McMusing: Carrying the Lemonade
Part Two of last week's McMusing: Compassion that Transforms
Last week’s McMusing Compassion that Transforms discussed the difference between judgment-based and trauma-sensitive compassion. It was primarily about the compassion we offer others within church or community service. Inherent in trauma-sensitive compassion are these two questions:
What happened to this person that is causing them to struggle?
How can I walk with them on a journey of healing that will allow them to draw closer to God?
A subscriber asked: “How do you [have compassion] for the people who have harmed you?” That is a far more difficult question to answer and what is expressed below is calling for compassion with boundaries and compassionate accountability.
“I have spent far too long trying to understand them—they have much of their own trauma and I do understand what shaped them. Yet I still get so angry at them and want to fix them, despite knowing that I can’t. It is hard to have both compassion and want justice and them to stop hurting others at the same time.”
I think this is THE most difficult part about all this. What would accountability look like in situations that defy any hope of change or fixing? Especially in toxic family relationships that seem ongoing even into adulthood. I do not even begin to claim to have answers in these situations.
Over the years, I have watched as survivors of parental abuse or neglect struggle with the end-of-life concerns of parents who never changed their toxic interactions. Those adult children who choose to have no contact with their parents do not do this as a spur-of-the-moment decision. It is a long, complicated, painful process, as is choosing to continue in the relationship with compassionate accountability.
I wanted to stop and acknowledge this before finishing last week’s topic.
I concluded last week’s McMusing by saying, “Trauma-sensitive compassion is based on understanding how our stories impact us. It grows from healing our wounds and realizing that behavior is only a symptom that provides clues to our stories and opens a path to transformation.”
For the most part, if I understand the story well enough, people make complete sense. I always believed this but didn’t apply it very well until I did the work to understand myself. This enabled me to stop trying to fix them and develop relationships instead.
Sometimes we do compassion like drone pilots. The work of compassion is done—but we are distanced from the messy action. Far too often compassion programs allow us to feel compassionate as a church body. This doesn’t encourage change in any but those directly involved in the program. Yes, we help them—do we help us?
Granted, we cannot be fully engaged in compassionate relationships with everyone; we can develop a culture where everyone carries the lemonade to one other person. Wait. Lemonade? Let me explain by sharing a story that felt compassionate at the time, but now in hindsight allowed me to feel compassionate but did not display trauma-sensitive compassion. This was not my best moment.
Many years ago, I attended a church with a large bus ministry. For the most part, the children arrived and remained in the children’s wing of the building. The children’s workers showed compassion to these children and we all felt good about how our tithes were used to support the ministry.
The parents of the children very rarely walked in the church door. There was one exception—a woman with two children. She began to bring her children to church and attend the Sunday morning service. She often fell asleep and would end up leaning on the person next to her. I never found out why. Was it a medical problem? Did she work nights? I don’t know. I simply chose my pew carefully.
Then my two-doors-down neighbors moved away and rented their house—to the woman and her children. I wondered how she afforded the rent—well, actually she couldn’t and one day we came home to see all their belongings piled up in the yard. It was a hot, humid Missouri day, and she was sitting in the middle of the piles.
And I sent my teenage daughter over with lemonade.
Ouch! If anyone has me on a pedestal, please help me down. Knowing how profoundly my trauma was impacting me during that time helps me to be gentle with my younger adult self. I was desperate to hide the ways I struggled and engaging with the woman’s struggles felt uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable with the struggles of others is a natural outcome of the need to process trauma.
By sending my daughter over with the lemonade, I displayed compassion; I did not display trauma-sensitive compassion. I couldn’t, but there was more to it. I can now recognize my underlying—incorrect—assumption. I believed that she was the cause of her own problems—she needed fixing. (I also believed that about myself.)
Sending the lemonade felt compassionate and also enabled me to maintain a relational distance. This is what we do when we are uncomfortable being engaged with those who struggle. The only thing that changed my perceptions was deeply understanding the impact of trauma—that began with understanding myself.
Understanding the impact of trauma changed me. It isn’t enough to send a book out to carry my compassion (lemonade). I want to know the stories. I want to help others feel seen and heard. I am only one person, but I am determined--whenever it is possible-- to carry the lemonade myself.