The first day of first grade was a big deal. My oldest brother was in the eighth grade. Middle brother was in fifth. A family in the neighborhood was my carpool. They came in a green 1954 Dodge. "Time to go to school, Buddy," my brothers said.
I realized my mother was still in her pajamas, and it suddenly swept over me like wildfire, "Momma--you're not going with me?"
My mom ran the preschool program at our YWCA. I'd been a pre-schooler forever. Loved it. Had bunches of kids and endless toys to play with five days a week. AND...my own wonderful mom was always there.
The ground fell out beneath me. I was stricken. Terrified.
"I'm not going!" I screamed.
"Of course you are. You'll be fine."
"I won't. I'm NOT going."
I remember my brothers saying, "Don't be such a sissy!" The oldest came to pick me up and carry me out to the green Dodge.
I grabbed the banister. Held on with all my strength. Cried, "No, don't, please let me stay with Momma!"
As you can imagine, I didn't when that argument. My fingers were pried free. I was carried to the car. I went to the first day of first grade with a cavernous sense of terror and betrayal whose roots still, after all these year, sometimes clutch at my heart.
For decades I've 'overcome' 'resisted' 'ignored' 'repressed' and 'walled off' the strong sensations that often pulse from the part of my brain where that experience is stored.
I posted yesterday a snippet of brain science that I find helpful--about how our limbic and other lower brain processes naturally pulse with unpleasant feelings associated with the experience of fear, anger, anxiety etc. How that's just the way our bodies work. I find science about the way we're wired helpful and potentially freeing, and I work at remembering and remembering about this hard-wiring when my limbic system, etc., fire their warnings.
On the other hand, deep down in the neurons where memories are stored and carried, a terrified little boy is still clutching a banister.
So I also find it very helpful to be gentle with the memory. To be a wiser big brother to my fears than my brothers, at that time in their lives, we able to be with me. To be a better parent to my young terrified self than my mother was able, at that time in her life, to be at that moment in my life.
See clearly. Love dearly.
This is a wonderful and healing process--holding 'stuff' in compassionate awareness.
We can work with our neurons and with our stories both with clear attention and unshakable kindness.
