Time to Hide...

The year after that fateful recollection on my counselor's couch, I lost my dream job and moved into a 305 square foot apartment on the back of my dad's cabinet shop.

To say the recollection of the horrible things my abuser did to me shook me to my core would be a gross understatement. Frankly, it shattered me. I began to question everything. My attention span became that of a gnat, and the mask and suit I had donned to help me perform my role became useless.

I felt almost zombie-like as I moved through the next year. Overly sensitive to even the simplest questions from my team. Hiding as much as possible to avoid revealing just how lost I felt. Struggling with the reality I’d been living with undiagnosed depression for a long time and it was now impacting me more than ever.

Though my days were filled with scheduled activities, most of the time I felt isolated, alone, and irrelevant. I muddled through and tried to maintain the appearance of being the person I had always been, but I felt broken. Frankly, I was ready to walk away and leave it all behind. So I mastered new ways of hiding while still making sure most of the things I was supposed to be doing got done.

I couldn’t see the path past my past…

As I peered into what became the darkest period of my life, I had no idea what was next, but I knew the success I had achieved in my academic career was over. I pondered whether in fact my life was over (and even whether I should end it). (WOW, that is hard to acknowledge, but I think it is important, so I won’t edit it out.)

The depression became deeper and darker as the weeks and months went on. I started making bad decisions as I desperately sought to create some kind of impact that would be recognized and applauded. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had chased accolades, awards, and applause most of my life. Somehow they made everything okay and validated me, something I now knew why I craved so much.

What I can now see is those days were similar to the slash and burn process where farmers burn the underbrush to clear the way for the next planting. The ashes created by the burn help the new plants grow and prosper in what initially looks a bit like the disaster zone I felt I was living in at the time.

I had no idea what the journey from there would look like, let alone how long it would take. I am not sure I even recognized there would be a path to recovery ahead. But it was clear a major change was coming and it would likely be one the most difficult and challenging one of my life.

Time for a necessary ending…

When the end of my academic career came I felt lost, alone, and ignored. Suddenly all the positive things I’d accomplished became meaningless and my role in them was essentially erased. The friends and colleagues who’d been connected to the journey suddenly became part of a conversation about me filled with distortions, untruths, and an array of stories that lacked any grain of truth.

To be clear, it was a necessary ending.

That’s why I will always be grateful for that moment on the couch where the memory of the past was recalled. It opened the door for me to do what I knew I needed to do, but was not able to do on my own.

You see, for much of my career to that point I had lived for the rewards that came my way from being a workaholic who over-performed. That was the only way I felt like I mattered, because I had outsourced my worth to my profession and those I served. If they were pleased, then I was doing the right things, and the cost to me was irrelevant.

Said more directly, my identity had become so intertwined with my position that I got lost in the process. What mattered was what was being accomplished and whether anyone noticed. I was merely one of the main cogs in the wheels being turned to produce the next result. And I lived for the occasional moments of acknowledgement and recognition of my role.

Your past does not define your future…

The day my dad and I headed south in the Ryder Truck filled with all of my possessions felt a bit like closing the book on a story that ended far differently than I had hoped. At the same time, it was freeing for me. Though I chose not to share what I had discovered about my past at that time, I knew I was heading to a safe place where I could begin my journey to recovery.

Dad was angry. What father wouldn’t be. But he didn’t know the deeper story. He didn’t realize his visibly successful son was hurting inside in ways he did not understand. He had no idea I’d been performing in a mask and suit for years trying to find my place in the world. And he definitely came from a world where once you began a career with an organization you remained there for life.

Said more directly, dad’s worldview was one where your past essentially defined your future. So he was worried about where I would go next. He was also willing to accept that I had made peace with the reality of what had happened. In fact, I was somewhat happy about it because I had wanted to escape the pressure for a long time and now I was free.

Today’s Earned Lesson

Sometimes you have to light it up and burn it down before you can rebuild it. Although the fire is scary, it clears the way for planting new seeds, and opens the door to cleansing and healing.

PS—Thank you for reading this post. If you found it helpful, I’d be grateful for you taking a moment to like it and perhaps share it with a friend or colleague whom you believe it could help.