Rage and the Tenderness of Life

Out of a great need
we are all holding hands
and climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.
Listen
the terrain around here
is far too dangerous for that.

 -Hafiz

Rage and the Tenderness of Life

            I do not know any survivor who has not embodied rage at some point in their life:

stuck in both powerlessness and primitive violent feelings, emotions more primal than

anger--beneath words, beyond words. 

            Violation, betrayal, and invisibility can generate a true resolve to change.  It can

in fact create a movement.  But for many, the response to the injustice and grief of

trauma is twofold.  One may seethe in a loop of fury and pain without knowing how or

what to do.  On the other hand, the most natural instinctive biological response to pain

is simply to endure the worst until it ends. For some, retreating in fear and overwhelm

just to feel safe is the only known method of survival.

            But sometimes the force of suffering creates a numbing malaise, or an even

greater depressive spiral downward into despair.  This inward turn can mimic the

original perpetrator's induction into a path of self-destruction.

            We rarely want to discuss this particular response to the rage or the suffering out

loud--that push to harm oneself or to self-destruct.  And we hesitate to mention the

ultimate action: suicide.  But, if we want to truly address rage in its many

manifestations, certainly its darkest side, we also must look at what is most difficult,

perhaps most dangerous.  We do not do this lightly or alone.  It is part of the deep

journey of recovery, as we come to embrace a true alternative to darkness: living life,

tenderly and fiercely, in whatever truth we are.

           I think of Maya Angelou, herself a survivor of sexual abuse, who spoke with such

fire in a conversation with Dave Chapelle:

If you are not angry, you're either a stone or you're too sick to be angry. You should be angry.

You must not be bitter. It eats upon the host. It does not do anything to the object of the

displeasure. So use that anger, yes...You write it. You paint it. You dance it. You march it. You

vote it. You do everything about it. You talk it. Never stop talking it. 1

            As survivors, it is not always safe to speak out, but there are times when we speak,

nevertheless.  Yet, we must also listen to the deep courageous tender place inside, even when

the noise is loud, even with the pull of those same old bad impulses.

1 Maya Angelou in Conversation with Dave Chappelle, 2016

            We cannot get through all this alone.  Life is longing for itself, even in the darkest of

times.  It is why you, I--all of us --need honest, powerful, and real community on this journey of

recovery, so we can remember to embrace this life--all of it. 

            This is one of the biggest challenges for a survivor: trusting the impulse for living that

would lead to a different alternative than what may have been given long ago:  then, to listen

to the quiet friend inside our own breath, choosing this life; choosing connection and yes,

choosing love.

Founder's Blog • 5/31

IT

IT has no name.

IT whispers without words.

IT carries the earthquakes and the stormy thoughts of the past, in the times we are presently in.

IT is rage and fear, violence and disgust.

IT hurts so much.

Look at the events we have just witnessed and experienced over the past few weeks and

months. We are touching into IT by how we respond -- good, bad, and otherwise. Hapless

rage, raging fear, fearful powerlessness. We become hyper-vigilant or flooded, running

toward or running away from the danger and the violence we witness. Maybe we simply go

dark, numb and disconnected, in the mode we have often used just to survive.

Sometimes, and this is the tough one -- our wires get crossed by the abuse we suffered, and

we wish the same harm to those who do the violence. It doesn’t help. It only repeats inside

the very action that left us in this position in the first place.

But I wonder what would happen if we kept the rage tender, the sorrow true, the grief

honored by meeting IT inside head on? This would be the opposite of passivity, or

capitulation: finding the possibility that emerges when we face the beast. Perhaps IT could

bring us to see the cracks in whatever darkness we inhabit, rescuing little ideas that gleam

for a second in our soul then disappear. Coaxing them back. It means attention to

not this or that but possibly both or some other way entirely....*

We are in the midst of great tumult. It is not easy to respond instead of react in the old

ways. But if we remember we are survivors and have already lived through so much, we

can be fierce in our tenderness, loving in our sorrow and grief, creative and authentic in

our response. Perhaps we hold the younger part of ourselves that has no words with

some respect for all we face with kindness, which itself is a form of courage.

However we meet IT, perhaps this is how in our own way, we change the world around

us and ourselves in the process. However large or small our response, this is the

powerful work of life and of recovery as we confront the situation at hand.

And in this, it is activism in the truest sense.

*. Martin Shaw, "Navigating the Mysteries". Emergence Magazine/org

Founder's Blog • 4/18

I hate the way I act

I hate the way I look

I hate the way I sound

I hate the way I feel

I hate the way I am

I am. I am...

This pain persists...

Even when I do everything right

Even after years of therapy 

Even with all I know and all I have learned.

Even if I have people in my life that love me and that I truly care about,

Why do I feel so sad?

Why do I feel so stuck?

Why am I still so tight and shut down?

Why do I still rage at the drop of a hat?

Why do keep screwing up when I am just about to shine?

Why do I double down when I am called out?

Why can't I admit when I fail--

or why do I always take the blame no matter what?

Why can't I stop my compulsions, my addictions, my self-destructive habits?

Why do I still care so much about the opinion of the people I trust the least?

Why can't I get out of my own way?

Why do I yearn for contact, but then I isolate?  

Why am I so depressed?

Why am I still so terrified?

Why do I still have those goddamned voices in my head that tell me

...I'm a fuck up.   

...I'm an imposter 

...that I should just die

There are too many secrets, too many triggers--too many demons.

The pain inside is old.  But it is also young. It is encoded in our cells through centuries of the trauma of our ancestors, which has been enacted and reenacted again and again.  

But survivors can get stuck in the strategy a child will embody without love or care:  we turn on ourselves.  Knowing no other way to be, we become oddly but fiercely loyal to the intergenerational program.   Since it has not felt safe to trust ourselves, we have learned the shame strategy to prepare for any future risk of damage. It is a tried-and-true survival response not only to trouble but to success.   

The adult part will analyze, process, narrate all of this--more words.  Even talk therapy alone can keep us stuck, held captive by the story no matter how insightful we are in our heads.

But under the cognitive radar, the younger parts inside are trapped in the time we were harmed or neglected. The child does not have words for this--only a longing in the muscles of the heart to be seen and held--to be safe.   So shame becomes the place beneath the words, where fear and rage abide.  And it is where the most powerful unspoken memories are stored--in the body.

What would it be like to hold that part of our young self with tenderness and forgiveness--safe and beloved?

We recoil.  We may not wish to revisit that place or give that kid a thing.  All they ever did was cause us trouble.

Yet, imagine if we could break up the embedded debris of shame, by holding the child parts with the respect they should have always had. In their own way, it is how they imperfectly served and protected us, perhaps even kept us alive.  It is a part of the grief and loss that must be honored and felt to move on, an essential element to recovery.

It takes patience and unconditional love to raise a child, even the one inside. 

Let us go outside today.  Perhaps that beloved child can teach us --afraid yes, crying yes--to love them again, and to risk the joy and wonder of it all.

-Mikele Rauch

Founder's Blog • Be Kind Anyway

We witness the world. We feel it. Our very bones remember what we have lived through. For survivors, these deeply stressful times can call forth one's own history of neglect, betrayal and vulnerability. It has become more, not less, difficult to cope as this pandemic, the brutality of war and racial injustice drag on. These extraordinary times create extreme responses—for worse and for better.

Sometimes we revert to the old demons we used in the past to survive, and the ways we shut out, shut down, or close off from the people or the solace we really need. The embedded past experience of anxiety and profound fear can bring us back to the anger or self contempt that mimic those who harmed us, or the lies they told us.

And this is the challenge of how we treat ourselves.

In times like these, it is amazing to witness the self-sacrifice and generosity others possess in the face of these difficult times. But truly, why is it so difficult for us to recognize that powerful aspect of kindness we ourselves possess for others. The programs embedded inside from the abuse often makes it hard to see ourselves, and all we are-- or why it is so vital to tend to our own time, boundaries and health we can truly make use of all we have lived through and all we have learned.

There is little more to say that we have not heard before about tending to ourselves. This is not just a bubble bath or vacation. It is an everyday practice that is easily neglected: simply resting, moving, eating something delicious and fresh, finding some joy in small things.

The world is with us. There is so much to attend to and so very much we want to fix. This is why these simple acts of kindness for ourselves are vital-- so that we can attend to what and who we truly care about.