The story of trauma I told in my last post is a story of deep harm and tragedy. My friend was taught to carry shame. However, I’m guessing that nobody has a problem with me telling this story. The greater public does not react with discomfort about me sharing this story. Yes horror. Yes sadness. Hopefully compassion. Perhaps judgement toward the father or towards gun-owners or toward hunters. But no personal shame exists fundamentally in this story. And I am not expected to keep silent.
I am, however, expected to keep silent about other, more sensitive topics that touch upon what we perceive to be shameful. Our culture treats abuse (especially sexual abuse), mental illness, and addiction as shameful topics. Shame for the “victim.” The perpetrator is often protected by the secrecy that results from the abused person’s shame, and the family is protected by their own silence (resulting from shame) regarding mental illness and addiction.
I’m certain there are other categories that carry this kind of shame and secrecy. Sex workers and homelessness come to mind – and there is overlap in all of these categories. But the circumstances of abuse, mental illness and addiction are the circumstances I am personally familiar with.
In telling about my friend’s birthday party or the birth of her son, I am not crossing the line of what is appropriate to share. If I tell about the accident she had or the time her house was broken into I am not crossing the line. If she is murdered I am not crossing the line. But if she is raped or tortured by her husband …it’s private and I am crossing the line of shame to mention it. If she takes a medication that causes a reaction, that’s ok to share, but not a mental reaction, or an addiction, because I am now calling shame upon her.
Are you starting to see what I mean by dirty little secrets and about my feeling concern about our silence – to keep everyone comfortable, and to sustain the status quo?
What is wrong with our sense of right and wrong?
The reality is that people are being hurt by their “loved ones” – both sexually and in other ways. People are diagnosed with mental illness or discover themselves (or their children/mates) to be addicts. And we are expected to keep it to ourselves – secret, hidden.
Would people think it was wrong of me to tell this story if Jerry was about my brother? They might. Some would worry about the impact on him and perhaps on my father, the hunter. The thought and belief is that I should be more protective about family members.
These same concerns exist if stories are told about family members who may have experienced addiction, family members who have been challenged with mental illness, or family members who perpetrated or experienced sexual abuse.
I do not agree with this keeping of dirty little secrets because we are family or because abuse, mental illness or addiction are shameful.
They aren’t shameful; they are conditions of harm. Those who suffer these versions of harm are many. These multitudes who walk among us every day need healing and compassion. However, the healing is not available when we keep these matters in the dark. And compassion does not result if silence is the order of the day.
I do understand about privacy. But the people I have been writing about do not share my last name, nor do they live in my community. I have not exposed them personally. But I am sharing the deep impact that their harm, hurt, and injury has had on me, on my soul, and on my life path.
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8 hummingbird way 