What is Normal?
http://www.informationbooth.net/articles/78533/1/What-is-Normal/Page1.html
Susanna Barlow
Susanna Barlow is the 23rd child of 46 children, the quintessential middle child. Her fundamentalist religious upbringing shaped her life, her values, and her views on literally everything. Though no longer affiliated with polygamous groups on a religious level, she is surrounded by family & friends who practice polygamy. For more information, visit: Susanna Barlow. By Susanna Barlow
Published on 10/27/2008
When I read Viktor Frankl’s book, “Man’s Search for Meaning” I was on the cusp of grappling a childhood filled with abuse and dysfunction Frankl states that “an abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal
When I read Viktor Frankl’s book, “Man’s Search for Meaning” I was on the cusp of grappling a childhood filled with abuse and dysfunction. Frankl states that “an abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal.” This statement answered many questions and solved some of the perplexities that festered in my mind about how polygamy and abuse had impacted my life. My question then was what is normal?
When I was eighteen years old I sat on the floor and watched my two year old brother be beaten with a wooden block by one of my father’s wives. I watched him scream and writhe on the floor and I did nothing. I was close enough to grab my brother and remove him from the room. I could have grabbed the wooden block or I could have screamed “Stop it!” I could have run out of the room or called my father on the phone at work. Again I did none of these things. That is not to say that it was not painful to witness for that event has stayed in my psyche for a long long time and will perhaps forever be a part of me.
While changing my brother’s clothes later that same afternoon I realized the trauma he had experienced. His leg, from his hip to his kneecap was black, blue, green and mushy. After he was beaten, he was handed to me and I felt I was initiated into the abuse, that I was part of it and somehow responsible. His face was pale and flushed and I noticed he was sweating on his palms and forehead. He suddenly became drowsy and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly in my arms. In my ignorance I thought he was tired and I didn’t recognize until many years later, after I had children of my own, how dangerously close to unconsciousness he had been. The realization of my inaction hit me many years later too, certainly past the point of reparations only deepening my sense of shame.
Why did I allow it to happen? The answer is deceptively simple. I allowed it to happen because it was normal. My reaction was exactly the reaction that I was expected to have. It was the reaction I expected from myself. Abuse was normal and the allowance of abuse was normal. By behaving normally I knew how the rest of that day would proceed and I was ensuring the same predictability for the day after that. I have often wondered what would have happened if I had grabbed the boy and stormed out of the room. Even the very thought of that wrestles uncomfortably in my stomach because the answer is this: I don’t know what would have happened.
Normalcy alleviates the fear of the unknown. In Frankl’s book this is illustrated when the concentration camp in which he was confined was liberated and the inmates embraced their sudden freedom with trepidation. Normalcies are created even in the most extreme situations as a means of survival. If it is normal it is manageable.
My conclusion is that normalcy is that which is predictable. What I could predict I could prepare for and therefore provide a sense of control, no matter how fragile or misguided. I responded to my brother’s beating predictably according to my environment. I did exactly what was expected of me. I did what was normal. I had never stood up for anyone being beaten nor did anyone stand up for me when it was my turn. Nor did I expect anyone to do that.
Physical abuses fade with time, the bruises heal and the body restores itself, but injustice, cruelty and humiliation are wounds that do not spontaneously heal with the passage of time. When these things become normal, the natural responses in a human being toward suffering and pain are radically altered.
On the other hand, something larger responded to that moment, as I witnessed my brother’s beating. Something entirely unaffected by environment or human nature spoke within me like a guiding voice from the past, the collective truth of all the humans who had lived and died before me leaving their mark on my soul and demanding that I respond. But I did not respond. I sat numb and still and lifeless.
It was not only witnessing the atrocity of abuse against a child, but also this self betrayal that has haunted me for all these years. It is this act of self betrayal that I have struggled to forgive. In my efforts to forgive myself and others I have searched also for the meaning and purpose of my own inexplicable behavior.
While it in no way provides complete understanding I am comforted by that a part of me that exists beyond what is normal, expected or predictable, that transcends the need to survive. Normal is a sanctuary for my mind but it is my soul that has no need for normalcy or survival that pulls me through and sparks the desire for deeper healing.
When I was eighteen years old I sat on the floor and watched my two year old brother be beaten with a wooden block by one of my father’s wives. I watched him scream and writhe on the floor and I did nothing. I was close enough to grab my brother and remove him from the room. I could have grabbed the wooden block or I could have screamed “Stop it!” I could have run out of the room or called my father on the phone at work. Again I did none of these things. That is not to say that it was not painful to witness for that event has stayed in my psyche for a long long time and will perhaps forever be a part of me.
While changing my brother’s clothes later that same afternoon I realized the trauma he had experienced. His leg, from his hip to his kneecap was black, blue, green and mushy. After he was beaten, he was handed to me and I felt I was initiated into the abuse, that I was part of it and somehow responsible. His face was pale and flushed and I noticed he was sweating on his palms and forehead. He suddenly became drowsy and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly in my arms. In my ignorance I thought he was tired and I didn’t recognize until many years later, after I had children of my own, how dangerously close to unconsciousness he had been. The realization of my inaction hit me many years later too, certainly past the point of reparations only deepening my sense of shame.
Why did I allow it to happen? The answer is deceptively simple. I allowed it to happen because it was normal. My reaction was exactly the reaction that I was expected to have. It was the reaction I expected from myself. Abuse was normal and the allowance of abuse was normal. By behaving normally I knew how the rest of that day would proceed and I was ensuring the same predictability for the day after that. I have often wondered what would have happened if I had grabbed the boy and stormed out of the room. Even the very thought of that wrestles uncomfortably in my stomach because the answer is this: I don’t know what would have happened.
Normalcy alleviates the fear of the unknown. In Frankl’s book this is illustrated when the concentration camp in which he was confined was liberated and the inmates embraced their sudden freedom with trepidation. Normalcies are created even in the most extreme situations as a means of survival. If it is normal it is manageable.
My conclusion is that normalcy is that which is predictable. What I could predict I could prepare for and therefore provide a sense of control, no matter how fragile or misguided. I responded to my brother’s beating predictably according to my environment. I did exactly what was expected of me. I did what was normal. I had never stood up for anyone being beaten nor did anyone stand up for me when it was my turn. Nor did I expect anyone to do that.
Physical abuses fade with time, the bruises heal and the body restores itself, but injustice, cruelty and humiliation are wounds that do not spontaneously heal with the passage of time. When these things become normal, the natural responses in a human being toward suffering and pain are radically altered.
On the other hand, something larger responded to that moment, as I witnessed my brother’s beating. Something entirely unaffected by environment or human nature spoke within me like a guiding voice from the past, the collective truth of all the humans who had lived and died before me leaving their mark on my soul and demanding that I respond. But I did not respond. I sat numb and still and lifeless.
It was not only witnessing the atrocity of abuse against a child, but also this self betrayal that has haunted me for all these years. It is this act of self betrayal that I have struggled to forgive. In my efforts to forgive myself and others I have searched also for the meaning and purpose of my own inexplicable behavior.
While it in no way provides complete understanding I am comforted by that a part of me that exists beyond what is normal, expected or predictable, that transcends the need to survive. Normal is a sanctuary for my mind but it is my soul that has no need for normalcy or survival that pulls me through and sparks the desire for deeper healing.