She's 4 years old and she has a lot to teach YOU!

Just found out I'm not eligible for the current scholarship since I didn't register in April. Oh, well. Wish Fast Web had said that, but I love writing anyway. And there's always later, right? Hope you are enjoying my ramblings. I've been reading EdibleWoman's blog, which is fabulous, for those of you who haven't read it. Do so!
Now. Many of you have, I'm sure, but it bears repeating.

Anyway, I've been thinking recently about a friend of mine. She is 4 years old and very insightful. She asks me questions like 'Why do I have to act bigger? Why can't everyone else act littler?" She questions me about God, death, life, whether she's smart, whether kids are really stupid or adults just underestimate them, why wheelchairs are just for people who can't walk or have trouble walking, and all manner of other important things. She stuns me with her insight, surprises me with her tenacity and breaks my heart with her pain.

Sometimes it seems like she's going to grow up and change the world.
But then my precious friend tells me things like, "I want a body of my own. I want to go to to the park and play on the swings and do kid things."

And then we face it again:

She's an alter. A part of my friend P., who has Dissociative Identity Disorder due to a horrible history of incest. It doesn't make my 4 year old pal any less my pal, but it does mean I often tell her things like, "You can read because you and P. share a brain," and "No, honey, I can't take you to my house without P. I'm sorry, sweetie." And I am. Because the little one wants so badly to have a physical life of her own. She wants to sit in my lap "for reel" instead of just over the internet. She wishes I were her mommy.
She wants her pain to go away, and so do I.

So I hold her, rock her, and hand her my childhood doll, Sara. I do all the things I've done
as a preschool teacher. Answer questions. Encourage. Listen. Sing. Love.
And I do a bunch of things I haven't had to do as a preschool teacher.
Save her from her perpetrator during her flashbacks. Remind her he lies. Tell her she is E. and she is strong. Watch her yell at me when I help her say something about their past that really hurts, even though she wants to be free and tell him no.
Accept her apology when she feels she was too hard on me when it hurts.

This is dissociative identity disorder. It isn't crazy. It is often a response to overwhelming trauma the whole mind cannot face, sometimes created by hypnosis, and sometimes organic with no apparent trauma. Alters are real and deserve respect and age-appropriate responses by friends and family.
Many times, child alters are dismissed because people don't know what to do. It helps to remember that they only come out with people they trust and are keenly aware of being patronized. (They are, after all, part of an adult brain in many cases, though DID develops in childhood.) So if you meet one, consider yourself fortunate and be gentle. It's hard out here for an alter. The world is big and people don't understand so well. And they never will have bodies of their own, so give their thoughts some respect. As E. says, "Me just b little...me try. Grownups need b patient with me."
I couldn't have said it better myself.

Share this post on:

 •    •    •    •    •