What Doesn’t Kill You, Breaks You
We’re All Broken
There are two stories I heard as a child that influenced the way I think about humans to this day.
One, the Diary of Anne Frank, and two. the destruction of Pompeii. I learned about both in school. The Pompeii story appeared in a Weekly Reader that I was privy to in the third grade. If you’re of a certain age, you might recall reading this children’s newspaper. I was entirely swept away by the grim account of the edition that covered the Pompeii tragedy. The photos haunted me for years. Bodies were frozen in time, just as they were right before the fatal eruption of Mt. Vesuvius.
Interestingly, I spent two days in Pompeii many years later.
It was without a doubt one of my top five most impressive experiences abroad. That’s really saying something, too, because I’ve traveled and lived all over the world.
The two days in Pompeii didn’t change my perspective, however.
It merely reinforced the outlook of the little third grader that was me so long ago. Life is rugged. To think otherwise is a case of hardcore denial. I know this to be true because most people tend to talk about their problems, worries, aggravations, and fears more than their joy, excitement, or happiness. I’m referring to real face-to-face relationships where we feel comfortable enough to share things. Not Facebook posts where we are determined to show only the best photos and snippets of our personal lives.
The Anne Frank story was introduced to me around 7th grade.
I was deeply disturbed by it. To this day the famous photo of Anne Frank stirs up the same old feelings that kept me awake at night when I was a kid. How could people be so cruel? If we as children can’t depend on the adults who are supposed to look after us, then how will we ever develop a sense of safety and security in this life?
I was a very observant child.
I noticed contradictory behaviors in the adults in my life. They often weren’t able to practice what they preached. I knew this was a significant behavior pattern. This basic understanding of human nature made me keenly aware of my flaws as well and contributed to the way I related overall with other humans.
Recently, I read the following news article online.
The treatment of immigrants across the globe produces the same reaction in me that I experienced as a kid when I first learned about Pompeii and Anne Frank. The familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach is visceral like someone is twisting my innards. As a young child, I couldn’t accept that life left in the hands of adults could be so cruel.
I will go to my grave wondering why there are those of us who do not experience a strong physical reaction to human cruelty.
Pompeii gave me the same gut reaction but it was due to the direct result of the horrors of the natural world. When I put the two together I realized that suffering was part of being alive. There was no escaping it. I had trouble accepting that fact for a long time. It might have been easier if I was less sensitive to the suffering of others like many people I know. But I wanted to make sense of it and I couldn’t.
Eventually, I had to accept that life is indeed an obstacle course and that no matter how hard we try, it will dole out many unpleasant surprises.
Contrary to the popular belief that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, I happen to believe that what doesn’t kill us breaks us. We’re all broken to a greater or lesser degree.
Yet, most of us attempt to function regardless of our past traumas and current fears.
At last, we’re beginning to understand what makes humans do what they do. For example, it could very well be that some of us are genetically predisposed to more extreme levels of empathy while others are less capable to return the favor. I don’t know why we would find it shocking to learn that some people are wired to be more compassionate. After all, we’ve come to accept that sociopaths and psychopaths exist. Sociopaths may be more likely to experience some level of empathy, when they don’t, they will often lack remorse. Psychopaths, on the other hand, consistently show a lack of empathy and remorse. So, maybe we all fall somewhere on an empathy spectrum.
Stories of terror continue to dominate our headlines.
After all, bad news sells. But why does bad news sell? Why aren’t we inundated with good news, hope, stories of happiness and joy? Why is it possible to do ten good deeds for someone only to have a few poorly chosen words overshadow everything? Do humans have a bias toward the negative? Or do the negative experiences in life outnumber the positive?
I don’t know.
All I know is that before I was released into the wild as a young adult, I’d already encountered enough negative stories and personal experiences to keep me on my emotional toes for years to come. I wasn’t ready to accept that cruelty, pain, suffering, torture, and life-threatening events were simply part of life. I wanted to fight back because I was traumatized by the countless human-inflicted stories of suffering that adorned the headlines every day. I wanted to guard my family against any catastrophic natural events that threatened our existence.
Thankfully, I finally found a way to feel empathy toward my fellow humans without also carrying such a heavy burden of responsibility.
I didn’t create this mess nor could I single-handedly protect the billions of humans who are struggling to survive. For those with less empathy, this realization may seem like a no-brainer, but for me, it took years to understand my role among the living.
I was not the grand fixer of it all.
Don’t get me wrong, I still believe that there is a lot more that we can do as individuals, communities, and countries to take better care of people. Often it’s the highly empathetic who start impressive movements to deal with injustices, poverty, bigotry, hate, and natural catastrophes. Thankfully! But to search for an explanation for why Anne Frank had to suffer as an innocent 13-year-old girl because she was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the right time may be fruitless.
It’s a very strange world we inherited.
I am now able to accept that I have very little control over my own life let alone the lives of others. As a senior citizen, I have acquired a level of maturity that brings with it wisdom that we often lack in our younger years. And, although I love the idealism of the young, they give me hope, with all my battle scars, I can now accept the things I can’t change.
Life is an interesting journey, to say the least.
When I watch the animal kingdom struggling to find enough food to survive, I try to lower my expectations for humanity. When I stand back and observe nature through a lens of reality, I am in awe and generally moved by what I see. Despite our arrogance, humans are such a tiny piece of the cosmos. We came into this world against all odds and if we survive to old age that was against all odds as well.
I’m thinking that maybe we’re here for the many random experiences we encounter and little else.
It’s big, bloody, beautiful, and fascinating all at once. That’s life. I’ve made peace with the cosmos. It’s more than I’ll ever know or understand and I’ve made peace with that, too. What doesn’t kill us, breaks us. We’re all broken to a greater or lesser degree. Yet, we continue to storm the castle walls, batten down the hatch, secure the entryways, scan the horizon, and pray for protection.
Some of us even extend a helping hand once in a while.
Teresa is an author and professional myth buster. You can find her books on Amazon.
