The downfall of Sparrow

Trauma, they say, never leaves us. It marks our bodies and brains in unmistakable ways - we may hunch over, we may struggle with language and communication, we may feel a constant battle ahead. But we are masters of our own trauma as we juggle the feelings, reactions and simply keeping it together.

I said to Sparrow only this morning that I feel it actually eating me up inside. Sparrow used to say ‘what trauma do you have’? She was very skeptical and even cruel in that sense. When finally she admitted there was an obstacle, a blockage or something weighing heavy upon me, well that did it - now the door was open! Healing, support and change were surely ahead.

But no, I fell through the back door of doom, down and down I went, face to face with no one else but me. There was no sympathy in that uncomfortable reflection of life. Sparrow was so disappointed in me. Everyone struggles so what was it about me then? I had no reply.

Sparrow had some replies though: effort, acknowledgement, hard work and results are the way ahead. The key is to begin - just do it, no hesitations and the rest will follow. Sparrow has a habit of making things sound easy and can be quite flippant too.

Austin liked Sparrow. Austin says he loves me but has given me space to ‘sort myself out’ Sometimes I hear it like a loud echo: SORT YOURSELF OUT! I want to reply and scream that I’m trying because I really am.

There are an abundance of books: Trauma informed healing, psychological distress, self help titles and meditation/zen books. Sparrow can complicate it though talking about ‘poly vagal theory’. How much information does she think I can take?

So I sit there in my bedroom with coloured paper, stickers and highlighters because I’m going to be writing a whole lot. Except I’m still sitting there one hour later. I don’t want Sparrow to arrive and ruin my efforts so I begin: Here’s what I will do to feel better - be kinder to myself, read more, swim, maybe go for therapy and journal.

Dearest Journal,

I so want to do all the right things - practice mindfulness, be kinder to others and go for therapy too.

I rip the page out and pack my swimming stuff. After forty laps I stand in the cubicle, dizzy, shaking and looking forward to my reward - a cappuccino from the sports centre canteen.

Checking my messages and feeling a sort of kick in the stomach as there is nothing from Austin, nothing at all ... .My father has asked about him and I just shrugged and changed the subject.

Thursday morning at 10am precisely I have enormous butterflies in my stomach as Mrs Walter quietly calls for me. I follow her to a small room where she apologises for there being no windows but I can go for fresh air any time.

Mrs Walter has been doing this job for years and we can actually see it on her face - she looks washed out and tired but when she speaks I can only feel awe and a need to engage with her. Me, who was so skeptical about therapy.

She asks about my parents and family situation. I can’t get the words out right away but eventually I reply.

“My mother died when I was three, my dad raised me and I still live at home while studying.” Mrs Walter puts her pen against her chin as if this is a magic wand and I watch it wondering if she might cast a spell and then I will feel great.

She wants to know about the handful of ‘step mothers’ I was subjected to so I have to mention Lauren: the bitterness cannot be hidden as much as I try to and like an emotional detector she pauses….

“Can you repeat what Lauren said when you were five”?

“Yes, she said that I was just someone to put up with as she claims my father for a husband, that I am merely a damaged ornament whining for a mother who is no longer there”

“...and why do you think your father liked her?” Mrs Walter’s pen is being waved all over.

“Well she was gorgeous. She had fine taste my Dad said and joked that he was still a good catch” Shaking my head I glanced at the therapist reliving these words.

“So the child in you feels neglected would you say?” She tilts her head to the side and watches me.

“I never thought of it like that but well, maybe” I experienced a flashback with Austin. We were at the fair and he bought me cotton candy as a surprise and I sort of freaked out a bit - I told him that I hate that stuff and he left me right there beside the little tea cup ride. Awash with shame and regret already but he also ignores me for a couple of weeks. The whole thing is still humiliating.

“Do you have meaningful relationships/friendships?” She sips from her water cup and I quite suddenly feel thirsty too.

“I have a few friends from high school, we meet up every now and again and then there's Austin - my boyfriend” Finding myself with a smile upon my face as I mention his name, Mrs Walter nods recognising something.

“For next week I would like you to do a bit of homework, simply to write down the changes you would like to make and the reason why”

Later on back home Sparrow flies into a rage about the therapy session claiming I’m opening up too much, that I am exposing myself like an over emotional attention seeking whore. I ignore her and put MTV on and marvel at some of the videos with their scenarios that seem more than detached from the song but it’s interesting anyway.

I’ve decided to do something like ‘self kindness’ so I go to the florists and buy a small bouquet, trying not to act too shocked with the price. I have to abandon any thoughts of a coffee shop treat though but take care of the flowers placing them in mum’s old vase, a bit of an antique now I suppose.

So I have the vase on my desk along with an instant coffee which just does not make the grade with me. The essay question screams out at me: Construct a qualitative interview on the subject of personality and self description.

I decided just to have a quick peek on amazon before starting the assignment. I find something intriguing in the book department - A story of struggle by Francis Walter. Francis, I ponder on how the name suits her very well. Somehow this book title reassures me, it makes me feel relieved that the therapist is passionate enough to create a book.

Later with my distant friend Nora I conducted a qualitative interview and she is more than game.

“Well, let me see, I would describe myself as fiercely independent but also fragile if that makes sense, actually I am a person of contradictions…”

Afterwards I open a bottle of wine and Nora compliments ‘the fine rose wine’ which I have chosen.

A bit tiddly now, Nora goes on a rant about therapists in today's world, how they are mostly a scam. Flushing pink, I defend their position causing Nora to guess that I am engaged in therapy myself.

“Whatever works for you, personally I would rather chat with you honey” Nora has to leave but wishes me well.

“You are doing the right thing for yourself I’m sure - just ignore me” She hugs me tightly and goes home.

Just as Sparrow starts a new thread, there is a knock at the door and Dad tells me Austin is there. My heart skips a beat and we go on to finish the wine. I tell him about my efforts - the flowers, the swim and sessions with a therapist. I can see Sparrow nodding with approval and Austin says

“Tilly, you are courageous and beautiful” I surprised myself by agreeing.

“Sparrow has flown away!” my stomach eases and Austin hugs me tight.

“So who the hell is Sparrow then? Should I be jealous…” I laugh a real hearty laugh and my smile does not feel strained or fake.

“An old friend I guess”

The next day I complete the homework: I would like to change my mindset so that I can cope with the everyday and re-find myself.

I doodle a small bird and think of her. Mum uttered “Your Dad wanted you to be called Sparrow but I chose Tilly instead” My three year old heart feels warm, safe and ready to do the work.