Connection makes us feel good. We all need to be held. We all need the magic of a warm hug to tell us that we are safe, secure, loved beyond measure and without condition. This is where we start - our very first experience is in the arms of another. It is where we meet ourselves, where we come to know infinite beauty and universal truth. It is in this first embrace that we find the seeds of trust.
Take a moment to imagine that you are being held by someone you love (partner, parent, best friend, someone you once knew, or someone you imagine). You are safe and warm and connected. You feel the soothing of presence - the beating of a primitive language. As you find the rhythms of oneness, you know that all is right. You are protected from whatever unknown lies beyond. Close your eyes (really) and feel the exquisiteness.
Now imagine that the exquisiteness fails. All at once, you are small and vulnerable and the protector is no longer safe, not responsive to your needs. What was soothing has become harsh. What was secure is uncertain. You are defenseless, wholly dependent on another for nourishment, warmth, comfort, and security. When these basic needs are not reliably met, your internal alarm systems fire. This is your body's response to an inborn fear that you may perish. You are now held in the clutches of danger and led by the will to survive.
You are in a near-constant state of distress. You cry out for what you need. You cry out for help. You cry out to be heard. Eventually, you cry because the sound is what soothes you. Or maybe you stop crying altogether. Your sense organs - eyes, ears, nose, tongue, skin, and others - become your carers. They rise to guard your beingness. They are trained on danger. Your sensory experiences inform your perception and what you perceive determines how you will respond. You begin to see the world defensively and this new way becomes hard-wired.
Later, you are in the arms of a new protector. Her warmth awakens far-away sensations of safety, connection, reciprocity, and play. It feels good...but then it doesn't. Your body reminds you that it can't be trusted. You know that your environment has changed. You are in a new place. The people around you have changed. Everything that you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch has changed. You are safe, but your body cannot feel it. Your senses remain on high alert - dominated by what you first experienced. You react to protect yourself from the perceived danger. When you feel threatened, you fight for survival. If you perceive terror, you may shut down completely. You are called a "difficult child".
You wish you could tell your new protector that you need her to stay with you. You need her to help you learn to be safe, just as you once learned to fear. You need her to know that your relationship with her is what will help you, in time, to heal.
One day you are sitting at a desk in your classroom. Your body is moving. Your teacher asks you to stop fidgeting and tells you that you are disturbing others. You can't help it, you need to move. He asks you to pay attention. His voice is not loud, but suddenly you feel uncomfortable. Your ears are focused on danger sounds and the low frequency you hear in his voice signals danger. You can't think because the thinking part of your brain defers to fear. Your body is always preparing for challenge. You miss the lesson. You can't move on to what comes next. You fall increasingly behind. You are called impulsive, inattentive, unmotivated, hyperactive. Maybe you are diagnosed with ADHD or referred for special education services. In well informed hands, some of this will be helpful, but by the time you are 7 or 8 or 9 you will be assigned a list of labels that can be used as easily to limit you as they can to help you.
You wish that you could tell them that the way your body behaves is how it learned to behave. It is the result of early adversity that changed the way your brain developed. You wish they could know that you need their support, understanding, and encouragement. Among the other things they contribute, a successful relationship with them will help your brain to reorganize.
Later, you are on the playground and everyone seems to be playing in groups. You want to join in. You want to have friends. It's hard because they seem to have a secret unspoken language which you do not understand. You cannot read their facial expressions and their gestures can seem threatening. You don't always get their jokes. You may respond in a way that is socially inappropriate or even aggressive. Sometimes you need to be in charge of the games you play. You are called mean, bossy, manipulative, weird. You may feel isolated and your self-image begins to suffer.
You wish you could tell them that, like all children, you are struggling to fit in. You process things differently. Sometimes an accidental touch seems more like an assault. You respond according to how your brain takes in and interprets information. When the environment feels uncertain, being in control is how you feel safe. You want them to like you, to accept you, to try to understand you and to know that trusted friendships will help you to grow.
During a session with your therapist she hands you a piece of paper with three concentric circles drawn on it. They represent relative levels of trust in relationships. The central circle is who you trust the most - the people with whom you would share your innermost thoughts and feelings. She asks you who you would include in that spot. You don't answer. She pushes a little, but you remain silent. Finally she suggests your parents. You nod, because you know that she needs you to nod. You shrink under the weight of shame. She tells you that you must process your feelings. You must be willing to identify and express them in order to overcome them. When you avoid eye contact or stand up and move around the room she redirects you. She tells your parents that you are not working hard enough. She tells them that you are not invested enough in your own therapy.
You wish you could tell her that you are doing the best that you can. You wish you could help her to understand that you cannot fully trust because you do not feel safe. You want her to know that even though she has taught you feeling-words you cannot connect words and feelings. You know that others see your behavior as wrong or bad and you feel sorry that sometimes you cannot control it. Sometimes you feel that you are a bad person and when she pushes you to do things that you cannot do, you feel worse.
You wish you could help them all to understand that when your very first connection is violated, your world is never, ever the same. You wish you could help them all to understand that you are doing the best you can - even when it doesn't look like you are doing very well. You wish you could ask them to be with you and help them to know that their unconditional presence will help you regain the seeds of trust, to learn to feel safe so that you can come to know the exquisiteness of connection.
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