Reacting to Change

Change can be terrifying, but denying change can be equally so.

In January of this year, I joined a support group for adult survivors of childhood sexual trauma. Click here to read about my initial experience with finding support, joining a group. and saying the words aloud.

The Proposed Change

The group had three other members when I began, and after a few months, it was just myself and one other person in attendance. The therapist that led the group gently mentioned the idea of merging with another group to have a total of five members.

For me, this set off alarm bells.

Depending on what type of support you are seeking and why, the number of members in a group, or the rate at which the members come and go, can be rather challenging to work through without nope-ing the hell out of there.

When you join a group, it's terrifying. It feels like discussing the most intimate parts of your life with complete strangers . . . because it is. We don't typically tell the random person next to us in line about our darkest experiences, let alone the people closest to us. We all have experiences that fill us with shame, but we don't all have experiences with sharing the pain or reality that the experiences left us with. This makes it especially hard to join a group in the first place, let alone show up week after week, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, as others come and go.

Alarm Bells

So here I found myself, listening to the soft-spoken, encouraging - but not pushy - words of the therapist. Alarm sounding, heart pounding, I felt the walls rising, preparing for battle. The therapist asked how we each felt about forming a bigger group, and let us know that we could think about it for the next couple weeks. I heard myself respond with confidence, something along the lines of "regardless of the number of people in attendance, whether it be one other person or four, I will show up. There's a part of me who won't let me not show up to this group, and I can find benefit in it whether we keep our group small or merge with the other to have five members." But then, like clockwork, as soon as the words left my mouth, and I was no longer listening to myself speak, doubt entered my mind: How are you going to feel trying to show up for four other people rather than just one? How are you going to have the mental capacity to hold space for and listen to what they each need to share? How are you going to remember and be mindful of the details they choose to make known? How are you going to support that many people when you can't even be around more than one or two people without getting overwhelmed and shutting down? How are you going to manage your emotions as each of them share, likely being triggered often? How are you going to feel showing up if you learn that someone has experienced far worse than you? How are you going to share your story when you don't even have all the answers? How are you going to start over, again? Explaining your story and why you're here, again? How are you going to face the darkness that will come with re-sharing? Is continuing on with a bigger group really in your best interest? Wouldn't you be safer not worrying about all of this and just saying that it's best to take some time away from the group before making the decision to join or not? My attention snapped back to the therapist, who was talking with the other person about how they felt. We ended the session by agreeing that we will each take some time to think about it, and we will discuss again in two weeks. I signed off with a smile, without letting them know of the doubt and insecurity that consumed me. I hate how that freaking mask gets glued to my face. The two weeks that followed were filled with endless battles with myself. Questioning why I would risk the comfort and safety I felt at the sake of holding space for people that I didn't think I even had the space for. I didn't tell my own therapist of the proposed changes to the support group. I didn't mention it to my wife. I didn't write about it in my journal. I didn't use any of my grounding resources. I was frozen in fear at the crossroads. Unable to make a move. Unable to think clearly. Unable to unblend from the fear, only living in it and responding to it.

Determined to Run

I showed up to the next group meeting determined to run. I shared that I had thought a lot about the reality of merging with another group, and that it was just too overwhelming for me to show up and feel comfortable with that many members. I proceeded to share that I had noticed a lot of progress in myself in the seven months we had been meeting, and that I had done a lot of the things I set out to do initially. As each word came out of my mouth, I knew that I was deceiving myself. I knew that I was terrified beyond my ability to show, and that I was packing my bags and preparing to flee, while trying to make these people believe I was evolved or some shit. We had planned one last meeting before we would part ways.

The Revelation

While I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I was well on my way to seclusion, the sharp pang of abandonment and betrayal set in. I thought I was protecting myself by removing myself from the threat, but what took those weeks to realize was that a support group isn't the threat. The fear I was feeling, the layers upon layers of experiences and emotions that I hadn't yet worked through, was the threat. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Someone else can't abandon you if you abandon yourself first.

My heart sank. What was I teaching myself by allowing this voice to convince me that I couldn't find healing in challenging myself to graduate to a bigger support group? I initially joined the support group because I felt stuck in therapy and needed to know I wasn't alone and insane. I hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of what I needed to share and discuss openly, so how could I have given myself and each of my parts the time and space they needed to find their voice and feel less alone?

If you read my initial post about being at a crossroads, this is that beautiful moment where I pivot.

I turn back around, filled with fear, longing, and hope - the thin line of light still visible in the distance. What if I share my fears as a way to introduce myself to the new group? What if they have the same fears that I do? What if I meet someone who has a story similar to my own? What if sharing my experiences helps myself and one of these survivors feel less alone? What if saying the words aloud again will bring further healing? What if I find comfort in having more people to connect with? What if it's easier to take care of myself in a larger group because I don't have to be the only other person showing up?

What if I don't worry about remembering all the details they share? What if I just show up, fear, doubts, insecurities, and all? What if being real with these strangers comes easier than the fear is making it seem? Upon attending my final small group meeting, I shared my revelation, in that I was ready to have the fear and do it anyway. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to run. I wanted to walk boldly into the unknown, and find the support I needed along the way.

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Opening up to another about trauma and the reality of your world is seldom easy.

For me, it comes with shaking hands, a trembling voice, a racing heart, and sweat dripping down my arms. My entire body clenches up, and I often pick at my nails until they bleed. I may feel a painful pit deep in my stomach, nauseating me to my core. My vision might become fuzzy, with floaters or black spots, making me feel as if I'm going to pass out. In those moments, I remind myself and each of my parts that we are not alone, and I breathe. Opening up is always the scariest for me just before it happens. Once the words have left my mouth, I breathe a sigh of relief, for I didn't run. I showed up, and let myself be seen. I allowed my pain to be acknowledged - a portion to be set free. Though the fear of sharing my reality with three new people seemed unbearable, and returning to avoiding the pain sounded easier, the possibility for healing, connection, and belonging was too promising to walk away from.

So many things in life are within our grasp if we are willing to reach out.

Believe you can, and you will.