I’ve learned recently that there is something called post-traumatic growth. Apparently it’s the latest “buzz word” in trauma therapy. The theory is that trauma can change us for the better - or at least in a way that we can ultimately grown and learn from it. Seems like a great idea… but does it work?
My last post appeared to be saying exactly the opposite. There are things in life that change us - permanently. But are these constructs truly actually so different? I suppose they are not. After all a tree which has grow from acorn to oak has obviously been changed permanently. But I’m struggling with the overtly optimistic nature of this phrase.
For me at least, placing a new emphasis on growth feels a little like we're minimizing the trauma. Suddenly there’s a goal - a desired or appropriate outcome - a healthy response. But what happens if you don’t achieve it? Or say it takes years longer than expected? Are we back to putting a timeline on grief? Is there now a productive and non-productive grieving methodology? And if you don’t emerge from your trauma in a happier state, have you failed at grieving - or at least, failed to achieve post-traumatic growth?
I so clearly recognize that loosing my dad - and the events that followed over the last seven years, have change me. I am stronger, less vulnerable, and less trusting. But is that a good thing? If I could chose now between who I was in November of 2016 prior to losing my dad, and who I am now, in November of 2023, I would 100% pick the old me.
Have I learned from this experience? Absolutely, I have come to understand so much about mental illness. For starters I now recognize that my dad was actually mentally ill! That what he suffered from was not your everyday socially acceptable level of depression. Added to that, I now see that so many of this pontifications and life lessons ingrained in me when I was a child, had been filtered thru the lens of paranoia and delusions of grander. But alas, I had believe him! And I’d past this shit down to my kids.
Trust me - I was happier not knowing this.
November 18th 2023 was the International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. I had planned to attended the program in Concord, NH. This particular location was arranging a slide show with photos of those who have been lost to suicide. The event organizer reached out to me for photos of my dad. I couldn’t send them. There was nothing in me that could bare the thought of his image on a large screen in front of me, in front of everyone. The organizer of course, was beyond gracious in accepting my refusal, but it bothered me to no end.
Why am I - after seven years - STILL unable to show his photo at any suicide group or event? Clearly I have one on my website. And I have a few photos scattered about my house. Yet I simply can not bring myself to share a photo to any suicide loss related event.
I suspect part of this is out of loyalty to my dad. Seven years after his death, my sister and I still work to protect his professional reputation. A life-long practice so deeply ingrained in us, apparently it isn’t going anywhere. But after a great deal of soul searching, I realized there’s more to this story: The photo I wanted to show on the screen was not that of my father, but of me! I wanted to share a photo of a childhood me, who believed that my dad was my hero, my protector. I wanted to share a photo of me in October of 2016, Just a month before he died, fit, happy, and healthy, on stage at NASA Langley giving a talk about the health benefits of laughter. That photo, I would hand over in a heartbeat!
Losing my dad was far from easy, but what I’m grieving now - perhaps what I've been grieving all along, is what I’ve lost of myself.
Perhaps someday I’ll wake up happier. Suddenly thriving in the realm of post-traumatic growth. Perhaps I'll rebuild my worldview through a healthier lens and hopefully in time to benefit my grandsons. But for now, growth be damned. I miss the old me: The blissfully happy - had it all figured out - ignorant to all of this me.
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