A Trunk Full of Shame

An ancestral inheritance of toxic gifts

It was a week later. Amy had invited her friends, Debra, Thea and Alex, to the Bible Study at her church to meet Paula and Joel. Her friend, Laneita, was the main speaker. Amy knew Laneita’s story and wanted her friends to hear it and discuss it with her.

After the opening prayers, worship songs and introductions, Laneita was invited to speak. It was pretty chilly, and she was dressed in a warm woolly jacket. Her wavy blonde hair peeped out from under her knitted cap, and her green eyes glistened warmly at everyone. “Let me tell you a story…”, she said as she made herself comfortable on her chair within the circle.

...it was not just a story; it was a deep wound she inherited, impacting every breath and choice she made.

A trunk full of shame

In a rural North Carolina town near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lived nine children in a one-bedroom house that some would say was a shack. The mother, a strong woman, was living; the father was deceased, stolen from life early when there was still so much to be done. Poverty in white and black rural America in the 1930s and 1940s was widespread, dismal and despairing. There seemed to be no way out of the utter lack, no escape from the dust and desperation. It was December, the weather was severe, and the struggles were harder. Christmas was a luxury. The nine children counted themselves lucky when they were each promised a glass bottle of Coca-Cola for Christmas. But the cold and frost tore through their excitement when they woke up on Christmas morning to find that their drinks were frozen, and the bottles cracked from the cold. As the mother looked at their tattered clothes and sad faces, she knew it would take sheer grit to escape this poverty. Jobs were scarce, with only those willing to work in any capacity able to survive. Life was about earning every step and every bite of food, hand to mouth, day to day. It was not about fairness.

Schooling was a luxury. Going to 5th or 6th grade was enough because by then, the child would be strong enough to work and bring in money to support the family. No one had any ambitions. It was only about survival.

Fast forward to 1969, when a young girl was born into this family. This story would be told to her many times during her childhood, but to her, it was not just a story; it was a deep wound she inherited, impacting every breath and choice she made. Adversities such as physical and emotional neglect or abuse find each other, like a bee to pollen and then the pollen is spread, or in this case, the adversity spreads. Not all troubles are the same, with some people bringing neglect, others bringing abuse or the confusion and pain of community in conflict. When two individuals merge their different adversities, these will often be combined and passed to the next generation.

I was the girl born in 1969, another receptacle of merged adversities. Although I had overcome the lack, the dust and the desperation, and my life had many more monetary opportunities; it did not protect me from thought processes that would increase the risk of even further damages. In some ways, my life was so much better, but the challenges were more considerable in other ways. What a complex ancestral inheritance I received without either parent knowing they were giving me toxic gifts. My parents did the best they could, but the gifts of shame, abuse, toxic family dynamics, beliefs, behaviors and culture poured into me. They, trapped in their own journeys, attempted to break free by finding job security. They became masters of a trade that would promote their financial status and allow them to thrive in safe ways they never had. They joined a local church, looking for acceptance and safety, attempting to mirror the church and community actions. But what they and I found was a trunk full of shame always thrust upon us, a heavy burden that we had nowhere to put. The church became a zone of judgement, and our family cell became two things; the first was how the church saw us, which were the ones to be talked about, judged and used as an example of what not to be and then secondly, the family that carried secrets, never spoken of or shared for fear of more judgement or embarrassment. The church did not accept divorcees or singleparents and held deeply racist beliefs to the point that my mother was contacted and warned about letting me be friends with a biracial child. This child ended her life. The church provided a breeding ground where deep and dark traumas could never be shared for fear of their harsh judgement. I felt abandoned by people and by God. The church did not accept divorcees or single-parents and held deeply racist beliefs...

They struggled with me not becoming a glossed, painted, quiet, meek female drinking their harmful beliefs and denial.

During one event of sexual abuse, I remember holding my Bible, which was pulled from my hands and tossed across the room as I was asked, “Where is your God now?” I didn’t tell my parents or the church. Why would I? The church held just as much of a warped, twisted belief as many abusers. I would have been shamed and accused of being the cause while the abusers would be protected by beliefs that “They could never do that!”. The more trauma I experienced, the more pain I carried, and the more hate grew in me, not for the perpetrators but for the church. I could see my family story, their pain, grief, sorrow, fears, anger, struggles and grit to survive, but I no longer respected the many Christians around me. They no longer liked me, the person who would speak about sex, abortion, drugs, alcohol, HIV, or anything that was a cultural taboo. They would discourage any talk of such things while I encouraged understanding and root causes. I told my pastor about the marital abuse I suffered, many kinds, but he just said it was my job to submit and then preached on the female’s role to the man the following Sunday. I eventually divorced, and that was deeply judged and laced with shame. People who divorce, have biracial relationships, are LGBTQ, have had an abortion, struggle with addiction, promiscuity, or were Muslims, Catholics, Jews or Jehovah’s Witnesses, would all go to hell and are to be avoided. I didn’t believe in their hell, fire and fury approach. I believed God loves all and knows each journey and their story, understanding challenges we are often blind to. My thoughts were not controlled by fear but by love, which was foreign to my church. Eventually, I was asked to leave the church I had attended since I was two-years-old. “It’s probably not the right fit for you.” I was told. I had not missed a Sunday service for 14 years. It did not matter. What mattered was that I didn’t fit their specific profile of being a white, rural Christian, who submitted herself to her husband no matter the abuse. They struggled with me not becoming a glossed, painted, quiet, meek female drinking their harmful beliefs and denial. When asked to leave the church, I vowed to break away from such poisonous mentalities and sought healing from sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and centuries of transmitted ancestral trauma. I decided I would devote myself to the next generation by becoming a seeker and ferocious learner of what trauma can do to us neurologically, socially, physiologically, and psychologically. And what to do about it.

I studied, worked, and bled, confronting my sticky demons in counseling, and eventually emerging with some self-worth and value. Thirty years I did this, thirty years without the church. Then one day, I knew others didn’t have to wait thirty years to have support, and I created a curriculum called Trauma Informed Care, based on research around adverse childhood experiences. The curriculum gives knowledge, understanding, and respect for our shared experiences in a judgment-free zone, allowing and promoting self-paced healing. That is what happened to me, and that is what I am doing now. Thank you.

A quiet room yet you could almost hear the questions, the wonder, the empathy, the anger, and the shame flowing inside and between the people as they absorbed the story. Debra was left aghast by the beautiful and honest way Laneita talked about the legacy of shame and church stigma she had to endure. Even though she had gone through such emotional trauma and abuse, Laneita showed grace for her family. Alex felt shame and anger at a church doing the opposite of everything any church should stand for. How did they justify themselves? How did they look in the mirror? Amy was left thinking about the cycle of poverty and the intergenerational patterns of hardship, abuse and trauma. She tried to imagine how the abject poverty that Laneita's mother and her family had to endure must have left little or no room to question their own abuse, how their spirits must have been ground down and how all kinds of abuse were thus given free rein. Thea had not expected a story like this. She was drawn to the underlying story of Laneita’s mother, a victim for her whole life of the church patriarchy. What abuse had she endured? What stories are never told? And here was Laneita, a superwoman, enduring unimaginable pain for so long and yet finding the courage to break that cycle of abuse and emerging to tell such a story, a testament to resilience and faith.

Then one day, I knew others didn’t have to wait thirty years to have support, and I created a curriculum called Trauma Informed Care, based on research around adverse childhood experiences.

When we learn to not look at or judge the action but to understand the life course of a person it opens a space for deep healing, ...

A soft voice from the back came through the silence. “May I ask a question? How did you endure and not become defeated? How did you stand up to them? And if I may ask, what was your relationship with your parents in all of this?” Laneita looked across the room and swallowed.

“My parent’s sheer determination to move out of poverty, out of the shack, into the middle class, allowed me the space, in the next generation, to tackle the abuse and toxic beliefs and to break the silence.

“But even then, to be honest with you, I was scared to my bones. I feared more judgment, mockery and being isolated and punished. When you stand up to abuse, you risk more abuse. I also feared it would hurt others, but I had my parent’s fight and grit to survive, so I pushed forward. “When there is intergenerational abuse, we can easily blame our parents and their parents, but remember that they often had to endure the same, if not worse, abuse. The point is to break the cycle and to ensure that our children are free and safe in every way.” After a listening pause, another question came. “Can you say more about the Trauma Informed Care curriculum, please?” “Yes, it’s a combination of science and humanity coming together to see the whole person, helping them to think about what has occurred in their lives that created the risk of reactive coping through drugs, alcohol, high-risk behaviors, multiple sexual partners, violence, or repeating abuse and neglect. When we learn to not look at or judge the action but to understand the life course of a person it opens a space for deep healing, providing opportunities to help another person out of their own shack of poverty, whether literal or metaphoric, if they so choose. You know, in some ways, it’s a scientifically backed approach to why we should approach people like Jesus did. Jesus’ loving and non-judgmental approach to those on the margins created open spaces for healing and pathways to hope.

“The guiding principles are to be a safe space for others in life, to be a trustworthy and transparent person, to work with others where they are in their journey or pain through mutual collaboration, to empower and offer a different lens or choice beside hell and fire, to be a peer support of understanding and compassion, considering what has happened to a person instead of what is wrong with them, including cultural, historical and gender challenges. “These principles came from Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), and they teach more about working with self and others than I received in 14 years in a church. The curriculum explains how the brain can change during times of adversity in childhood which increases the risk for changes in thoughts, impulse control, mood, executive function, behaviors, etc. Once we realize that adversities, family culture, community and environment impact a person’s trajectory in life, we understand root causes that allow us to help the person process through those specific and individual barriers to heal. When we learn to find root causes, instead of judging without understanding, it creates a shift in our paradigm in how we love one another and how we view and assist everyone with gentle grace. It has been a turning point in my life and others. “I’m proud of this journey and work, but more so I’m happy to have met like-minded people that walk onto the battlefield, instead of circling like a helicopter from above. The actual outcome of the curriculum has caused me and others to grow in ways we could never have foreseen. It’s still hard for me to believe, but for the first time ever I know that our world is shifting. I hope to rest soon, release some of this fighting energy that has become part of my presence and open myself up even more to the love and healing energy of the wise wounded healers that are all around us. “I have spoken enough. Can I invite anyone else here to share some reflections?” Amy raised a hand to speak. “As you experienced and many of us have seen, the reality for far too many is that institutions of worship have often turned into places of judgment, stigmatization, traumatization, and shame. Is this essentially what the Trauma Informed Care is addressing, Laneita?” “Yes, Amy. In Matthew 11: 28-29, Jesus invites the hearer into community with a simple yet powerful invitation: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavily-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (ESV). I would suggest it is time for communities of faith to embrace the concept of being “comfortable with the uncomfortable” and to take action to repair harm. ‘... Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’