Voicelessness and Emotional Survival > What Helps?
Bump, Bump, Bump
Dr. Richard Grossman:
Bump, Bump, Bump
“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming down-stairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.”
You may remember the first lines of Winnie the Pooh. I read the book to my first grade teacher, Miss Wooley, a heavy set, matronly woman in her 60’s, who at the time seemed ancient to me. That summer she sent a postcard reminding me how much she loved Winnie the Pooh—or as I secretly understood it, how much she loved me. Although it disappeared sometime after I left for college, this postcard, along with Ricky’s Marble Bag, sewn for me by Mrs. Brush, my favorite babysitter, are my two early childhood treasures.
Miss Wooley listened to me. I mattered to her. I felt special in a way that I never had before.
Often I wonder why this is—why Miss Wooley was the first person who listened. But “why” questions are exceptionally difficult, and we often get swayed by our own answers, forgetting that human beings and the world in general are terrifically complicated.
Still, the answer lies partially in bump, bump, bump. Not the beginning of Edward Bear’s story, but the start of my mother’s: her parents took long car rides over railroad ties when she was in utero, trying to induce a spontaneous abortion. They were unhappy about having a third child. Once my mother was born, my grandparents like all decent folk, tried to hide their feelings of being burdened. But these feelings are inevitably communicated and my mother was not fooled. She perceived she had no value, so she spent the rest of her life making something of herself, something of worth. People have asked me how she found out about the abortion attempts. I don’t know. But I’m glad she did, because it helps me make better sense of her life story—and mine as well.
For thirty years later history repeated itself. Not wanting children and having met the quota of two under the terms of her marriage agreement with my father, my mother suddenly found herself pregnant again. No bump, bump, bump this time; car suspensions had improved—and still no chance of a legal abortion. Out I came and no one, not my mother, not my father, not my sister, and especially not my brother who arrived only 18 months ahead of me, wanted me there. Rather than waiting for my delivery in the hospital, my father went out and bought a brand spanking new 1955 Ford Fairlane. An automatic. Light blue, both inside and out.
I learned quickly. I asked for nothing, affected nobody, and evoked as little wrath as I could. Making noise seemed dangerous: for a couple years I literally walked on my toes. I made myself invisible and voiceless.
Then, suddenly, just before I turned six, Miss Wooley asked me to read out loud Edward Bear’s awkward entry into Christopher Robin’s parlor: “bump, bump, bump.”
She listened to every word, and, for a short time, I found a place in the world.
seeker:
Dear Dr. Grossman and everybody,
I just wanted to pick up the theme of family history I read in Dr. G's post: I am/was interested in this hobby just for entertainment's sake, but it was really valuable also because it explained so much about who my parents are and why they have the attitudes they do. Many genealogists do what they do to find out "who they are" in a general historical sense, but it also can help in a psychological sense too.
I was brainwashed into thinking we had the "perfect" well-adjusted family. There were not a lot of happy stories of childhood passed on by either parent, although they both have a great sense of humor. There was this "don't ask, don't tell" policy. But knowing about the cultures they both grew up (one was military), helped me understand that they didn't exactly have great models for emotional nurturing. They had to focus on their own emotional survival. (And isn't emotional survival the reason we adapted our behavior into voicelessness?)
The real stand-out detail that I figured out for myself was the real relationship between my dad and his mother (vs. the press release). My grandmother was as emotionally unavailable to my dad as he is to his children. In addition, finding out what a weirdo my great-grandfather was explained BUCKETS about my family, having mostly to do with how the women felt persecuted by the men and the men resenting the hell out of women. I am the only girl in my family, so no wonder I felt so devalued no matter what I achieved.
I feel this post might be more helpful if I was more specific, but I'm feeling a little shy today 8) Hope this helps anyway, Cheers, S.
P.S. I have also found a dream journal to be an extremely helpful technique in sorting out my feelings and experiences. I have had many revelations that I would not have had otherwise about my childhood and about adjusting to a new perspective. Take care.
Acappella:
Wow, RG, I get a sense of the warmth and reverence you feel for listening and noticing.
Thank goodness for those who notice & listen and for the peace of mind (&/or heart) with which they are able to do so.
"why Miss Wooley was the first person who listened"
First for you, and part of something infinite. Her listening and noticing was/is part of some invisble never ending link which you now perpetuate in a way through this board. I was thinking it is like a circle without begining or end, (at least that I can see). Yet listening and noticing one another feels to me like it raises, moves everyone connected and grows with each connection like a spiral, moving forward.
"if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it" The Winnie image sets me to giggling (which by the way i am getting to feel is a good way to start to pause the bumping along in life that is easy to do.)
"If only he could" .... "think of it." Or feel it? Stillness instead of perpetual movement? Calm, equinimity. Listening and being listened to even in mid stair. :shock: :D
Reading about how you felt, I am reminded and inspired to notice when I first felt heard and how I felt and to remember that feeling and pass along the connection by listening and noticing others. Thank you.
Echo (I am ready to graduate to a new name now though)
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annabelle:
Hi Dr. Grossman,
I've been on this wonderful website for some time now, but this was the first time I read your post. Is this a true story about you? If so, thank you so much for sharing - I was so touched by what you wrote (though saddened, and then inspired, as you've used it to help so many people). If not, thank you for writing it - it's helpful either way.
Annabelle
Dr. Richard Grossman:
Thanks for your thoughtful and sensitive replies Seeker, Acappella, and Annabelle. It is, Annabelle, my story. I wrote the short essay for an invited talk, and I’ll post it on my essay page as a tribute to my teachers when I have the time. I am very grateful to a few of my teachers who found some value lurking in an essentially silent kid. You’re right, Acapella, this web site is, in part, a result of the extraordinary attention that I received.
Richard
p.s. Seeker, I agree a family emotional/psychological genealogy is very important—voicelessness can be traced back from generation to generation. And to not pass it on—wow, is that satisfying! (My daughter [the “Wookah” in the essay “What is a Wookah?”] is a freshman at N.Y.U. in musical theatre…)
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