How I Protected My Family System at the Expense of Myself

Silence about trauma hurts everyone.

Everyone processes trauma differently. After 20+ years of focusing on my own transformation and healing, I decided to write a memoir about my experience being wounded in my early 20s by a trusted member of my family. My desire wasn’t to expose or hurt the offender, but to free myself, and in the process, to help others who’ve had similar experiences. I shared my decision with the offender—not to seek their permission, just to let them know that it was happening. Their reactions—surprise, fear, anger, threats, pleading, crying—were things I had expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was my own response.

I feel things deeply, more so than most people. I, along with up to an estimated 30% of the population, have Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS), commonly referred to as being an “HSP” (Highly Sensitive Person). I don’t just hurt when those I care about are in pain, I feel crushed. And, if I happen to be the cause of that pain, I am willing to do (almost) anything to make it stop—for them, and for me. I am not saying that being an HSP causes me to make certain decisions, just that it influences how I feel about the decisions I make.

Here’s what happened after sharing with the offender that I was writing a memoir:

My confidence took a nosedive. I became full of doubt and uncertainty—not just about my project, but towards life in general. I started to question my intuition. I felt a sense of responsibility for the offender and placed their health and well-being above my own. I told them not to worry, that I would not do anything to harm them, including publishing a memoir. They were relieved. I, on the other hand, felt inept, depressed, and full of shame.

Time passed, and I kept thinking, “Just write your memoir. It’s going to take years to finish, and they don’t need to know what you’re doing. Do it for yourself. You can always publish the book after they die.” 😢

More time passed, and eventually I listened to the voice of my deeper self and continued writing. I felt stifled by the format of a memoir, so I decided to let go of that idea and follow my creative instinct. When I couldn’t find words to express the fullness of what I was thinking and feeling, I’d write poetry.

Other times, I’d draw or paint.

I ended up creating nine handmade books that included a timeline of experiences and memories from my birth in 1972 to the present, my family tree, my life story (as an autobiography), stories about my parents, grandparents, and ancestors, a book about my current relationship with my husband, Jeffrey, and other exploratory works about my heritage and experience.

I called my project Dimensions of Self: An exploration of identity and purpose, memory and inheritance—karmic and familial—to heal generational wounds and conflicts. These books are on display in my living room, and every morning when I sit on my sofa sipping coffee, I see them and am reminded of the beauty of my life.

I’m proud of the work that I’ve done, and completing this portion of my project has been good for my mental health and well-being. But I’m not finished. There’s more for me to explore. There’s more for me to create and share.

Silence Hurts Everyone

This next part of my journey scares me because it means going against those I love who have asked me to remain silent. But silence has caused me to lie to friends and family—to pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t. It kept me from growing closer to people I cared about. True friends saw the pain in my eyes. They felt it and wanted to understand what was going on. They wanted to know because they cared.

Hiding has hindered my ability to be a healing presence to others. If I can’t share what happened and how I have grown through my experience, how will others know that I have something useful to offer?

Silence harms everyone in our family. When we hide our true thoughts, feelings, and actions, lying becomes the norm. We may think that we’re protecting one another, but we’re actually only protecting our decision to lie (to ourselves and one another).

I believe that those who asked me to remain silent have deep-rooted fears that go something like this:

• I will have to face things that I don’t want to face. Memories from my past—both things that I’ve experienced that hurt me deeply, as well as things that I’ve done to hurt others. I’d rather leave the past where it is—buried—so that I don’t have to relive that pain.

• People will realize that I’m not perfect—that our family is not perfect—and our comfortable way of life will be disrupted. People will lose respect for us, and we’ll be ostracized.

• Our family will fall apart. We’re already dealing with so much. There’s no way that we could handle something like this.

These fears are natural, but distorted. Even when the truth hurts, stuffing it inside or pretending it doesn’t exist hurts more. We just don’t always make the connection between things that happen and their root causes.

I believe that family can be a place of truth, love, wisdom, kindness, respect, and compassion. We can break old patterns that no longer serve us. I believe that we can learn new ways to love, forgive, and heal. And I am committed to doing my part, even if it hurts.

❤️
-Stelli