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Deborah Ellen Schneider (page 4 of 4) Page 4 of 4
Actually, I was a storm all by myself. I never sat still. Even when we had friends over to watch a movie, I continually moved — serving beverages, making snacks, always fiddling. If I sat for a minute, my leg swung back and forth, back and forth. If I seemed for a moment to be at rest, my internal cyclone churned endlessly.
Even relaxing was a full-force attack that had a goal — exercise to stay fit, educational playtime for the kids, vacations that met Daniel’s expectations for a happy life. Unrelenting standards had been ingrained in me by my parents. In addition to the perfection demanded by my mother and the strict discipline doled out by my father, I was a diligent student in high school. Whenever I achieved any goal, though, the bar at home was set higher.
After my teenaged sweetheart moved away during my junior year, I felt like I had no control over my life. So I stopped eating. On top of that, I began to run. I kept myself so involved and so physically active that there was never any time to really look in the mirror. The few times I did, I loathed what I saw.
Why didn’t you get an A instead of an A-? my mother’s voice blared inside my head. Why did you run for secretary of the student council instead of president? my father’s voice demanded. Why didn’t you try out for the lead in the play instead of such a small part? Why didn’t you do better? Why….
I carried this ever-growing yardstick into adulthood and used it to measure anything I did. Despite working long hours, I volunteered for any number of church groups, charities and committees. My family ate a home-cooked meal every evening and my boys enjoyed all the advantages an attentive mother could provide.
Because I was so overextended, I could never relax. There was always something that had to be finished. If there was a moment to breathe, I filled it with another commitment. I’d stopped taking deep breaths years ago…where was the air to go?
My hyperactive nature drove Daniel crazy. He loved to take long drives along scenic routes and stop for a nice meal. He’d load the entire family into the car and off we’d go. How excruciating! I had to sit still for hours then sit some more while eating…. I hated going and eventually the boys grew tired of the trips.
Daniel was often frustrated with my inability to have “quiet time.” Quiet time meant sharing intimate thoughts. I had to guard my many secrets. Keeping my distance was easy, though. Daniel was always working and I was “involved” everywhere in everything. If I had really shared with him, he would have thought I was crazy.
That fear ate at me constantly, and for good reason. My father had suffered mood swings, debilitating migraines and several nervous breakdowns. He’d even been hospitalized a few times. Since my mother had worked as a psychiatric nurse, she occasionally talked about what it was like in the institutions. She said people got shock treatments. After she described the electrodes and convulsions, I was so horrified I never heard the rest.
But by the time I was nineteen, my own mental health had begun to deteriorate. The eating disorder and frantic activities were a homegrown remedy to keep the breakdowns at bay. Fear of incarceration and shocks immobilized any effort I might have made to ask for help. I thought I was so ill that if anyone knew, they would cut out part of my brain.
If there was a slowdown in my day, I put on my sneakers and ran through the neighborhood. I added bike riding to my schedule and often rode with the boys. There was a lot of fighting between Daniel and me out of frustration. He didn’t know how to connect with me because I didn’t want to connect with him. He could only watch with disappointment and growing dismay.
Other issues eroded our marriage. Daniel had family out of state, and we vacationed with them every year. He wanted to relocate to be closer to his relatives when it was time to retire. I was in my late thirties and not ready to be thrown into a community for people fifty and older.
Leaving also threatened my relationship with my best friend. Gloria Webster and I had met when James and her daughter attended nursery school together. She was my anchor. When the tornado of life swept me away and insanity threatened, I would land in Gloria’s arms. Her well-lit runway, God’s shining light, was accessible twenty-four hours a day.
Whenever I explained to Daniel that I didn’t want to leave my friend, his response was always the same: “If Gloria’s husband had an opportunity for a better lifestyle, would she stay here for you?” I hung my head knowing Gloria was strong enough to go anywhere with Robert.
Emotional withdrawal ultimately led to physical withdrawal. I retreated into my bedroom alone where I spent long nights trying to remember a time of innocence and safety.
Over time, Daniel continued to look for my companionship and I looked for an escape.
From Wind Dancing: The Gift of Healing Traumatic Brain Injury by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Copyright © 2009 by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Reprinted with permission from Wind Dancing, New Beginnings, Inc. For more information on Deborah Ellen Schneider, go to http://winddancing.com.
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