The Journey To Connection
By: An Anonymous Guest Author
I recently learned that cat’s claws are shaped like fish hooks. This is beneficial for holding their prey and climbing trees. However, in the event a cat seeks refuge too high in a tree, this design will work against them as the only safe way for them to get down to the ground is to go backward, which, unsurprisingly, they’re often not willing to do. And not only may they be unwilling, they may also fight against it with everything in them as was my experience when my mom’s cat found herself stuck 30 feet up in a tree. I have always enjoyed climbing trees and I share my love for animals with my son so needless to say I was eager to prove the hero as he cheered for me at the bottom. My initial tactic to rescue the cat included food, rope and a carrier. I envisioned enticing the cat into the carrier using the food as bait and lowering her to the ground with the rope. Easy. I like a good plan. And then welcome to reality. My plan at being a savior failed; I didn’t anticipate the fear that would turn this warm hearted and affectionate cat into something feral. Initially, the cat was eager to eat and welcomed my presence with purring as it rubbed its face against my hand repeatedly as if loudly affirming my call to rescuer, “Yes please get me out of here.” She behaved and performed as if she wanted to lunge into my arms – right up until I went to assist her into the safety of the carrier and towards the stability of the ground. It was as if a switch went off and it was kill or be killed. When challenged to make the jump, she fought against me with everything in her little body and proceeded to climb further up the tree. To retreat. And as I watched the cat desperately cling to a tree that would inevitably harm the cat if it didn’t learn to trust me and let go, I saw a part of myself in the cat. And if I’m honest, I side with the cat on the descent. It can be terrifying. Going backward to go forwards seems counterintuitive. Unproductive. It does not feel safe; it does not feel secure. And, it feels like too much. Everything in my body is saying retreat. I do not want to fall. I do not want to go back. I have made it. I am at the top of the tree. Those branches are behind me. They don’t have control over me. I am queen of this tree. Why would I want to risk falling? Risk Letting go? Losing my comfort? Loosing my control? Loosing approval? Why? Because little cat, your life depends on it.
Panic attacks were never part of my vocabulary. I had studied their incidence and impact in others as well as treatment options in college but it was not part of my story. And yet, I was experiencing textbook “sudden episodes of intense anxiety and physical symptoms.” I felt as though someone was choking me and I was gasping for air and all based on a perceived threat rather than imminent danger. This is where I found myself. Successful by the world’s standards. Happily Married. Promising Career. I had traveled the world with my husband and we had just moved home and were beginning to talk about the future with children. And all the while I was crumbling on the inside and guilt and shame were worthy predators as I climbed further up the tree defaulting to what had worked for me in the past. I worked harder. I added more to my plate. And I had never felt so alone. Everything in me desired a quick fix. The lyrics from Dashboard Confessional came to mind when considering my ascent. “I am fairly agile. I can bend and not break. Or I can break and take it with a smile. I am so resilient. I recover quickly. I’ll convince you soon that I’m fine” and “pushing everything that’s good away.” But, everything was not fine. Shame depends on isolation and my life had become a masquerade. Fortunately, I was not able to pull the wool over my husband’s eyes. He saw me and he was not deterred by my claws. My bitterness. My hissing through harsh words and passive aggressive behavior. He continued to show up with food for my soul in the form of love with accountability. I eventually sought counseling and heard the inevitable words, “our pasts shape our present experiences.” Time to descend. To go backwards. To revisit those old branches. I was not ready and I fought it and I made excuses but I was desperate. I pride myself in my ability to appear unaffected by life but death by a thousand cuts is a form of execution and I was bleeding out. Although my mind may have been under the illusion everything was fine, my body was crying out for help.
It was a running joke that my family was the Griswolds growing up. Everything always went wrong. Murphy’s law seemed to get us every time. However, I envied the Griswolds. There was always humor and lighthearted endings with apologizing and a redemptive conclusion. And don’t get me wrong, there were rays of sunshine that made its way through the branches, however, the survival methods I learned were maladaptive. Bury yourself in the branches. Climb. Perform. Pretend everything’s alright. Reveal only what is necessary to ensure the happiness of others. If it’s only hurting me, I can survive. And when the defensive walls were penetrated and when egos were challenged, attack. Go on offense or move between victim, perpetrator and rescuer. This is survival. It is not how one flourishes.
There were a lot of claws thrown behind closed doors. Cursing. Blaming. Yelling. Scapegoating. Retaliation. Shame. Guilt. These were ignited when one of us failed to see the landmine hidden beneath the surface. We had not realized we were in a war zone. My dad had a short fuse. I was told that his childhood was rough. Me too dad. We shared experiences of pain and ruptures in relationship but instead of coming together, a bitter root took hold in these dark areas of our hearts. We didn’t realize that those words and those scratches and hisses were a cry for help as we were all crumbling on the inside and coping in very different ways. But, we were all “fine.”
There is no quick fix to the mind. It needs to be rewired for neuroplasticity and lasting change to occur. It is an incredibly complex organ and an adult brain has very worn paths and overcoming them takes incredible effort and intentional attention. Fortunately, it is possible.
I experienced quite the thawing when I began my counseling journey. For those that are familiar with Michigan winters, one may be able to relate to the intensity of the coldness when returning from say Florida this time of year. Becoming emotionally aware of oneself is intense. I learned I was unable to name my emotions, often discrediting them or explaining I how should feel. It felt like trying to sort through a tangled mess of old costume jewelry. Tedious. Is this worth this effort? I felt incompetent. Frustrated. How could I be struggling with something so elementary? And then someone introduced me to the term allostatic load. This is the accumulative “wear and tear on the body” or the “cumulative burden of chronic stress and life events.” During stress, the amygdala in your brain triggers a stress response. Blood pressure and heart rate increase in order to obtain more oxygen and proinflammatories are released in preparation for battle. This is your fight, flight or freeze response. With allostatic load, this response does not turn off. You are stuck and unaware of the eminent danger. Simply put, you are burning a ton of energy trying to manage the load without success and it is not sustainable. It takes resilience to achieve a relaxed state and the discipline and energy it requires might not be pleasurable as you thaw but it is worth it.
Counseling served as the carrier in my descent. I was able to experience a safe space to name the trauma and the hurt in my life with someone whom I could trust and someone that possessed the tools to help me reach my goals and in that process to discover the freedom of leaving the tree and making it to the ground. Stability. This experience gave me permission to feel and to approach the cat in the tree with curiosity as opposed to condemnation. I am learning to change the question that underpins my thoughts when I do the things I know I should not do. When I retreat to maladaptive familiar patterns and hide behind the branches or when I get out my claws. Instead of asking “What is wrong with me?” I am learning to pause. To become aware of my body and to take a breath and to revisit those old branches with a new unabashed confidence. To instead pose the question, “What happened to me?” And in this subtle shift, I have learned to give that terrified cat in the tree some grace. I am aware of my triggers when the feral or fearful cat is lurking around. And I can take steps to gain control. I am starting to enjoy the view from the top of the tree without being paralyzed in fear. My fear makes sense but it does not control me.
In society, we often gravitate towards affirmation and love but love without truth produces no fruit. No change. The words fall flat. Love also needs accountability. It would be unloving to leave the cat in the tree. We need relationship for growth and we reach our full potential when nourished by community. Fortunately, all it takes is one positive relationship to lessen our grip and our need for control and to ignite our desire for relationship and intimacy with others.
Vulnerability can be a beautiful gift. Your healing may be someone else’s survival guide. It has been said that “we come into this world looking for someone looking for us” and it is a sad state when many of us find ourselves working against the very pieces of ourselves that make us human: our desire for connection, our need for connection. However, we all know that not everyone deserves your trust. Not throwing pearls to swine and discernment can be tough. Exhausting. But so is staying up in the tree and keeping up the facade. We were not designed to live life on thinning breakable and fruitless branches. It is not sustainable. It is giving you a false sense of security.