A zen master had been away from home for several days. He had not really enjoyed his trip. It was not that the monastery he visited was any less comfortable than his own humble home (which only provided the basic necessities for survival anyway). What he missed was the familiarity of his own surroundings.

The bed did not feel like his own. He missed the prayerful whisper of the breeze through the eaves of his timber house. The same bird songs did not accompany his morning meditation. When he finally started for home, his heart lifted.

Unfortunately, tragedy had struck in his absence. The Zen master arrived to find that his home had been burned to the ground. All that remained was a parched piece of earth, a surprisingly tiny pile of blackened ash, and the smoky smell of his lost abode.

He stood staring at the charred remains. “Why me?” he asked initially. “I’ve been away teaching, doing good, wishing happiness on all fellow beings. “What did I do to deserve this?” But he soon realized that the powers of the universe had not singled him out for any special treatment. It was just one of those unfortunate life events. Such questions could only lead to pain and depression. They would not help him to deal with the loss, find a purposeful direction for the future, or take immediate action like finding a place to sleep for the night.

A wave of sadness washed over him. He had really liked his little home and its comforting familiarity. For years his homecomings had felt like returning to a beloved friend. Then he reminded himself that, as a Zen master, he should not be attached to material possessions. Yet somehow the sadness seemed appropriate. It was, he assured himself, acceptable to grieve for a loss, so he stayed in the moment, mindful of his sadness, until it felt like it was time to move on.

Next he found himself wishing it hadn’t happened. He wished he had stayed at home. He wished he had checked to ensure that his cooking fire had been extinguished. If only he had done those thing his little home might still be there. “But,” he assured himself, “it has been destroyed. that is the reality. No matter what I wish, I can’t change that. Wishing for something that can’t be changed can only result in more unhappiness and suffering.”

As he focused on the charred remains of his house, he continued to be plagued with questions and doubts. Realizing this, he lifted his gaze to the sky. Twinkling stars dotted the dark backdrop of the heavens. A full moon smiled down benevolently. A sudden thought struck him and made him smile. “I may have lost a house but, at last, I have an uninterrupted view of the sky at night.”

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Focusing on the blessing of what we have in the present rather than on the bane of what we have lost in the past keeps us moving ahead on the journey toward wholeness.

Therapist and author George W. Burns, in his book, 101 Healing Stories, tells of the time he and his friend, Tom, traveled to Mt. Everest by yak. The story shows us that no matter what life has given us we can use it for our good.

In the small Tibetan town of Tingri, Tom and I had hired yaks and yak handlers for our journey to Mt. Everest. Chomolongma, of Mother Goddess, (as the world’s highest mountain is known to the Tibetans) lies several days trek across the stony and arid Tibetan plateau. To the south of us lay the snowy white peaks of the Himalaya, stretching high into clear and rich blue skies. Like a tall fence, these mountains that border the plateau shelter it from the moisture-laden clouds of the Indian monsoons and thus form the world’s highest desert. Not a tree or bush can be seen. The only vegetation is low, coarse tufts of occasional grass that fight for survival on the rocky terrain. The only animal that seems to survive is the yak, and only the yak’s capacity to manage these desolate, high-altitude areas enables humans to survive alongside them.

For the Tibetans, yaks are transport, clothing, food, fuel, and, indeed, life itself. Their wool is knitted into apparel and tents to stave off the bitter cold. Their hides make jackets, boots, and bed-clothes. Their meat, combined with ground, roasted barley, called tsampa, provides Tibetan’ staple diet. Yak milk churns into a rancid-tasting bitter which, when blended with tea and salt, makes a nutritious,cold-climate beverage. No product of the yak is wasted. Even its dung is used. On the treeless plateau there is no wood to burn for heating or cooking–and both are essential at these chilly altitudes. The Tibetans found an innovative solution. They gather the yak dung, mix it into watery pats, throw it onto the walls of their stone homes, and leave it to dry. These dung discs are subsequently stacked on the flat roofs of the houses, awaiting their use as fuel to warm the home and cook the food.

As Tom and I share the hospitality of a yak herder on the plateau one evening, we sat in his yak wool tent, sipped yak butter tea and choked on the smoke of a somewhat green yak dung fire. Despite the smoke we huddled close to it for the warmth. It was better than no fire, and as I sat there, I was filled with admiration. “What a resourceful people,” I thought to myself.” When life gives them nothing but shit, they can turn even that into something useful!”

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That, my friends, is the challenge of rising from the dung heap of sexual abuse, dissociative identity disorder, or other trauma. When life has given us nothing but shit, we must turn it into something useful!

When Claire brought her “nettles” problem to the communal meeting someone gave her a book describing all the benefits of nettles and they made a thought provoking comment. We pick up the last installment of the story of “Nettles” as Claire reflects on the comment the person made to her. 

The second thing she [Claire] discovered was that doing something different makes a difference. No matter how much she advocated nettle tea, or tried to sell people on its health benefits, the other residents may still have avoided drinking it. By changing the name, she changed the outcome. To bring about a change she needed to do something different.

Perhaps she began to think, the expereince of the past is not immutable. Today people will drink a beverage that yesterday they thought was undrinkable. Maybe now I can enjoy the benefits of something that terrified me as a child. Perhaps the experiences of the past can be altered by what we do in the present.

Her friend who had given her the book said something that also stuck in her mind. “We can’t rid the garden or the rest of the property of nettles for it is their home as well as ours. You can’t change the physical reaction you have to them. If it is outside your ability to alter those realities, then I suggest that you learn to love them.”

adapted from “Learning to Love Your Discomfort” in 101 Healing Stories, by George W. Burns

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There are many things in life we cannot change including what hapened to us in the past. But we can do something differently. We can gratefully embrace our past pain as our teacher. We can also embrace our present difficulties, our fractured self, our dissociative defenses, as teachers of love for self, for Creator, and for others. For in owning our imperfections and weaknesses we become compassionate people capable of moving forward because we remember that our past is not our future.

We continue the story of “Nettles” (See my posts for 1/17 and 1/21 for parts 1 and 2 of the story). What Claire learns about her perspective on painful memories is helpful to anyone recovering from abuse and/or struggling with dissociation.

Claire took her nettle problem to the commune meeting. She wanted to work in the garden, but something had to be done about the nettles. One of the other commune residents gave her a book about nettles and made a comment that stuck in her mind. Claire wasn’t sure whether it was the book or the comment that made the difference.

To her surprise, the book praised nettles and their usefulness. It prescribed them as a treatment for several ailments. The book said that sipping nettle tea was good for arthritis. Claire carefully gathered the nettles and made them into tea for the communal breakfast. When she called it “nettle tea,” people refused to even try it. The next day she made the drink again but called it “fresh, garden herb tea.” Her residents drank it with the eagerness and enjoyment of a camel arriving at an oasis after a long desert journey.

Back in the garden, this incident led her to think, It’s not so much what an object is, but rather how we see or label it that makes the difference. The tea remained the same. Only the name Claire gave it determined whether others in the commune rejected the tea with repugnance or accepted it with enjoyment…TO BE CONTINUED

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How we view abuse, trauma, or any painful memory for that matter, makes a huge difference in how that past event impacts our present and our future. It’s not so much what our pain is, but rather how we see it or label it that makes the difference.

It’s very easy and common to become frozen in the moment of our past pain and to see it as THE defining event of our life. We begin to see ourselves only in relation to the pain and not as someone who is moving forward and able to heal.

A healthier perspective on past abuse, trauma, or pain is to reflect on how we can use the event to benefit us. In my own case, I have used my experience of abuse and struggle with Dissociative Identity Disorder to help me be more compassionate toward those whose past suffering affects their present behavior in a negative way. It has also caused me to let go of some of my judgmentalism toward those who I find difficult to be or work with because I realize they may be carrying hidden pain just like I did.

Changing our perspective does not change the trauma, pain, or abuse of our past, it changes how we let our past affect our present and future. And a change in perspective may lessen the day to day effects of dissociative symptoms for those of us who have them.

Will you serve the people in your life ”nettle tea” or “fresh, garden herb tea?”

Continuing the story of Claire’s experience with “Nettles” we learn the link between painful memories and dissociation.

After Claire ran through the Nettle patch to escape the rooster, it took days for the welts to subside, but the family stories of the incident never ended, so she continued to be reminded, again and again. Years later it would come up in conversation, “Do you remember when you ran through the nettles to escape the pet rooster?” Claire and nettles were linked. The mere mention of the plant brought recollections of pain, fear, and embarrassment.

In the communal garden all these memories and fears came flooding back, and Claire felt powerless against the nettles. The commune would not permit sprays or chemical controls to be used, and for Claire to rip out the nettles by hand meant the risk of being stung. This seemed fruitless, for the nettles grew back almost as quickly as they were pulled…TO BE CONTINUED

adapted from “Learning to Love Your Discomfort” in 101 Healing Stories, by George W. Burns

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Memories of horrific, repeated abuse are what dissociation attempts to protect us from. Like Claire’s memories of the nettles, our memories of abuse or trauma can produce some pretty overwhelming emotions. When we encounter feelings, people or situations that remind us of the abuse we suffered in the past, dissociation kicks in, producing gaps in consciousness or alternate personalities to avoid having to relive our terrible memories and feel that pain again.

The process goes something like this. We encounter a feeling, person, or situation that triggers the memory (conscious or unconscious) of our past abuse or trauma. The feelings produced by the memory are overwhelming, and make us feel powerless. So our mind comes to the rescue by causing us to become someone else, to bring up an alternate personality to handle the perceived present threat,  or to block out what’s going on all together.

The problem with this coping mechanism is that it is overkill in our current situation. We are not in physical danger. We are not being abused. But our mind is trained to protect us at all costs so it resorts to what worked in the past.

How do we begin to retrain our minds to handle non life-threatening situations without the aid of dissociation? One way is to journal about whatever triggers our dissociation. Writing about the experience allows for release of emotions and rationalization about the reality of the situation that caused us to dissociate. We can also talk with our different parts and explain to them what is happening and why there is no reason to escape.

Another technique is self-talk when we begin to feel overwhelmed. “This situation is not life-threatening.” “I can cope with what is happening.” “I have power in this moment to control my own destiny.”

Prayer is also very helpful in coping with what we perceive to be threatening people or situations. We can ask our Creator for protection in the present and healing from our past.

The bottom line with memories is this: our past is not our future. We can, we must, take control of how we process our memories of abuse and trauma so they do not control us. Again, loving acceptance and patience are key to teaching our mind, our alters, appropriate reaction and behavior in any given situation.

Why do people who have gone through severe abuse or trauma dissociate? The story of the “Nettles” helps us answer this question. 

Claire lived and worked on a commune. She was delighted to have been given the task of tending the vegetable garden because she loved gardening, except for one thing, the stinging nettles. No matter how much she covered up with protective clothing, the nettles, like moths drawn to a light, always seemed to find that one little spot of flesh that happened to be exposed. In an allergic reaction, her skin would welt and become itchy. As a result, she approached the garden with fear and dread, rather than anticipation and enjoyment.

Apart from the immediate discomfort, the nettles triggered memories of past unpleasant experiences, for our minds can be quick to remind us of past pain. As uncomfortable as it may be, such memories are self-protecting. They are there to alert us, to signal danger, and thus to help us avoid creating new unpleasant memories.

As a childhood hobby, Claire’s brother had raised fowls, including one particularly aggressive rooster which, on one occasion, attacked young Claire. She fled, and, sensing victory, it flew after her. Her shortest route to safety–a direct line to the back door of home–was through a patch of nettles. They stung her from head to toe, and she cried miserably from fear of the rooster and pain of the nettle stings…TO BE CONTINUED

adapted from “Learning to Love Your Discomfort” in 101 Healing Stories, by George W. Burns

—

Dissociative Identity Disorder is a coping mechanism that, like the nettles that always seemed to find Claire’s exposed spots of flesh, finds our exposed, raw, and vulnerable feelings, wounds, and memories. Dissociation seeks to protect us from these painful feelings and memories by providing gaps in our consciousness or alternate personalities to stand in on our behalf to face the people or situations we deem threatening or potentially harmful or humiliating.

But the coping mechanisms that helped us survive the severe trauma of our past that created our alternate personalities are no longer appropriate for coping with the stresses of present day to day living. So our gaps in consciousness or our alters cause us unintended pain and often lead to dread, rather than anticipation and enjoyment of challenges and relationships.

The first step in recovery from Dissociative Identity Disorder is to understand the purpose of dissociation and acknowledge that this coping mechanism is no longer appropriate for current relationships and challenges. This does not mean that we attempt to rid ourselves of our alters or curse them for being part of us. Rather we lovingly accept them with the goal of slowly educating our alters about who they are, why they exist, and how they can be helpful to us in our present circumstances. This education takes time and patience; patience with our broken parts as they heal and patience with our selves as we make the journey toward wholeness with all its ups and downs, challenges, failures, and successes.

My next four stories will be shedding light on a condition that effects an estimated 1% of the American population: Dissociative Identity Disorder. But before I can share the stories and the insights they give I need to tell you what Dissociative Identity Disorder is. Here is a summary from the book I wrote about my experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. 

When a child endures repeated and inescapable trauma, he or she will sometimes develop a coping mechanism clinicians call Dissociative Identity Disorder (D.I.D.). D.I.D. is “an extremely effective defense against acute physical and emotional pain [in which] thoughts, feelings, memories, and perceptions of the traumatic experiences can be separated off psychologically, allowing the child to function as if the trauma had not occurred…Repeated dissociation may result in a serious of separate entities, or mental states, which may eventually take on identities of their own. These entities may become the internal ‘personality states’ of a D.I.D. system. Changing between these states of consciousness is often described as ’switching.’”*

Dissociative Identity Disorder is like the experience of driving a car to a familiar destination while thinking of other things. Once we arrive, most of us are startled to realize that we have no memory of the drive we’ve just taken. It seems as if someone else has been driving our car. Someone else has. A part of our mind–our “auto-pilot’ - has taken over and kept us safe during the drive.

Back in 2001 I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. When I learned what this disorder is it explained alot of the thinking and behaving I had engaged in throughout my life.  My next several posts will share stories that have been helpful to me in understanding Dissociative Identity Disorder and its effect on my life. My hope is that my reflections and expereinces will shed light on this much misunderstood disorder and help anyone who may be suffering from it.

In my next post I’ll share the story of “Nettles” and what it teaches about coping with D.I.D. and other mental health challenges.

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*”What is Dissociative Identity Disorder?” The Sidran Foundation. (www.sidran.org)

To read more about Dissociative Identity Disorder see my book The Cracked Pot: Finding Grace in the Cracks of Sexual Abuse at http://acrackedpot.com.