There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
It is simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple.
Rabindranath Tagore
Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.
Brené Brown
On my current trip to Ireland, I took the opportunity to revisit some of the scenes of my childhood.
I was interested in retracing the walk from our house in O’Connell Avenue, Limerick to the Jesuit junior school at the Crescent, an oval bulge at the top of the otherwise straight street of redbrick Georgian blocks on either side, that form the main thoroughfare through the city.
The child remembers it as a long walk full of adventures and perils, and the adult is surprised to discover it was only four or five blocks which can be traversed on foot in less than 10 minutes.
The classrooms of the old building appeared less large, the linoleum floors just as shiny with the rich textured burgundy colours, and the staircase up to the headmaster’s office just as unsettling as when we would be sent up there by our tutors to be punished for whatever misdemeanour we were adjudicated to have committed.
The transgression, along with the suggested punishment, had been written on a docket which, upon entering his office, we presented to the headmaster who sat behind a huge mahogany desk. A brief interview followed, often including an admonishment, sometimes even an expression of regret, — or both — whereupon the top right drawer of the desk was opened, and a long, thick leather tawse extracted.
The headmaster came around the desk and demanded that I stretch out my right hand. He would then inform me of the penalty; two, four, or, worst of all, „six of the best“. What I learned very early on was never to show how much it hurt; physically, emotionally, or psychologically.
Showing signs of any of these would have made the situation far worse. This is one situation in which I learned, very early on, to become invisible. The two flights of stairs allowed time for me to gather myself, to „prepare a face to meet the faces I would meet“, to erect the façade I would need in the next interaction, the returning of the signed docket to my clerical tormentor, my supposed mentor, the teacher who had found me guilty.
More importantly, it was essential to appear to my peers as one who had endured the humiliation effortlessly, with no aftereffects. In this way I hoped to earn the reputation of being a „manly man,“ one who never shows how broken and incensed he felt inside, one who never cried, no matter what.
These were the reflections that meandered through my mind as I walked the corridors of the old school. I embraced the seven-year-old who was so brutally treated and reflected on how auspicious it is that I have now learned to protect him — and my adult self — from such treatment, at the hands of others and the hands of my own, at times, disturbed thinking.
It is incredulous that we survived such experiences as children. The abuse was bad enough, but the icing on the cake was the fact that no one was there to turn to for solace, for protection, for understanding, for solidarity, for a comforting hug.
I dared not bring it up with my parents for fear that a second round of punishment would ensue. This stance emanated from my observation of how my parents treated older siblings in similar circumstances. I was smarter than that, I surmised. Into that trap I would not fall.
It is this „no one being there for us in our time of need“ which is described by Gabor Maté as the „über wound“. By means of fractal proliferation, this isolation was replicated in many forms over the subsequent years. It was not simply isolation with respect to other people but included a more sinister form, i.e. the estrangement from self.
In the words of Dr Allen Berger, it is the sacrifice of the „True Self“ for a „False Self“, which we believe will have the greatest probability of securing our survival. We stop being ourselves and begin to put up the show that we believe will deliver us from the fears, the anxieties, and the real dangers that surround us.
The word Persona first appeared in Middle English and is derived from Anglo-French persone, from Latin persona — actor’s mask, character in a play, person, — probably from Etruscan phersu mask, from Greek prosōpa, plural of prosōpon face, mask.
As we learn „to prepare a face to meet the faces that we meet“ we move further and further away from who we really are. Our essence becomes betrayed in the gravest manner, for it is we ourselves who are the perpetrators of the betrayal.
As children, we lack the experience, the power, and the wherewithal to set the boundaries which would have protected us from the excesses which left deep wounds in their wake.
As adults, we do have access to the resources necessary to break old moulds, to find new ways of doing things and new things to do.
An example presented itself later in the trip, when me and my eight siblings congregated for several days in the ancestral family home for a celebratory gathering. It is a special experience full of joy and laughter, and of the resurgence of old patterns which are etched like the grooves on the vinyl record of our growing up together.
I am and generally have always been a very energetic person. Up early, greeting the new day with enthusiasm and vigour. As a result, I am often the first person up, while others emerge later in the morning or even as late as noon.
It gives me great satisfaction to clean the fireplaces and light the fires. To make my breakfast before the kitchen gets crowded, and, perhaps, to get in an early walk in solitude before the rain hits this fiercely wild landscape on the Atlantic seaboard.
On such a walk, memories of childhood percolated to the surface.
Thanks to my vitality, I was often available to help my mother, who — chronically overwhelmed — always needed help in performing household chores. The result of my contribution on any given day was an increase in my allocated scope and load of chores the next day.
All the while, many of my siblings were not as engaged, simply because they were older or younger, still I bed or, in other ways, unavailable. While I was hopeful of achieving some form of, perhaps even emotional acknowledgment for my contributions — apart from promotion to even greater tasks — I began to feel resentful about the unfair distribution of labour within the household.
Because of the absence of the ability to draw boundaries, the only viable way of solving the dilemma was to make myself unavailable. This was achieved by absenting myself from our home, a strategy I learned to master early on. Of course, this, too, caused strife.
I preferred the arguments about me not coming home on time, however, to the ever-increasing load of household chores which would have been assigned to me had I been around.
Absenting oneself took place at another level too. It was this self-estrangement, the adoption of the role, the mask, in the stead of simply being myself.
These reflections continued until I returned to the Lodge at the end of my walk.
I entered the house through the back door and stepped into the hectic energy of the kitchen in the final stages of lunch being prepared for a crowd.
„Would you like to set the table?“ were the words that greeted me. That was what was transmitted on the „data channel“. On the so-called „PQ channel“ (which relays emotion in pitch of voice, volume, timbre, body stance, etc.) I heard the demand: „Set the table“.
„I would not“ was my snap reaction! „I am first going to the sitting room to gather myself at the fire, to rest briefly after my long walk“.
The scene in the kitchen seemed to freeze. An expression of shock crossed several faces in an instant. This did not deter me from exiting, as planned.
While sitting alone in front of the sitting room fire, I reflected on two things. The fact that only people who get upset about you setting boundaries are the ones who were benefiting from you having none.
This is something I have learned in Twelve Step recovery.
Secondly, I thought how much better it would be to replace the snap reaction with a considered and considerate response. After all, this is what I have been learning in the practice of PQ Mental Fitness — in which I have trained as a coach over these past four years, no less — and in the cultivation of Emotional Sobriety within the context of Twelve Step recovery these past two decades and more.
Indeed, a response such as: „I appreciate that the situation may be stressful for you and I will be glad to help once I have gathered myself in front of the fire for five or ten minutes“ would have been a more loving — a more response-able — response.
„If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your family,“ quipped Ram Das once during a public talk.
Indeed, such gatherings provide me ample opportunity to recognise and transcend old habits which are no longer fit for purpose. The armour can be set aside, allowing the balm of vulnerability to soothe old wounds, wounds which are still beckoning attention and treatment.
Another old idea can be set aside in the process. This is the „I am always right“ stance. It is the tenth of the Twelve Steps which is most useful in this respect. „We continued to take daily inventory, and when (note: not „if“) we were wrong promptly admitted it“.
The next shared walk in this beautiful wild landscape provided the opportunity to do just that.
