Teresa – Part Four - Authorship & Giving Back

I hear that strong person inside telling me what to do, and most of the time I listen. Sometimes I don’t and I suffer the consequences, but at least I consciously know what choice I’ve made.

Authorship means the capability of making choices, and the recognition that the ability to choose one’s destiny lies within oneself.

One of the most significant shifts that occurs during the road back is the birth of authorship – the ability to act, which is engendered by the will to live. Central to the rediscovery of one’s aliveness is the growing belief that it is possible to make choices that affect one’s destiny. Like dawn in a forest, the light may enter slowly and quietly, but it raises one’s spirit and is rarely forgotten. Authorship means the capability of making choices, and the recognition that the ability to choose one’s destiny lies within oneself. For those who recover, it is this connection with their inner oracle that becomes paramount. As Teresa describes it:

I’m finally letting myself realize that [my mother] doesn’t have the capability to relate because she’s never left that zone where she feels comfortable.

Teresa has now permitted herself limited contact with her mother. She feels it’s important for her and her children, but it is rarely satisfying. Teresa finds her mother unable to focus long enough or deeply enough to sustain meaningful conversation, and although Teresa sometimes feels the desire to spill her heart and describe in detail the journey she has made, she knows her story would fall on unreceptive ears.

She doesn’t talk about what’s real and she hides a lot, but I’ve wanted to attempt to have a functional relationship with her.

It’s disappointing, and occasionally it reminds her of the isolation that was so painful to her as an adolescent, but over time, Teresa has made a fundamental change. Through years of therapy and study, trial and error, Teresa has created a rich network of support and understanding. Her mother is no longer the center of her world or the source of her redemption. Teresa has internalized the respect and the positive regard others have shown toward her, and her mother’s failings are rendered more or less harmless.

The hate—the hate I felt for her—began to consume me. [But] it can eat at you more than at the other person. I don’t hate her anymore. I mostly feel sorrow and compassion. It was a big thing when I discovered that I really don’t have to like my mother as a person. I love her, but I don’t care to be around her all that much. I get understanding and recognition elsewhere.

Teresa had now been a practicing nurse for the past ten years. She has become certified in a number of medical specialties and has enjoyed a wealth of work experience. Happy and self-assured, her present life seems the polar opposite of her early years.

The final part of Teresa’s return to life is reflected in a private and unassuming act of giving back.  During rounds in the hospital, Teresa quietly performs a little ritual expressing appreciation and gratitude.

When I look at the [medical] charts, I read about these ladies— what [their lives are like], what’s happened to them, the difficulty they’re in — and I think, “God, you know, I could be there today if I hadn’t been so lucky.” I go down to the unit and talk to them. I want them to know that there’s strength in them: you can hear it in their voices. I want them to know that we all have that drive in us to make it.

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Teresa, Part Three – The Critical Leap: Recognizing the Need for Support

I realized two important things: that I keep picking people who aren’t the least bit interested in anyone else, just themselves; and that I always thought I had to do something drastic to be noticed. I started thinking, “Maybe around different people I wouldn’t have to do that!”

The ability to recognize potential sources of support constitutes a major breakthrough. When suicidal trances last many years, they virtually prohibit interpersonal exchange. When one views life as a long, desperate, and solitary struggle, confidence withers that anyone else cares, or that anyone would even want to. Recognizing and utilizing support becomes not only a skill to be developed, but also a critical act of faith.

During the next ten years Teresa proceeded to work full-time, have two children, and consecutively marry two abusive and addicted husbands. There were many fights and she continued to consider suicide. Teresa was now an intelligent, highly capable woman who was still driven by the unrequited need to have someone notice her pain. She was locked in a desperate loop of violent marriages, and she reasoned that her only recourse for herself and her children was to leave.

One night, I drank an entire gallon of wine and I was having seizures on the floor. I didn’t really want to die; I just wanted my husband to know the pain I was in. I wanted him to know I was alive. I thought, well, if I did die, then maybe it would be significant and then my kids would never go through what I had. Well, when I woke up, I decided, “That’s enough.” I took the kids and left.

In deciding where to go, Teresa took the first step toward recognizing the need for support. Just as when she boarded the bus for Prescott many years before, Teresa had little idea of what lay ahead of her.

It was very scary. One evening, I went to the Women’s Shelter. Nobody would know where I was, and I needed rest from the abuse and the fighting. It was just as scary as leaving my mom. I was calm outwardly, but underneath I was petrified. That’s when the biggest portion of my recovery came.

Teresa was genuinely starting over. Her decisions would be short-term ones for a while. She would take one step, assess the results, and then take another.

The people there were very supportive and caring. It took about three weeks, and then one morning, I found myself thinking, “My God, I really like myself.” I realized that it was okay with just me noticing me. That was enough.

I realized two important things: that I keep picking people who aren’t the least bit interested in anyone else, just themselves; and that I always thought I had to do something drastic to be noticed. I started thinking, “Maybe around different people I wouldn’t have to do that!”

At the women’s shelter, Teresa enjoyed both formal and informal contact with the staff. She was assigned a therapist, but there were many others who would stop and talk during the day just to see how she was faring. With time, Teresa began to feel the effects of the respect and positive regard she was receiving.

My first initial feeling was, ‘I’m not weird. If I was weird, they wouldn’t be talking to me and acting like they cared. I must be okay!’ I began to feel important. I don’t think I had had that feeling since kindergarten.

I remember feeling affirmed.  I remember talking to the social worker there, Lois. I said some horrible things to her about my abuse, and I expected her to do what everybody did—close down, get a chalk-white face, and just get me out of there as soon as possible. But she cried!  As time went on, I’d hear them say to me, over and over, until it began to sink in, “ You’re perfectly fine, and a wonderful person, and your thinking is clear about such and such. We have a lot of confidence in you.” It felt real, and over time, I would call on it whenever I was feeling hopeless or like giving up.

Look for:  Teresa, Last Part - Giving Back, Loving Wisely

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