Slapping at the Surface

The edge of the pool is cold and harsh and we stand in a line watching one of our instructors thrash around in the water as if he was drowning.  I am 11 years old and today I am on the final leg of the last Red Cross swim badge.  Today we have to prove that we can save a drowning person.  Eager to please and prove my worth I offer to be the first to attempt the task.  I dive in with the plan to come up behind him to pull him to safety.  The next few minutes would serve as a lesson to the rest of the class on how not to save a drowning person.  The dive into the water was perfect form, so was launching off of the bottom with complete focus on my victim.  However, as soon as I came close he turned to me and flailed so hard to grab on that he pulled me under.  To make it perfectly clear to the others he held me under long enough to cause panic enough that I had to fight back to get away.   

Now here in this car moving through snow covered trees and Christmas lit farms dotted between baron fields of wheat stubble I cannot stop thinking about that memory.  There is something that has brought it up for me over the course of this road trip.  The stagnant odor of chlorine fills my senses,  followed by the panic mounting in my throat.  I can hear my instructor's sarcasm as she offers my attempt to the rest of the students as a sacrificial lamb to slaughter.  The car hums along and I begin to tune out the conversation of the other passengers.  As I lean in to the feelings of that memory I realize that today, in this moment, I am not sure if I am feeling like the drowning victim or the sacrificial lamb.  The connection between that memory and my trip begins to develop in front of me.  It is yet another point along my healing journey in which I unravel the mysteries that remain.

This weekend we laid our aunt Jean to rest.  She was my mother's eldest sister and up until yesterday I knew Jean as someone who did not get along with my mother.  My few memories of Jean tell me that she was a harsh, angry woman who did not mince her words.  I recall once at a family event I shared an elevator ride with her and she didn't recognize me.  I always thought that was interesting because I bear a deep resemblance to my mother and so for many years I assumed she was shunning me in that elevator.  The night before the funeral I had the honor of visiting my Uncle Terry's house and he had all of Aunt Jean's photo albums in boxes.  Sitting on the floor going through each year of her life I was at awe at what I saw.  I visited happy times when Jean and my mother did get along.  I saw her embracing nieces and nephews, travelling the world and posing as the true fashion icon that she was.  There were important newspaper clippings saved about my father's death as well as his funeral card.  All that she had saved began to paint a picture of a deeply caring person that I never had a chance to know.  That thought hit me hard and brought me back to the reality of unhealed generational trauma. 

Visiting the dynamics of generational trauma once you have started to break that cycle can be scary.  Going back into familiar situations is just that...it is family territory wherein we seek comfort.  Within that comfort there is joy, love and connection but there can exist other dynamics as well.   Rivalries, bad history, unhealthy relationships, competition and trauma bonds are all things that can exist in a family group. Even though people may have healed the overwhelming expectation remains for them to come back into the "way it has always been done".  So if a person was brought up in a family where competition was the norm then decades later that is usually the norm that perpetuates.  Trust me when adults who grew up competing for attention come together  the conversations are still coated in competition.  The same feelings and behaviors show up to paint the room with dysfunction.  When this "familiar" presents itself we have to decide between going toward comfortable or use a different strategy.  The bottom line is this; as humans we are hardwired for connection, however, when that connection is unhealthy we must lay down boundaries in such a way that everyone is still safe to connect in the end.

As we drive over the icy roads I think about how far I have come in this healing journey.  My ego wants me to believe that the work that I do is kind of like saving a drowning person.  After spending time immersed in  family I still find myself processing all of the triggers that have emerged.  Some of those triggers seemed like being held under water.  It has left me feeling more like an unsuccessful 11 year old swimmer, panicking and fighting for breath. With every trigger that pulls me under I am reminded of the work yet to come.  I can't help but think about Christine Langley's quote, "We repeat that which we don't repair."  After 40 years it is probably high time to use that swim lesson to build a new familiar.  A comfortable place of joy and connection and love for myself.  Pulling into the driveway it comes to me that safeguarding myself on this healing journey becomes key to helping others get out of the water alive.  Lesson learned.

 Anastasia Jorquera-Boschman is a retired teacher, principal and educational Consultant.  In this life she spends her time writing, speaking and holding space as a Trauma-Informed Empowerment Coach.  When Anastasia is not swimming cautiously she spends her days unravelling the mysteries of her childhood.

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