What Narcissists don’t know about love
This Christmas, here’s a story about real love
For many years, I associated love with manipulation and guilt. Growing up, that was the only way it was ever expressed to me. Even Christmas presents made me feel guilty. That’s how abuse works. A child absorbs the negative messages and something as wonderful as love gets garbled.
Sometimes we get so lost in trauma, it’s hard to imagine anything else. Trauma survivors have a tough time at Christmas. All those mixed messages coupled with the sorrow of our past make it hard to endure the holidays. For this last newsletter of the year, I want to share a story about love. I hope it will encourage you.
Over the years there have been a handful of people who seem to drop into my life just to remind me that there is good in the world and that trauma does not always have the last word. For me, one of those people was Pam Ellis. I met Pam when my husband and I moved to Germany as a young married couple. My husband flew helicopters for the air force and neither of us could believe our luck when we got stationed in Europe. Pam was one of the first friendships I made.
She was a fellow Virginian which meant a lot when you were living so far away from home. The other military families were wonderful, but Pam was special. Being from the same state, we knew the same places, understood the same recipes and talked with the same accent. Pam had a unique way of seeing the deep part of you and making you feel like “the best thing on God’s green earth.”
I knew Pam long before I began to deal with the trauma of my childhood—but it was there, unseen yet churning away. Pam didn’t know about any of that, but somehow, she sensed the one thing I needed more than anything else was love. And she gave me that in spades.
We had two short years together before Pam and her family returned to the United States. She moved out west and we eventually moved back to Virginia where I would begin the long, arduous process of coming to terms with my family and the abuse of my childhood. Those long ago days in Europe faded from memory, and I was swept into a vortex of depression and suffering from which I thought I would never emerge. Pam and I lost touch, but I never forgot her.
Thirty years would pass before my husband and I decided to do a hail Mary and move across the country. Staying in Virginia was keeping me stuck, and my husband was unhappy with his job. We decided we had nothing to lose. Off we went, me riding shot gun in a Uhaul, Tiny the chihuahua sleeping in the middle.
As we chugged across the country, my husband broke the news. “Rebekah, I found Pam Ellis through the internet. She and Mark live in Texas.”
“What?” I said. I could not believe it. “I’ve always wondered where they went and how they were doing. Did you contact them?”
“I sure did. It just so happens we’re going to go right through their city and they’ve asked us to stop and spend the night so we can renew our friendship. I have her phone number. Why don’t you give her a call.”
Thirty years disappeared as Pam’s sweet voice came through the phone. “Child, I can’t believe ya’ll are coming to see us! Great Glory Day! Mark nearly fell out when he heard.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Same old Pam.
Arriving late at our hotel, Pam had been up to her old tricks. Plates filled with goodies awaited us. She even remembered to include forks, napkins and a note of greeting. I couldn’t wait to see her the next day.
As soon as she wrapped her arms around me, my story of trauma began to spill out. She listened and I talked and talked and talked. That’s when the magic happened.
“Rebekah, I want to show you something.” I followed Pam into her hallway. There on her walls hung picture after picture of our time in Germany. Places we had been together the things we had seen. I was flooded with memories. And there, tucked in between everything was a dumb sign I had painted all those years ago. Made of white geese and Williamsburg blue hearts it said “Welcome.” It was straight out of the 1980’s.
Pam had saved it. Had moved across the world with it. Had proudly hung it on her wall. I didn’t even remember giving it to her. It came from a time before the awful losses took everything—and Pam had saved it. The moment I saw it, it was as if Pam had saved me. My mother tried to destroy everything and here was Pam—cherishing a craft project I did when I was twenty-three. She cared enough to remember me through all those years and I did not even know it. Smiling through my tears, I looked up at the old craft project. Love, demonstrated before my very eyes.
Love is patient, love is kind, It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
Thanks Pam
