Survivor

The purpose of this post is to discuss the term “Survivor”. Upon hearing someone’s account of their abuse, we often we are quick to label them survivors. And why not? Surviving is a good thing.  It isn’t that we shouldn’t use the word but, often it is used as a catch all ascription, meant to empower.  In my own life, I have struggled with being commended for being a “survivor” In those very young years, physically surviving took precedence over the sexual trauma.

For someone who had not even entered kindergarten, I had seen things and heard things at home that made life outside insignificant in many ways.  I had heard and seen those whom I loved being beaten and the subsequent aftermath of such.  I witnessed, acid trips, drug deals, and sexual activity, at a time when my mind was unable to comprehend reality as I knew it. 

I could not possibly foresee the consequences of living in such a violent, toxic environment. I learned to be quiet, to listen to people. I was innocent of the things that had happened to me, and yet ironically, my innocence had been stolen. It was evident to my child-self that, other people did not live in the same world that I did. The older I got, the less I would show shock, or fear, regardless of what might be happening, even when it was happening to me. 

As a result, I mostly kept to myself. I didn’t let many people get close to me. I did my thing.  I was independent, in a way that an adolescent should not be.  I came and went when I wanted to.  I had boyfriends when I shouldn’t have. I thought living meant proving that I could do what I wanted to, or not.

On the outside, I was playing a game. I have heard from people who knew me back then, that had no idea that I was not alright. That’s the way I wanted it. If I ever considered telling someone about any of the trauma, that unrelenting voice reminded me, “If they know who I really am, they won’t like/love/accept me.”.

I wasn’t alright.  I didn’t like me.  Whenever I was in a low place, I worried that I would be found out.  You might be thinking, “Found out?”

 I feared anyone seeing whatever it was that made me feel so worthless. I was just a tiny child when the abuse started. But as grew, I wore the shame of being vulnerable, weak, and not being able to stop what had happened to me. I believed there had to be something inherently wrong with me, that made people feel they could force such ugly, intensely personal things on me.  

I survived. I was a Survivor!.  That’s a good thing, right? Yes, it was, but for a long time, even after recognizing that I had indeed survived, I was still in survival mode. In my mind, I was still just surviving. It wasn’t conscious.  I didn’t think of it as an achievement.  It was literally the least I could do. I felt as though I just existed.

Defining the Survivor:

SURVIVOR  noun

1.    a person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after others have died.

2.    a person who copes well with difficulties in their life. 

Of course, there are other variations of the meaning for survivor. But these subtle variations are the closest to the term that is ascribed to victims of just about anything. Survival for me and many people, at least for a long time, was definitely in line with number 1. Number 2 would not have been fitting for me, not for quite a long time.  To fit number 2, would have meant that I coped well, with the difficulties. 

Let’s consider the meaning of the word “cope”.

COPE  verb

1.    to struggle or deal with some success 

2.    To face and deal with responsibilities, problems, or difficulties especially successfully or in a calm adequate manner. 

In all fairness, I did “cope”, in my own way. I did have some success in life, in spite of the abuse, to which I had been subjected.  For a long time, even as an adult, I felt as though I were playing the part of someone who had success. 

 I coped with my past like many others, largely by suppression of memories.  When I couldn’t suppress the memories, I suppressed my emotions about the memories, or using other unhealthy strategies. My coping mechanisms served me well, until they didn’t.  Eventually the memories would not leave me alone; they demanded to be dealt with. I could not suppress them anymore.

Intimate relationships, whether romantic or with friends, felt impossible. Being close meant being exposed. Of course, there was so much good that came with opening myself to relationship. I wanted it, but I feared it.

As I have said, I was still “surviving— living through it.”  Living through what? I was still replaying, reliving the abuse(s). I would experience past trauma over and over, through what should’ve been normal life experiences. Things like being touched in a certain way, hearing specific songs, or smelling familiar scents, would serve as an emotional time machine. 

Eventually, being a survivor was no longer good enough.  That’s when I started searching the self-help sections of bookstores. I was determined to get better, and to do whatever I needed to get there. On the occasions that I shared any part of my story, I was often credited with being a survivor. Logically, I knew what people meant, but the way I felt didn’t seem to match with the implied reason to celebrate.

As I said, at the start of this post, people use the word “survivor” with the best intentions. Here is the potential problem with necessarily using the word survivor without considering what else needs to be conveyed. When we listen to a person’s story of victimization, and we often say, “You’re a Survivor!” 

For those of us who have been victimized, it can feel as if the person is saying: “You’re good now.” “You made it.” “Don’t feel bad.” “You should be happy.”

Not only do people feel that way, but they also often make those very statements. They want that to be the truth. They often don’t know how to react to someone that is not okay. They mean well, and their hearts are in the right place.

If a person has not acknowledged, confronted and/or fully dealt with their trauma, it can seem prematurely celebratory. It is hard to feel that he/she should feel lucky because he/she survived, or that she shouldn’t let it affect her. To her it invalidates the seriousness of what happened, and how the abuse has shaped who he/she is or isn’t. 

Start by acknowledging that she was victimized. It is important to let her know it’s ok, not to be “okay”. That can validate her experience as something that happened to her, and emphasizes it was not her fault. It is as if to say that what happened to her, is not who she is.

That seems obvious, but for her it’s not. So, empower and encourage, use the word survivor, just don’t downplay the abuse or its affects. Do not ask or expect the person to share specific accounts, to justify why she feels the way he/she does. A victim should neither have to justify why she is affected to the degree that she is, nor should she be told that there are others who had experienced worse. Everyone’s trauma is uniquely their own. 

Honestly, it can be uncomfortable to hear that someone you know has been so traumatized. And, if that someone is family, the discomfort can be further complicated by a sense of guilt or responsibility, even when there was no knowledge of, or ability to control, what had happened

So, what do you do? Let her know that you are there for her, if and when she needs to talk.  Then, listen. Listen to what she says. Be open to the fact that she may not be in a good place.  Absolutely, let her know that you’ll be there, cry with her, be appropriately angry about what happened, and/or celebrate any milestones with her. 

Going from surviving to thriving is incremental journey. Every victory is a milestone, that can be used to mark the distance traveled. Even so, there continues to be a sense of needing to survive. 

For people of faith, it might be tempting to say that if she has faith, then she will or should be “over it”, or she should just “let go of it”. There are miraculous healings. I have experienced such. It was a miracle any time I was able to let go of some thing(s) that happened, or memories that tormented me. I didn’t forget what happened, but to this day, if memories come to me, they are just that-memories. They don’t control me; they don’t scare me; or send me into a tailspin. That didn’t mean that there was nothing left with which to deal.  Those miracles were nonetheless miracles. In the past, and on my own, I was unable to adequately deal with the things that had happened. Not being able to confront reality, prevented me from moving forward, from fully living. I was surviving.