The Psychological Roots of Writing Exposed My Generational Roots of Trauma
Rendering the worst thing to happen, the best thing that happened
Not long after birth, I unconsciously formed a hardened persona to buffer emotional transactions between myself and all adults.
This withdrawal from life, colloquially known as shyness, preserved — but also imprisoned me simultaneously. A life sentence of insensitivity. Wherein gorgeous females later reminded me of “how shy you were at school.”
For I was too self-conscious to merge with my peers. Thus, the fear of authority found sanctuary in the lonely world of truancy. Still, although I missed out on education and forfeited female talent; if it were possible to zone out on cannabis forever — ignore adults — and never become one, I’d be chuffed.
But the need of a payroll to maintain this false sense of security, had me exchange my classroom desk for an apprenticeship in crime. Earning multiple sessions of circuit training, floor scrubbing, and marching — around the non-smoking regime of Her Majesty’s detention centre.
Yes, an extreme shift indeed, but my lungs got a break from nicotine, and I got a break from the home that I feared.
Yet, it didn’t stop there: although ecstasy and crack mimicked the love that was absent in me. I was too emotionally constipated to give romance a chance. In fact, how the hell I got married puzzles me to this day. She’s a lovely woman but I was so delusional and closed tighter than a security vault. Only later did I recognise the sign above my heart: Out Of Order, Please Do Not Use!
For daddy’s leather belt and mummy’s verbal abuse, stunted every sensory fibre in my being. Making self-awareness a monumental task. None-the-less, drug addiction, youth custody, financial pressure and business failures; marinated nicely in a thirteen year-long turbulent marriage; turned me inwards to peer under the hardened mask with radical honesty.
After months of painful study and inner-child work, glimmers of an unknown joy serenaded my entire being. Yet, I still blamed my deceased parents for their rigidity. So I wrote letters to them both. Asking why mummy, why daddy, why the trauma?
Despite being soaked in tears, the letters made it through the seven spheres. For I soon found myself immersed in the neutral realm of forgiveness. Moreover, the magical effect of those few printed words, rekindled an old love for writing in me.
“Writing For Yourself is a Powerful Search Mechanism” — William Zinsser
How, I don’t recall, but like food in the hand of a hungry man, I enrolled as a student of writing.
Eager to test out my new skills, I set out to inscribe a few lines explaining my upgraded perspective of life. Dumping those findings onto the page formed an observatory space between myself and tormenting memories.
As I wrote, read and rewrote, a holographic floor-plan of my past glittered brightly on the screen of my mind. Accompanying me throughout the day, it highlighted blind spots and provided suitable access for adjustments.
This blueprint displayed a detailed image of the passageways that structured my persona. Yet, most profound was the lack of doors hanging on doorways. For contrary to popular opinion the only key required for liberation is keen awareness.
As I examined the passageways in awe, it became clear why they were built and how. Luckily, a light switch sat at the bottom of a stairway leading up and out of this traumatic maze. Yet, the climb to such pleasure is not without life’s harmonising pain.
Throughout this cathartic process, feelings, thoughts and questions, marinated within; and surfaced weeks later with buried truths and sprouting insights. Still, it wasn’t easy to observe, and stay out of my own way. But the more I did, the clearer the floor-plan became.
Thus, the few intended lines grew into a personal essay, which — bursting at the seams — is currently en-route to a dynamic memoir.
“Writing Has Deep Psychological Roots” — William Zinsser
As the roots of a tree burrow deep into soil for specific nutrients; psychological roots of writing burrow deep into life for immense clarity. Allowing one to recognise:
- The fundamental and intimate oneness of the human race.
- The value of acceptance.
- Childhood adversity along with its distortions, contortions and delusions, are crucial and inescapable aspects of life.
- Seeds of hate are actually planted by parental love.
- All human beings endure compulsive or addictive behaviour.
- Judging ourselves and others is a futile attempt to separate that which cannot be separated.
- Apportioning blame for earthly experiences is irresponsible and hypocritical.
- Neutrality is life’s purest attitude hence, pure forgiveness is neutral.
- Shame thrives on secrecy but exposure guarantees growth.
So go ahead and draft those demons out-onto the page. Strip them naked, squat and cough — to ensure all waste is exposed.
For one who accepts responsibility for the hand-of-cards — life serves him graciously, makes lemonade from sour lemons. He or she realises the human journey, however traumatic, could never be wrong.
- How can life be wrong or imprecise?
- Who or what can decree it so?
In the article “Your Soul is Literally Stuck In The Past Until You Write About It.” Medium Writer, Taylor Foreman, explains:
“Simple (but not easy): you inventory your entire past by writing about it, take responsibility for everything that went wrong (even if it was only 1% your fault), make amends to everyone you wronged, and forgive everyone who wronged you.
If you do this (and take it seriously), the energy you free into the present moment will amaze you.”
“Truth is Authority. Authority is Not the Truth” — Yogi Sadhguru
Your truth is authority. Authority is not your truth. Thus, be your truth, if even in silence. For courage means to be the truth of your heart-space; the neutral abode that all experiences lead back to.
Hence, it took a host of collisions with tougher substances, including a marital breakdown, to direct me back home to this abode of truth.
Where I learnt to accept — the worst thing to happen, was the best thing that happened.
Kensu Fetsani.