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It is far, far too late for me to personally have warm fuzzy thoughts about what human attachment is, what it means, or about what it is SUPPOSED to accomplish for human beings.

I do not attach – in essence – any remote vague thinking to this term.  I can see quite objectively what it is – and what it does.

Certainly humans are born one year too early.  The massive size of our brains of course does not allow us to remain in the womb as long as we SHOULD be there.  But even though we are born into this big wide world being powerless to make sure our survival needs are met, we are not helpless.  From the moment we are born we apply a wide range of attachment-seeking behaviors designed to elicit help from those into whose care we have been born.

How our attempts to take care of ourselves from birth are received by our mother — first of all and most importantly — signals to our most-rapidly growing body and brain what kind of world we have been born into.

Attentive, appropriate, warm, loving, safe, secure — if we are met with those kinds of benevolent responses we will grow one kind of body-brain.

Inattentive, inappropriate, nasty, hateful, neglectful, hurtful — unsafe, insecure — those responses will signal to our rapidly growing body-brain that we have been born into a world that is malevolent.

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Attachment must happen on some level to meet our basic physiological needs – obviously – or our body will die.

Past those basic needs being met, lack of full safe and secure attachment interactions with our mother and other earliest caregivers will interfere with our physiological development in all kinds of ways.  We will be forced to live the rest of our life in a body, with a brain, that has – in effect – been tampered with by trauma given to us by people who do not have our best interests in mind.  These people – no matter what the reasons are that they did not care for us as we needed to BEST be cared for — were our enemies.

Anything less than near-perfect, near-ideal caregiving to a newborn (not to ignore that the patterns within the womb determine with great power the condition of the newborn) signals from birth that this new tiny human has essentially been born into a world at war.  The unsafely and insecurely attached infant’s physiology will respond to this world at war as if it has to fight for its very life.

We need to think of attachment in terms of communication about the conditions of the world that take place through patterns of interactions between the infant and its caregivers.

Through primarily the signals a mother first gives to an infant every system in the tiny one’s body is alerted to the conditions of the world it has been born into.  Either this world is safe or it is not.

If a mother herself received signals from her early environment that told her body-brain that the world was not safe she very likely has a body-brain of her own that has no choice but to signal to her infant that this world that she has brought her infant into is at war.  Yes, there are mothers that can overcome a great many of these patterns to give her infant signals that the world is ‘good enough’ to survive in, but there is no way that an unsafely and insecurely-built mother can transfer the clear message that this world is entirely safe to her infant.

We thus have generations within families in which insecure attachment within an unsafe world is the norm.

Within these families trauma from the past is simply communicated through signals based on attachment interactions between mother and other caregivers of babies.  Most often there are many other patterns of danger enmeshed with all interactions within these families so that trauma continues to escalate through the generations.  These families have lost the information that the world CAN ever be safe.

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This is the simplest description of how signals from a mother communicate the condition of the world to her offspring who then have no choice but to adapt and adjust their physiological development in accordance with the signals they have been given.

Research with rats translates across the board to conditions within the human body, whether we like this fact or not.

Take two rat mothers.  One is calm calm calm.  The other is anxious anxious anxious.

When the calm mother has babies and is allowed to raise them herself her entire litter has been found by researchers to end up calm calm calm.

When the anxious mother has babies and is allowed to raise them herself her entire litter turns out anxious anxious anxious.

Now, if at birth the offspring of the calm mother rat are immediately given to the anxious mother rat, and if the anxious mother’s offspring are given to the calm mother rat — we KNOW what happens.

All the born-to-calm-mother babies that were given to the anxious mother grow up anxious.

All the born-to-anxious mother babies that were given to the calm mother grow up calm.

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I think the reference for this research is in this book:

The Mind’s Own Physician: A Scientific Dialogue with the Dalai Lama on the Healing Power of Meditation by Jon Kabat-Zinn PhD and Richard Davidson PhD (Jan 2, 2012)

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All the interactions between primarily mothers and offspring communicate — in absolute essence — exactly what the conditions of the world are so that the physiological development of the offspring can adjust itself on all possible levels to match the kind of world the mother is ‘telling’ her babies exists.

In the case of rats, calm mothers signal through their every interaction with babies that the world is safe and the little ones are secure in it.  These babies get a body-brain that matches the conditions of the world the mother has communicated to the baby.

An anxious mother signals the opposite and development of her babies goes in the other direction.

Anxious, in human terms, translates as the presence of trauma and the absence of adequate resources for continued survival = malevolent world.

Calm translates as the absence of trauma and the presence of adequate resources = benevolent world.

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The kinds and quality of earliest ATTACHMENT interactions between a mother and her offspring is the tool that nature uses to signal to the offspring about the degrees of safety and security in the world so that the physiological development of the offspring can adjust its development to best ensure continued survival.

It is during the earliest most-rapid and critical stages of body-brain development that this signalling happens.  In this way the conditions of the world build the body-brain at the same time they build themselves into the body-brain.  On all the most important levels of development these early attachment signals create permanent adjustments that will last for the lifetime of the offspring.

I call this Trauma Altered Development (TAD), and I believe it is the underlying root of most patterns of difficulties in life that most people face.

Any time an individual displays unusually difficult patterns of existence over the course of their lifetime, it is exactly to these earliest attachment interactions that we MUST look to understand the changes that were made in the very body-brain this individual lives with in response to signals it received during the first 33 months of life (conception to age 2) about the conditions of the world.

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A most unusual thing has happened (for me).  I don’t know how long this will last.  I don’t know where this came from or why.  Suddenly – yesterday afternoon – a most unique feeling came over me –

I feel HAPPY!!

HAPPY?

You can bet I am exploring this gift.  To bed last night exhausted at 8:00 p.m. and up this morning at 4:30 a.m. – WAY beyond the sun.  My hopeful condition was matched by pulling up dear ole Pandora radio on my computer as I now vibrate the walls of my house – and beyond – with my favorite music – Latin.  (I figure if my neighbors here my fantastic beats they won’t mind, living as we do exactly on the Mexican-American border line.)  Meanwhile I am blasting away the obnoxious droning sound of those massive generator lights Border Patrol has set up too close to anyone’s house – certainly mine.

What has HAPPENED to me?  Is this temporary, like the passing of a storm before the next one arrives – unexpected, demanding my FULLEST ATTENTION?

I cannot say.

Something about putting two pieces of self-knowledge together – and then – of all things – owned them and accepted them with – what?  GLADNESS?

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Now, to some readers who were not severely abused from birth in a universe of darkest trauma, who were instead loved and cherished and cared for as infants and children are SUPPOSED to be, this might seem a wide stretch from something positive to know and love about one’s self.

But….

Here I am, celebrating these two pieces of information that are at this moment glued together in my conscious awareness – as the acceptance of them has changed how my body is feeling into CONFIDENCE that underlies my JOY.

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One:  I DO NOT NEED PEOPLE LIKE OTHER PEOPLE DO!  The first person who pointed this out to me some 20 years ago was a spiritually gifted Native American medicine man.  So I’m a bit slow.  So it took me these 20 passing years to FEEL the reality and therefore the truth of what he knew.

Two:  EVEN THOUGH I WAS NOT BORN NOT TO NEED PEOPLE (like other people do), THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO ME THROUGH NO CHOICE OF MY OWN.  What this means to me today is that I do not have to compromise what I feel in order to make other people happy.

WHAT?

Walk away from people, put distance between myself and them (not everybody, mind you – just those who quite frankly irritate the pe-jabbers out of me!), and let them freely do whatever it is they do to beg attention like so many leeches from somebody else.

I don’t even have to spend my energy, any of it, worrying about ‘explaining myself’ to them.

It is not my job to change people.  It is not my job to fix them or to make them happy or to fill up their lonely places.

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Today I realize how LUCKY I am!!  I can whine — and believe me, I’ve done plenty of that over the years, that I miss things like “knowing what it feels like to be loved” — or I can accept with pleasure the fact that I don’t have to walk down that street – the street where so many strangers are really NOT able to accept the truths about how THEY were made – about what happened to them long ago in their lives that created these big ole empty holes inside of them that they would LOVE to fill — with ATTENTION from anybody who will give it to them.

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Well, perhaps I see this right now because I am fully occupied with my book-writing job that is uniquely mine – that I believe will eventually have power to help other human souls learn something new and helpful — if not just plain fascinating.  I owe nobody anything that does not feel to me like it’s coming directly from my own inner guidance system — that has set a definite course of action for me — that is MINE.

My task does not belong to anyone else.  It’s up to other people to find their own task – and to do it.  This kind of inner direction has the power (I discovered yesterday and still feel with benefit today) to make a person happy!

HAPPY!

Never mind I am waiting for the sun to come up – that special light in the sky that keeps our glorious planet dancing in its great wide orbit.  I am dressed from head to toe in my old work clothes, preparing to don my worn sturdy cowperson boots – going out to crawl around in the high desert dust of my nearly completed chicken vault to staple stucco wire around the rest of the inside of this coop.  My only concern will be how to keep the watered down white barn paint off of the tips of my boots.

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And through every moment of my day I will be writing a book in my mind.  There is nothing more important to demand my energy, my thoughts, the attention of my essence.

I was given this most amazing epic of tragedy to write about just as I was given my part in enduring, in living through it.  My life.  My life belongs to ME and to nobody else.

So – if you are of a mind to whine, snivel, beg and leech your way to MY attention today — get off of that horse and walk away.  You can leave the horse behind.  I LIKE horses.

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A month or so ago one of my sisters told me about a two page section within this book

The Marriage of the Sun and Moon: A Quest for Unity in Consciousness by Andrew Weil (Jul 23, 1998)

in which the writer describes the drug I believe was given to my mother (and therefore in some form also to me) during her very difficult and no doubt terrifying delivery of breech-birth me during the 24-hour period from the morning of August 30, 1957 until I breathed my first breath at 8:31 a.m. on August 31st.

I just read that passage and present it here for information only:

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Weil is describing Datura from the Nightshade family of which scopolamine is derived —

“During much of the twentieth century, scopolamine enjoyed great popularity in obstetrical medicine in the United states.  Under the name “twilight sleep,” it was injected into millions of women in labor to make them amnesic for the experience of childbirth.  Obstetricians thought of it as a drug that simply erased memory for a few hours, and women who did not want to know anything of their labor and delivery liked it in retrospect.  In 1966, as a third-year medical student in Boston, I took several weeks’ training in obstetrics at a prestigious teaching hospital where scopolamine was still in vogue, and I watched many women under its effects.  Anyone interested in altered states of consciousness who sees such cases will realize quickly that scopolamine is not simply an amnesic drug.  Rather, it causes extreme confusion and disorientation, especially to people in pain.  Women in labor who are “scoped” often appear agitated, hostile, even deranged.  They writhe, scream, curse, and groan — hardly behavior that justifies the seductive term “twilight sleep.”

“In my opinion, the amnesia that follows this traumatic experience is not a direct effect of scopolamine but an inability to maintain continuity of awareness through such violent distortions of consciousness.  The “scoped” woman is not unconscious.  Her ordinary waking consciousness is fragmented.  What comes through is primitive material from deep layers of the mind, strongly colored by pain and fear.  People well versed in the repertory of altered states, who are familiar with deep meditations and trances or have trained themselves in the art of conscious dreaming, might be able to retain awareness through a scopolamine-induced delirium and not be amnesic afterward.  People unfamiliar with such states do not have a chance.

“Far from simply erasing a portion of experience, scopolamine releases such intense energies from the unconscious that the experience is later repressed and becomes inaccessible in the ordinary waking state.  I have no doubt that women who deliver under scopolamine would recall their experiences under hypnosis and find them intensely unpleasant.  Neither do I doubt that scopolamine strongly influences the birth experience of the baby, if only because of the state of the mother.  Back in 1966, when obstetricians did not think of babies as conscious entities, no one considered this aspect of procedures in childbirth.  Today, women are more interested in participating consciously in childbirth, and some obstetricians think about the impact of what they do on the newborn.  Scopolamine, not unhappily, has passed out of general use.

“In labor, scopolamine delirium is violent and terrifying, but it is hard to know whether this quality is inherent in the drug or is a result of the drug in a particular situation.  Labor itself produces significant excitement and changes in consciousness.  Also, obstetricians always gave scopolamine in combination with opiates and other psychoactive drugs.

“If we look over accounts of Datura intoxication far from clinical settings, we find the same thing:  It is a violent experience, often characterized by terrifying hallucinations and delusions, and frequently followed by some degree of amnesia.”  (pages 168-170)

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My mother was neglected and abused as a child.  She was probably pre-Borderline from childhood, and may have been fully Borderline by the time she went into labor with me.

As she was giving birth to me she believed ‘the devil’ was coming to get her – that the devil had sent me to kill her.

My mother did not forget this delusion when I was born.  It was entirely real to her.  Because we survived the birth, I was to my mother not human, but the devil’s child ‘sent as a curse upon’ Mother’s life.

I cried when I read Weil’s account of the effect of this drug on women in labor, and he is not even speaking of the effects of the opiates that were used in combination with scopolamine in a ‘twilight sleep’ concoction.  I cannot prove my mother was given this drug, but EVERYTHING points in that direction.  Everything.

I never had a chance.  Not one single solitary chance from the moment I was born of escaping the 18 years of terrible abuse, pain, terror and suffering that I believe this drug caused.

That my grandmother did not save me from my mother, that my father did not save me from my mother, that NOBODY outside our family saw what was happening to me — is beyond my powers to comprehend.

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Today’s letter to a friend:

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Borderline Personality Disorder – empathy study – background letter:

just read a blog article related to this new research on BPD and empathy —

http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1053811911004939

—here’s the blog link

http://downwardspiralintothevortex.blogspot.com/2011/12/how-brain-sees-empathy-in-borderline_30.html

—in essence found what you and I talk about – the ‘something missing’ – they call the BPD empathy ‘immature’ – or anyone who doesn’t ‘do’ empathy ‘correctly’ – as per this preschooler empathy study, the differences were obvious when kids were very young – way too young for any of them to have ‘mature’ empathy

http://workspacestopthestorm.wordpress.com/book-beating-trauma/chapter-8-empathy/preschooler-empathy/

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I awoke way too early today.  Up at 2:30 I am pacing, trying to scare the sun up so I can get to work building my chicken vault.  This project has taken a lot of money and a lot of time as I try to build a safe structure for my little flock of new baby chicks that no animal can get into to destroy them.

I live on the Mexican-American line with the two tall border fences at the back edge of my property.  It’s a police state down here.  Two years ago Border Patrol aimed their stadium lights at our line of trailers and houses here, right on our trees, on our houses, into our windows.  That’s not bad enough.  They also have portable massive generator lights that roar with a metallic drone that sounds like a helicopter hovering over my house.  Two days ago they moved those lights even closer to my house and with my exquisite hearing – I cannot sleep.

Border Patrol has plenty of money.  They could put those lights on the grid.  They could sound proof those generators.  They do not care.  They will not return calls with my concerns.  I need to go over the head of the local bunch of bounty hunters to their Tucson sector chief.  So far, I don’t feel civilized enough to talk to them nicely.

Especially without sleep.

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I have other concerns, of course.  I am panicking inside as I approach ever more closely the publication of my first book.  A friend of me who lives a long ways from me called last night after the class she took about epublishing on Amazon.com.  I didn’t understand a word she said about formatting – about any of it – except for one thing.

Once I upload and publish a manuscript there the public begins to give the book STARS.  Good stars?  Bad stars?

Am I ready to have my work judged by a reading public who I doubt will have any idea about what I am hoping to accomplish with my work?

Oh, I don’t do well with criticism?  I got so much of that the first 18 years of my life I have no tolerance left for being judged.

I think of a book a friend of mine read me passages from so many years ago:

Drawing on the Artist Within: An Inspirational and Practical Guide to Increasing Your Creative Powers by Betty Edwards (Apr 6, 1987)

My friend read to me about ‘the crazy makers’.  Edwards wrote that no matter what our dream is, at the exact moment that we are ready to accomplish it a crazy maker will come.  Someone or something will be there to stop us right at the moment we are taxiing down the runway about to take off and soar.  If the crazy maker doesn’t appear from outside of us, then we can be sure it will appear within us.

I am scared of crazy making.  How could I not be?  My books will contain the words of my main crazy maker herself!  Trying to find my own voice to insert my own truth in the midst of my severely abusive mother’s own words is a challenge to me like none I have ever faced before.

And then my friend called last night with news about epublishing.  Can’t use BOLD type?  It won’t be formatted correctly when you upload your manuscript?  You have to use – WHAT?  ‘H3 header’ she said.  Do I have any clue in the known or unknown universe about what a HEADER possibly IS?

No.  I do not.

What I don’t know scares me.  I cannot write this book without being able to highlight in BOLD type the sections of Mother’s letters that I need readers to pay close attention to as they read her words.  Those BOLDED words are the ones that I write comments about at the end of Mother’s (and in this book, my father’s, as well) letters.

Not knowing what I need to know makes me feel powerless.  I am as powerless in my current state of limited knowledge about how to accomplish what I want to as I am powerless over whatever the massive bounty-hunting Border Patrol conglomerate chooses to do in our neighborhood.

How do I move forward?  How do I silence my own internal crazy maker who tells me I cannot publish a book — for what reasons?

Mostly – I feel very alone.  This is my project.  I am the one that holds this 100-year saga inside of me.  I am the one that knows what this story is really about.

Dare I speak?

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Fortunately it won’t be too long from now before the sun scares its own self up over that eastern horizon to give me LIGHT so I can go work on my chicken vault.  No matter how hard the struggle is for me to build that structure of safety for my little animal friends to live in — that I know I CAN do.  And because I want to do it and because I CAN do it — I WILL soon have that structure completed.

But what about this book?  What about this whole series of books?

Sometimes anxiety just plain SUCKS.  Anxiety coupled with roaring droning generator sounds that threaten my tranquility because my anxiety will NEVER let me screen those sounds out.  Anxiety that does nothing but scare my own personal sun DOWN — when I so want to send myself upward!

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I found this article today while I was searching online for “unsolvable paradox” as it relates to my mother’s early life – and mine – when a little one has no choice but to go on living in the midst of situations through which NOBODY should be able to survive.

Please give this a read:

Attachment Security and Disorganization in Maltreating  Families and Orphanages

By MARINUS H. VAN IJZENDOORN, PhD  and MARIAN J. BAKERMANS-KRANENBURG. PhD

Centre for Child and Family Studies,

Leiden University, NETHERLANDS

(Published online November 2009)

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After I returned home from my travels north to see my family I hit a definite slump after learning the neighbors’ dogs had jumped over the yard fence, crashed through the roof of my chickens’ pen and slaughtered most of them.  Slowly, gradually, I am pulling my inner and my outer resources together to see what I can do to make absolutely certain no unwanted critter can ever again get into my animal yard.

I still do want to have a miniature goat or two, or possibly one big retired sweet nanny.  My 12 baby chicks are very soon outgrowing their box in my bathroom.  What if I decide I’d like to have a rabbit?  A pheasant or two?

What a JOB it is trying to remodel my original lovely goat pen area so I can keep ALL dogs, ALL cats, and ALL sparrows out of this area (sparrows consume massive amounts of expensive chicken feed!)

A HUGE job, a great investment of money and time.  I was too naive, I realize now, as I finished what I thought was a corral complete with small barn and shade shelter.  Now that I am in the middle of improving safety — I see how terribly far off in my assumption that what I had made last spring was ‘good enough’.

Not by a wicked long shot!

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And of course I am always thinking of the upcoming books to be published next year as I work outside.  I want pain to stop.  I want infant and child abuse to stop.  I want the world to be NICE!  But – if this teensy experience I am having in my own yard is any indication, it will take a LOT of work to make the world safe for babies and children!  A HUGE investment of capitol and human energy input!

Safety doesn’t seem to be automatic.  Safety is not a given in this world, no matter how ‘modern’ we might like to pretend we are in our society.  What, exactly, will it take to create a world safe for little people so that they can get their needs met – to grow up happy and healthy in every single way?

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I remain disappointed that I didn’t know last spring what it would actually take to do this job of mine right.  Remodeling is very unpleasant business as far as I can tell.  Having done this job right in the first place would have been such a better deal!

But I didn’t do my job right.  I still want little animal-people in my life.  I do not want them exposed to ANY chance of being harmed.  That is my responsibility once I choose to bring them into my life.  Nothing like raising children, of course — but safety and a life free from harm is just that!

Last spring I enjoyed every single moment of making the corrals and fences, barn, shade shelters.  I was making a work of art, which it was.  Which it is.  But this work of art is an absolute ZERO at accomplishing what it needs to!

Now I am at the stage of repair – a nightmarish job in my opinion – but one I choose to complete.  Having the little animals in my life is worth it to me.  And today I realized a little bit more about why this is so.

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I cannot return to the wilderness of my Alaskan childhood.  I am HOMESICK for the wilderness, my first true love, my only attachment, my friend.  Having small animals (I don’t have land or finances for big ones) allows me to have a tiny bit of ‘the wilderness’ near me.

So tomorrow – back into the hot dusty yard I go like a miner after hopes in the future, a treasure of small life — as I re-create this place of safety.

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Some part of myself is assuring me that I will not be able to publish books that contain my TRUTH without having to find – for the first time in my entire life — what my rage feels like.  This involves me becoming absolutely clear about WHO/WHAT am I REALLY ANGRY at?

Last week I thought for awhile that the beginning of my preface on this upcoming book to be published would be about the day around the 4th of July, 1977 that my baby sister (she was 21, I was 25) rode a bus from Edmonton, Alberta to my home in northern Minnesota (2 weeks before her delivery date for her firstborn).  I was going to mention at the start that when she said to me, “If you are not very, very angry at Mother for the things she did to you when you were growing up there is something REALLY REALLY wrong with you!” – I had absolutely no reaction.

I did not respond to her — etc — but I was most certainly NOT angry with Mother – so therefore I guessed there indeed MUST be something wrong with me.

During all the years of therapy, recovery, research, etc etc etc that I have gone through since that day – I have NEVER felt angry at Mother.

That’s all part of my story – whereas TODAY – and yesterday – and the day before that I am feeling the rising of my rage as if it were a Tsunami coming.

I HATE RAGE – but so what.  In the interest of finally finding my own truth – so I can get this business done of publishing books – I am saying, “BRING IT ON!!”

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As of TODAY – I am quite singularly ENRAGED at the entire HUMAN RACE – well, at least those of my culture – which are the only ones I have ever been in interaction with.

Yesterday – as this rage-finding mission moves forward – I realized that because no human being ever took an interest in me or in my well-being during the first 18 years of my life in hell — NO WONDER I loved the Alaskan wilderness.

Humans were the LAST thing I needed.  My life taught me that!

Humans are the LAST thing the wilderness needs.

No wonder the wilderness and I were such friends, had so much in common, shared implicit understanding of what LIFE was really about.

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Humans.  Pitiful social connection seeking pandering pitiful (did I mention that?) – selfish persuadable useless parasites upon the earth?

What do I know?

But it is illogical to me that I will continue to track the scent of my rage without entering parts of my being that have NOTHING good to say about humans.

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People broke my mother:

On her emotions –

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Please note:  I am not making any kind of blanket statement about people who suffer with Borderline Personality Disorder.  Mother’s illness was extremely severe!  She was, I believe, quite a rare case on the far, far end of a continuum of how BPD affects people.  It took a lot of people making very big mistakes, people harming her most greatly, to make her this sick.

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I need to get outside today to work on vicious-dog-proofing my chicken pen – but before I do I am going to post here a series of short emails I wrote today to a friend and fellow collaborator on researching the truth about what early insecure and unsafe attachment interactions do to change our early physiological development – and hence our body-brain’s development – and our lives.

I am not going to edit these or formalize these thoughts of mine on the subject of ‘psychology’ – I don’t have the time.  Yet I have never written on this top before – so here are this morning’s notes posted in the order the emails were sent off:

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(talking about my take on ‘psychology’)

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As far as I know Berkeley developed the adult attachment assessment tool, the Adult Attachment Interview (AAI).  The AAI remains to this day ‘held hostage’ in the Ivory Tower and has never been worked on in order to come up with a lay-friendly tool that can be used by all of us to begin to understand our own degrees of safe and secure versus unsafe and insecure attachment.

Just as our entire underlying attachment physiology determines how our body-brain develops in the first place, it seems that an accurate assessment of our attachment patterns is the very first place we have to start in understanding our self in our life.

Having this very accurate and very specific information is essential to us defining the truth about everything we know about being a human being.

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