Dear little toddler, already so critical of yourself

[Dutch Uncle]

This post is inspired by a few threads on the inner critic section.

(edited to add: this is a letter of recovery involving my younger me, my inner child, my 'nephew'. Perhaps that's not clear since I speak to my younger self in the third person.)


Dear little Dutch Nephew,
How early you already had such a harsh Inner Critic. It breaks my heart.

I remember how you once went to kindergarten. You probably were just 4 or 5 years old. Definitely not older, at 6 you went to primary school.
You had walked from your parental home to Kindergarten Class, as you apparently were taught to do from an early age. It wasn't very far from home, but for a small child like you it must have meant some sort of Huge Journey Trough the Unknown every day.
You arrived one day, and you were late. All the kids and teachers had already entered class, so you encountered an empty schoolyard. Nobody there to welcome you. You felt so lost.
The Door Closed. Your Safe Haven taken away from you after this bit scary trip through the wilderness between two 'homes'.
In horror you turned around, and you started running back home. Crying and terrified since you knew you had done a Horrible Wrong! You weren't wanted there anymore.
Your Inner Critic scorned you. Oh boy, was he with you from an early age. "How could you have been so stupid to arrive late at Kindergarten!!!", he yelled at you. (no, no question mark after that question. There wasn't a question for the Inner Critic. There was definitely not an 'answer' for your transgression to find. The answer was clear by even putting the 'question' before you: You were Wrong, this was Your Doing! You Stupid, Naughty, Good for Nothing little boy! Shame on You!

Luckily you did find your Mom at home, and she consoled you, took you by the hand and led you back to Kindergarten. Still crying, or sobbing. Guilt ridden for sure. I remember well, dear nephew.
The teachers were kind to you, they had seen you coming through the classroom windows, and expressed surprise to see you turning around and running of. They told you nothing had been wrong, you had just been a bit late and off course you would have been allowed to get into class.

It did bring some solace. But not much.
I think the Inner Critic kept mocking you. Sulking in it's little corner in your brain. Vengeful for his defeat that day.
There had been nothing Wrong with You.
Your timeframe and Kindergartens timeframe simply didn't match for once. Such things happen, dear nephew. Nobody to Blame.

I offer you a hug, dear nephew. I offer you a save place in my embrace, oh little one. Together we'll talk with the tiny little Inner Critic that accompanies you, and find him a safe place too.
You can stop feeling scared of him.

You will always have me to run to.

Yours,
Your Dutch Uncle.

:kiss:

[DaisyMae]

Dear Dutch Uncle,

This is a very sweet little letter but also triggering (but that is okay).... I remember that inner critic as a child all too well. Unfortunately there was not any mother or father to console me.  I would have been too afraid to run home for fear of the whipping I would get and the harsh words to belittle me for doing something so stupid and that I was just trying to get out of going to school, that I was a liar.....  But, fortunately, in grade school it was the teachers that had the concern (or most of them) and taught me that my safe place was at school.  It was where I learned that... well it is where I learned period... but learned that I could figure things out on my own with the help and support of someone that would work with me to teach me why and how, not yell and scream and tell me how stupid I was because I couldn't do it the very first time or just know how do something without being shown how at all.  But teachers come and go, and never I had anyone I could run too.  I was on my own and it was very lonely most of the time.  I had friends that I played with but I never had anyone that I trusted and could really talk to, confide in.  My safe place has always been school or work but only as long as I am working, working, working......  because I do not trust anyone, I am scared that other will hurt or abandon me, and I am scared of my inner critic because it is the hardest on me, doesn't have any empathy at all for myself.  Just everyone else.....   

The light at the end of tunnel for me now is the support, kindness, and advice from everyone here at OOTS.  And, a very patient, understanding, and resilient counselor.....

DU, Thank you for your compassion today!

[Dutch Uncle]

Dear DaisyMae,

I'm sorry to hear my letter has been triggering. So sorry to hear that you didn't have a mother or father to turn to in moments like this, at all. That your fear of a whipping or harsh words didn't even make home a relatively safe place.

I can't say my parents did a stellar job in that department, but obviously better than yours.
I do wonder where my early inner critic came from. And I was terrified running home at the time, and I certainly did expect punishment. And I probably did interfere with whatever mommy was doing that prevented her from walking her toddler to Kindergarten in the first place...

I'm glad the compassion I extended towards my own little me has overflowed towards you. I know it has found a good and kind place with you. And I'm grateful for that.

for you, DaisyMae.



PS: While typing this another toddler-memory resurfaced: **(probably a trigger warning is due here)**



I was walking to the sandbox near my Kindergarten (or perhaps I returned from it) with my little iron shovel (plastics were a rarity those days), bucket and stuff, when I passed the big Mercedes of our neighbors down the street and in a fit of rage started to bang on the hood of the car. My iron shovel wrecked it up pretty good I guess, since some time later the women ringed at the door and addressed  my mom. (The event at the door is my actual memory, not the destruction of the hood itself). The neighbor was pretty relaxed about it ("he's just a little kid") and just wanted to have our insurance to take care of the inevitable bill (I guess), so I got off without much trouble. I do remember my mom sitting down with me and asking me why I did it. I didn't know, and I still don't.
There probably wasn't a 'reason', just a fit of rage.
Mom figured it was because of us having a tiny ugly car, the only brand my handicapped father could drive, as it was the only brand that had an automatic transmission. (I'm talking 50 years passed now)

Boy, do I was an 'angry young man' from a very young age, LOL.


PS II: possibly my rage came from cars in general? The whole FOO had had a pretty nasty car-accident that left us hospitalized for days and weeks just a (few?) year(s) earlier... (I don't remember anything about that event, I was a pre-toddler then)
Quite possibly in my brain a pretty healthy dislike of cars (or being inside a car) had settled...
Hmmm...
I sometimes think that the whole FOO 'contracted' PTSD from that accident. Not that anybody had any idea about PTSD at the time (this is all half a century ago (that sounds much longer/better than 50 years  )), so that was left untreated: "Oh well, you(plural) survived, get on with your(plural) life already!" was probably the general attitude. The Nazi-occupation was still a fresh collective memory, and everybody was happily forgetting about that traumatic event as well...

Sorry for my free association in this thread, but I guess in a section called "Letters of Recovery", I would get more leeway doing this than elsewhere, right?

[DaisyMae]

Good Morning (or afternoon in your part of the world) Dutch Uncle,

Possible Trigger Warning....

No need to apologize, I am working on learning how to feel so the triggers are not a bad thing.  I will not learn how to regulate my feelings and emotions until I actually start letting myself experience them.  Baby steps....I am triggered, anxiety sky rockets, I try really hard to let go and feel the anger towards someone other than me and grieve for the loss of even being allowed to be a child.  Does your IC affect you in the same way? I still have not broke the barrier.  I feel like Pavlov's dog...  I have been conditioned for so long from such an early age to accept responsibility for anything and everything that was bad, made anyone unhappy, feel less than perfect, that apparently I do not know what it feels like or how to be angry and to blame anyone else but myself.  That is the gift that my parents have so generously presented me with.

I am grateful for your compassion and sense of humor.  Some are offended by the sarcasm and it appears to many that we take things very lightly and have a cruel sense of humor.  But, it is actually quite the opposite.  It is personal for us most of the time and painful, the sarcasm and laughter is the only way we can release all of that in order to not actually feel the hurt and pain. 

I am sorry for to hear about your FOO's struggles and challenges.  I can't even imagine what it would have been like to live through such a terrible period of Europe's history.  Trauma was suffered by so many and I am sure that this had a lasting impact on the following generations raised by the children and adults that endured the insanity of WWII and the work to rebuild once it was over.  You are probably right, your family was already experiencing PTSD (as we understand it today) as a result of the Nazi-occupation and WWII.  The tragic car accident within just a few years of that continued to compound these symptoms.  It had to be very hard on you as such a young child to understand what had happened and all of the pain that you were experiencing.  And your family was critically injured as well, so you did not have anyone to comfort or console you in the immediate aftermath.  Sounds like a reasonable conclusion that you would have had an extreme dislike of cars.  Being so young and associating them with the devastating affects it had on your safety and comfort and your father... rage would have been a normal reaction for a child, I would think, who is still learning to understand their fears and emotions.

I appreciate the free association and it helps me to feel more comfortable expressing myself.  I am hoping that others understand and allow us both leeway as we work through our journey of recovery.



P.S.  RUSH (and Jethro Tull) were a couple of my favorites.  I have every one of RUSH's albums (remember those) up to Moving Pictures. Tom Sawyer!  And not sure how I would have made it thru without 2112.

[woodsgnome]

Hi Dutch. I appreciate your sharing as you explore and sort through the messy memories and try to soothe the sore spots. It did bring to mind, though, my own troubles when I tried to write similar letters to "me".

Long story short, it didn't work for me; instead of rescuing, I felt more crushed than helped. Each time I'd find an image, my hyper-vigilance kicked in and opened up other scars. All I could bear to do was bail/hide/sleep/forget. I just couldn't stay with the depths it opened.

I guess all our paths are unique that way. I needed to improvise a different approach. Instead of letters, I began picturing my life as story; a past-tense story, but with strong effects on my present. And while "I" was in the story, it was more like watching a movie. That I found I could handle easier.

With a movie, one can get pretty wrapped up in the story. And finally the lights come back on, and you find yourself back in the present. The story's memory, though, having been so personal, tends to still grip the imagination. With the movie over, but with my feelings still strong, I began to look more to healing the present, but with a better handle on the story that still haunts me. Sadly, I can't change what happened in the movie, only my reactions to it in the present.   

That's just my take, after I found the letter-writing so scary. Yet for many others, it's a wonderful comfort to be able to do that. Maybe that's another reason this condition is indeed "complex". It isn't easy, any of it, though we wish so hard it were. It seems like there are so many paths to healing; it takes a bit of practice, I guess, to find what fits the best for each person. And even that changes.

I hope you keep finding and sharing your way, Dutch Uncle; I appreciate your fresh and frank discoveries as you circle back and try to make some sense of what was and is pretty senseless.

[Dutch Uncle]

Dear woodsgnome,

I value your reply, though it take some time to take it in. For lack of a better phrase. (English is not my native language, and I struggle great deal with it.)

Let me start by saying I love movies.
I love the arts, in general. Music, paintings, sculptures, performances, theater, stage-plays, graffiti, architecture, writing, spoken word... The lot.
Niches in those arts, obviously.
Meaning: I love specific music, paintings etc. There's plenty that leave me indifferent.
Some I find repulsive. Which I then find interesting in itself, but that is another story for another time, perhaps.

Today I was reminded, through no particular reason in itself, of a movie scene I adore.
And it reminded me, through no particular conscious action I'm aware of, of the post you made here.
So I decided to share with you.

A scene from the baffling movie "Meet Joe Black".
It might be triggering. It is for me.
A trigger about... Love.
And acceptance.

So, without further ado, here it is:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNlNCsC5wkQ

Thanks for sharing your thoughts on my post.
I genuinely appreciate it.