Play & Book Excerpts
Crazy:
Reclaiming Life from the Shadow of Traumatic Memory
(Koehler Books)
© Lyn Barrett
Parts of Me
Getting to know our alters or parts, as we sometimes call them, is a critical aspect of healing from dissociative identity disorder, a condition caused by chronic early childhood abuse or trauma. In this excerpt from my memoir, Crazy: Reclaiming Life from the Shadow of Traumatic Memory, I introduce three important parts who had a strong impact on my “system” of alters. Laura, Paula, and Sylvia had unique functions but sometimes collaborated to make me an effective teacher even while my inner landscape was in shambles. ~ Lyn Barrett
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Laura was the part of me who gave birth to my children, raised them, and loved them. I had gotten pregnant two months after John and I married, an uneventful pregnancy but a traumatic delivery that brought me close to death. Yet Lizzy emerged alive and well with forceps marks around her temples.
Unbeknownst to me, the birth canal that had pushed Lizzy into the world also pushed forward the mothering me whose name I would later learn was Laura. I was co-conscious and had no idea that Laura was a separate part of me. She was alive and vivacious in the early years of my marriage, loving her children, loving her husband, loving her life. I/she discovered deep wells of love that I never knew existed when I mothered my children. I/she felt complete in the easygoing affection our family shared back and forth in our lives together. I/she identified as an effective and fulfilled mom who provided a nurturing environment for my children and a happy place for my family.
“Come here, all you little goofballs,” I had called out to Lizzy and Kimmy from under my big warm quilt when they were preschoolers. We cuddled until everyone was exhausted with giggles.
“How about I make my fantastic carne molida for dinner after we have an afternoon quickie?” I had whispered into John’s ear when the kids were playing outdoors and we had a minute or two to ourselves.
“Let’s make cookies together.” I had rescued Chuckie from the television set and another episode of Sesame Street. He scrambled up to the counter, and we became chefs supreme while the older kids were engaged in their own interests. These actions were all expressions of the Laura who was me, who loved her husband and her children.
Other than her initial introduction in my journal, Laura never spoke to me. I knew Laura existed separate from me mainly by her absence. She abandoned our family to protect herself from both internal and external danger. Her/my outer veneer had begun to peel away during student teaching, leaving her vulnerable and frightened. Her/my growing children’s needs were more complex, confounding her simple approach to loving babies and toddlers. Her/my husband seemed distant and unapproachable, setting off internal alarms. The mood swings of the other parts she shared headspace with made the idyllic life of a loving mother increasingly elusive. Laura wasn’t sure what this meant, but in her mind, it foretold a coming doom. She didn’t disappear entirely and made appearances in the classroom on a regular basis. But her infidelity to my children was heartbreaking.
I had long given up on Laura returning home, but I implored her to reappear in the classroom after a stretch of low energy with my students had prevented me from teaching with heart. I’m so tired I could drop, I wrote in my journal. I’ve finished my work and I’m in bed, but I want to write to say this. I feel so scared that I don’t know who I am. That person who teaches the kids and loves my children so much is the person I thought was me. That was my identity as an adult for so many years. I lost that person, or that feeling. It has been scary and depressing to lose the me I know, identify with, respect, and love. But I did. I couldn’t explain it and I still can’t, but maybe I can a little bit now.
Paula, on the other hand, felt no such angst. She was the professional part of me who was connected to Laura in some unconscious way; they were partners and worked together to make my life more effective. Paula seemed devoid of feelings and expressed them only when colluding with other alters in the system who had ample feelings to share. Her power was her fine mind, her critical thinking, and her professional ambition. While Laura was happy sitting on the floor with kids, Paula hobnobbed with teachers, parents, administrators, and experts in the field.
Of course you can create a Good Value Store here in public school, just like you did at the Quaker school, said Paula in my mind. I had been thinking about replicating it in my new classroom but was afraid I couldn’t pull it off with the larger number of students. Just because you have twice as many children in one classroom doesn’t mean it won’t work. In fact, it may work even better. I’ll figure out the logistics and get in touch with the parents. I’ll check in with the principal too. Laura, you can work with the children because that’s what you do best. Nanny, it’s best for you to stay home with Rosie and stay out of the way. Lyn, you can be out front because that’s who everyone expects. We’ll invite all the other first-grade classrooms to attend. It will be a great learning experience and a lot of fun for everyone. With her usual competence and organizational skills, Paula hosted, collaboratively with me and other alters, an event that created a buzz in the whole school.
Paula had some magical way of transforming my other alters when they joined together in the classroom. When Paula attached to Laura, I was the sensitive, responsive teacher who loved children and, at the same time, took happy games and turned them into top-notch curriculum goals. When she merged with Sylvia, I was the powerful, alive teacher who was the ultimate professional. When Paula merged with Laura and Sylvia together, I was at my best with my students. I was proud of Paula’s accomplishments and, by proxy, proud of myself.
Sadly, there were no negotiated partnerships in my home life where it seemed the danger to Laura had been initiated. With Laura gone, I was alone in parenting while Rosie was crying, Nanny was exhausted, Mike was fighting to move me forward, Sylvia was dying to go dancing, others were doing their own thing, and I had no idea these parts of me even existed. I just thought I was crazy. Laura may have carried the love for my children, but she was a part of me, and I loved them too, even if without feeling. With her gone, I had to relearn, over time, how to feel love, and I barely know how to put that process into words. I just went through the motions until the feelings eventually reappeared.
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Laura was the part of me who gave birth to my children, raised them, and loved them. I had gotten pregnant two months after John and I married, an uneventful pregnancy but a traumatic delivery that brought me close to death. Yet Lizzy emerged alive and well with forceps marks around her temples.
Unbeknownst to me, the birth canal that had pushed Lizzy into the world also pushed forward the mothering me whose name I would later learn was Laura. I was co-conscious and had no idea that Laura was a separate part of me. She was alive and vivacious in the early years of my marriage, loving her children, loving her husband, loving her life. I/she discovered deep wells of love that I never knew existed when I mothered my children. I/she felt complete in the easygoing affection our family shared back and forth in our lives together. I/she identified as an effective and fulfilled mom who provided a nurturing environment for my children and a happy place for my family.
“Come here, all you little goofballs,” I had called out to Lizzy and Kimmy from under my big warm quilt when they were preschoolers. We cuddled until everyone was exhausted with giggles.
“How about I make my fantastic carne molida for dinner after we have an afternoon quickie?” I had whispered into John’s ear when the kids were playing outdoors and we had a minute or two to ourselves.
“Let’s make cookies together.” I had rescued Chuckie from the television set and another episode of Sesame Street. He scrambled up to the counter, and we became chefs supreme while the older kids were engaged in their own interests. These actions were all expressions of the Laura who was me, who loved her husband and her children.
Other than her initial introduction in my journal, Laura never spoke to me. I knew Laura existed separate from me mainly by her absence. She abandoned our family to protect herself from both internal and external danger. Her/my outer veneer had begun to peel away during student teaching, leaving her vulnerable and frightened. Her/my growing children’s needs were more complex, confounding her simple approach to loving babies and toddlers. Her/my husband seemed distant and unapproachable, setting off internal alarms. The mood swings of the other parts she shared headspace with made the idyllic life of a loving mother increasingly elusive. Laura wasn’t sure what this meant, but in her mind, it foretold a coming doom. She didn’t disappear entirely and made appearances in the classroom on a regular basis. But her infidelity to my children was heartbreaking.
I had long given up on Laura returning home, but I implored her to reappear in the classroom after a stretch of low energy with my students had prevented me from teaching with heart. I’m so tired I could drop, I wrote in my journal. I’ve finished my work and I’m in bed, but I want to write to say this. I feel so scared that I don’t know who I am. That person who teaches the kids and loves my children so much is the person I thought was me. That was my identity as an adult for so many years. I lost that person, or that feeling. It has been scary and depressing to lose the me I know, identify with, respect, and love. But I did. I couldn’t explain it and I still can’t, but maybe I can a little bit now.
Paula, on the other hand, felt no such angst. She was the professional part of me who was connected to Laura in some unconscious way; they were partners and worked together to make my life more effective. Paula seemed devoid of feelings and expressed them only when colluding with other alters in the system who had ample feelings to share. Her power was her fine mind, her critical thinking, and her professional ambition. While Laura was happy sitting on the floor with kids, Paula hobnobbed with teachers, parents, administrators, and experts in the field.
Of course you can create a Good Value Store here in public school, just like you did at the Quaker school, said Paula in my mind. I had been thinking about replicating it in my new classroom but was afraid I couldn’t pull it off with the larger number of students. Just because you have twice as many children in one classroom doesn’t mean it won’t work. In fact, it may work even better. I’ll figure out the logistics and get in touch with the parents. I’ll check in with the principal too. Laura, you can work with the children because that’s what you do best. Nanny, it’s best for you to stay home with Rosie and stay out of the way. Lyn, you can be out front because that’s who everyone expects. We’ll invite all the other first-grade classrooms to attend. It will be a great learning experience and a lot of fun for everyone. With her usual competence and organizational skills, Paula hosted, collaboratively with me and other alters, an event that created a buzz in the whole school.
Paula had some magical way of transforming my other alters when they joined together in the classroom. When Paula attached to Laura, I was the sensitive, responsive teacher who loved children and, at the same time, took happy games and turned them into top-notch curriculum goals. When she merged with Sylvia, I was the powerful, alive teacher who was the ultimate professional. When Paula merged with Laura and Sylvia together, I was at my best with my students. I was proud of Paula’s accomplishments and, by proxy, proud of myself.
Sadly, there were no negotiated partnerships in my home life where it seemed the danger to Laura had been initiated. With Laura gone, I was alone in parenting while Rosie was crying, Nanny was exhausted, Mike was fighting to move me forward, Sylvia was dying to go dancing, others were doing their own thing, and I had no idea these parts of me even existed. I just thought I was crazy. Laura may have carried the love for my children, but she was a part of me, and I loved them too, even if without feeling. With her gone, I had to relearn, over time, how to feel love, and I barely know how to put that process into words. I just went through the motions until the feelings eventually reappeared.
Photo Credit: Greer Cicarelli
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Lyn Barrett is the author of Crazy: Reclaiming Life from the Shadow of Traumatic Memory (Koehler Books: Publication date ~ January 3, 2022) and DID Unpacked: A Parable (available on Amazon).
Lyn is a speaker, retreat leader and survivor of early childhood trauma as well as a retired elementary school teacher, school principal and church pastor. At the age of 45, Lyn was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder, now known as dissociative identity disorder (DID). From happy wife and mother to a suicidal woman who felt the crazy fog of dissociation take over her life, she embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets that overwhelmed her. After suffering decades of inner chaos and deep pain, Lyn now lives a fulfilling and integrated life and considers herself a whole person again. Lyn is thankful for her wonderful therapist, friends, and her own dogged determination to heal. Lyn currently facilitates writers workshops and teaches a memoir class for dissociative writers. She writes weekly blogs and a newsletter, and speaks on public radio, podcasts, and in other settings. Lyn holds advanced degrees from Lehigh University and Lancaster Theological Seminary. Follow Lyn on:
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