By Dr. Jeanne King, Ph.D.

A discussion between domestic abuse survivors opened the door for me being reminded of one of the most fundamental keys to my own survival package: self-compassion.

When we think of compassion, we often think of that as being toward another. Domestic abuse survivors are excellent at being responsive to other’s feelings and desires. Let’s face it they are pros at it. It is/was a survival mechanism at home/in the battering relationship.

I’m talking about the other compassion. That is compassion directed toward oneself. The following little “chicken soup” story says it well. This story was authored years ago. Its message is timeless.

She Is Hiding
By Jeanne King, Ph.D.

People see what we project, and then we wonder why they think of us in the way they do. It was September 2001, days before 9/11, and the first time I left my new home where I retreated to regroup and recover from sixteen years of battering. Hundreds of men and women, mostly women, flooded the convention resort for an International Conference on Family Violence and Sexual Assault in San Diego.

The hotel check-in line looped up and down over a half a dozen times to contain all those checking in, with people and luggage filling the remaining corners. I parked myself in the line and it did indeed feel as though we were parked. The ambient sounds of greetings coupled with the moans of fatigue made for a very interesting wait.

I was preoccupied with my internal anxiety over whether or not my friend’s credit card would allow me passage through registration. Credit cards were no longer a part of my life. My credit was another of the many things that ended when I fled my state to salvage my life and avert an oncoming crash. My life was truly in danger. I had become so accustomed to danger that one could see the expectation of it in my eyes on occasion even before my being aware of feeling it.

It was my turn and with the registration form before me I hesitated and said, “Do you need all of this information.”
“Just your name, address and telephone number,” replied the clerk.

I had not seen nor written my name and address on the same page since fleeing into hiding. And my telephone number, that was out of the question. There was no way I was giving him my telephone number or my address. In fact, I don’t think he even had my correct name. The tension was growing.

After much deliberation, my identity though altered was cleared. Next came the issue of credit or cash. The clerk already becoming a bit suspicious with me leaned over to consult with his associate.

A flustered woman, standing an arms reach from me, caught my eye as she was negotiating her registration. She, too, appeared to have a problem with completing the registration form. In a huff, she pulled a wade of bills out of her over-sized purse and counted out full payment for her three-day stay in cash.

I looked at her and thought to myself, she looks like a criminal. And then it occurred to me, so do I. She looked like she was hiding something with her refusal to give her address and phone number. I realized she’s not hiding anything; she is hiding.

We connected during the conference and low and behold, this woman was underground. Fake name, no address, no credit card…gypsy-like, suspicious, unstable. This woman was running and she was the victim. Since meeting her, I have placed a blanket of compassion around my own actions evolving out of fear and self-protection, and with others I do not judge.

© 2004-2007 by Jeanne King, Ph.D. All Rights Reserved.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 13th, 2007 at 9:07 pm and is filed under Healing Insights. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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