (shame resilience) is through empathy.

“Empathy is the antidote to shame.” – Brené Brown

Before I finished writing the rest of this post, I had a shame experience around empathy.  I had written an old post uncompassionately and it was brought to my attention in a kind and gentle manner (thank you)*.  I had written something I regretted and I felt bad and guess what, I wanted to numb and hide.  I recognised my numbing behaviours (I have many) and stopped myself.  So, I let myself feel the shame – and it totally sucked.

What was my shame?  Was it that I potentially hurt someone’s feelings?  Was it that I lack empathy?  Was it that I didn’t want to be seen as a narcissist because I lacked empathy/compassion in a post?  Believe it or not, shame has a lot to do with how we would like to be perceived.  My shame was all of the above and it took me about the whole day to work through all of it.  Fortunately, my bf had a work dinner so I had the place to myself.

I felt I had gone about 5 steps backwards.  If I am to develop shame resilience how can I do so without behaving empathetically.  Ugh.  Frustration was very high.  And confusion added to the frustration.

I knew that empathy and I were lost.  Somewhere in the swampland of shame**.

“The purpose is not to walk-in and (ya know) construct a home and live there, it is to put on some galoshes and walk through and find our way around.” ~ Brené Brown (TED-talks, 2012)

And ya, we can’t live in the swamp forever so, I put on my wellies.  Here’s what I discovered when walking-in.

It’s hard to search or read about empathy without hearing the word sympathy.  As much as I could have made a great argument that the two are similar.  They are not.

In fact, when I looked them up in Oxford’s English Dictionary they don’t even mean similar things:

Sympathy:  1.  feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune  

Empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another

There are 3 definitions for sympathy, I included the one in relation to feelings.  Empathy has only one definition.

But for me, sometimes nice, neat definitions don’t mean much when I’m trying to figure out how I’m feeling.  (insert hindsight: the defs. make more sense a bit later for me)

And I got to the chapter on empathy in Brown’s book, I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn’t). There is so much in this chapter but I’ll highlight the parts that touched me the most in my recovery.

The way we feel when someone sympathises with us is the total opposite to how we feel when someone empathises with us.  I could totally relate when I read Brown’s examples so I will share with you an example of how my dear boyfriend (bf) and a friend reacted to a similar story about when I wrote something I regretted.

When I shared the story with my bf his response was, “Yeah, I’ve written some e-mails at work too that could be classified as nasty-grams.  We’ll all done it.”  When I have shared a story like this with one of my girlfriends, her response was ‘Wow, I would never have done that.’

With my bf’s response I feel like he understood how I was feeling and that I wasn’t alone.  I am not the only one in this world who has written something that he/she has regretted.  My girlfriend’s response made me feel alone.  That I was flawed because I was the only one who would do something like that and that actually led to more shame (not knowing it at the time).

It is hard to see my gf’s response as sympathetic but it is a matter of wording.  She and some other friends have often said ‘I’m sorry for you or That’s a pity that happened’.  Receiving responses like these when sharing a shame experience does not make us feel better and I began to understand why.  It caused separation between us as friends, as human beings.  I belong here (in this box) – writing uncompassionately – and she belongs over there – never have or will do something like that.  Pure disconnection.

But sympathy was still a little fuzzy and then Brown discussed sympathy seeking behaviours.  A trait that is common among narcissists and one I am guilty of as well.  Sometimes a person wants sympathy.  We are actively seeking sympathetic comments and this, in the end, leads to no one feeling better.

When sympathy is the goal no one is healthier for it.  From Brown’s book I learned, the person seeking it ‘really’ isn’t better off and the person who gives it feels used and abused.  When we seek sympathy it is as if we are telling the world that we are the only ones allowed to feel like this (entitlement), we have it the roughest (one-upper) and no one possible can understand us (I’m here and you’re over there).  BUT yet, we still want our uniqueness to be validated with a sympathetic response.

I have often sought sympathy from my emotionally healthy friends with regard to my battle as an ACoN.  I am unique and different from you because I have gone through this trauma during my childhood.  In the end, I never felt better just worse.  And I’m sure that didn’t help build a connection with my friends.

So then it brought me back to empathising in situations where we haven’t walked in each other’s shoes.  For example, my friends who don’t have childhood trauma and are emotionally healthy.  Can they empathise with me?  And what about the fact that my boyfriend’s mother passed away last month while both my parents are still living.  Can I empathise with him?  Or just sympathise?

How do we understand each other when our experiences can be extremely different?  And it was like I felt like I should have known this all along.  We understand each other’s feelings, emotions.  The last time I checked fear, jealously, anger, happiness, joy, grief, betrayal, sadness, depression, shame, hate, love, etc. exist in China, USA, India, UK, Brazil, Germany, etc.  Emotions are a human experience.

Empathy, I learned the hard way, is not about 100% understanding someone’s experience or situation.  It is about tapping into our own feelings and understanding it in another from their perspective (insert note: defs. become clearer).

So, can my emotionally healthy friends fully understand what it is like in this battle as an ACoN – No.  But they can understand how it feels to have someone you love and trust betray you, they can understand how it feels to have someone you love and trust more than anything in the world get angry at you and yell at you and make you feel bad.  They can understand the fear of disappointing someone you love.  They can understand what it is like to feel not enough – unworthy.

And for my dear bf who lost his mother one month ago, I can empathise with him.  I cannot 100% understand the death of a parent but I can share in his feelings of loss and grief.  I have lost my mother a long time ago.  The way I grieve for her is the same feeling he grieves for his mother.  Both our mothers are no longer present in our lives – that connects us.

As the definitions and, more importantly, the distinction between the 2 became more clear, I realised that empathy is only possible if we can tap into our emotions.  Be able to feel all of it – anger, happiness, grief, jealously, etc.  And that’s not easy for me but it is not impossible.

Thank you for allowing me to share here and always.

xx T Reddy

*I appreciate all the comments that I receive and I love how we learn from each other.  Please continue to challenge what I write.  There are times when we communicate with each other that it might trigger shame in each of us.  Shame is different for everyone – our triggers are different.  Shielding someone from shame is not the answer (nor in anyone’s best interests), helping each other out of the swampland to a place of self-worth is our human connection.

**Jungian psychology refers to shame as the swampland of the soul.