Several years ago, my brother bought a home with an unfinished basement. To his disgust, he soon found that there was an unidentifiable leak that dripped incessantly and caused flooding. He employed the handy method of the bucket under the leak, emptying it as necessary to avoid water backing up all over the basement floor. But he did not like having to do it and frequently let me know via text message. Unfortunately, there was no one else who could do it since it was his house, so he trudged down there dutifully on a regular basis to haul the bucket out into the yard.

There is something similar that can occur to those of us with trauma: we can have bucket issues. I say this based on observation and my own experience. For much of my time in therapy, I focused on what was done TO me. By this I mean, I learned to have emotions, to ground myself, to accept the painful places inside of me that responded to external triggers. The usual suspects for blame emerged: my abusers and the people who enabled the abuse. 

A few months ago, though, I realized there was an unexpected deleterious effect to all this work. I was becoming unbalanced. By focusing so extensively on my triggers and reactivity, I was ignoring the way my trauma had been spilling out on people around me, in some cases for years. Although I try to be a thoughtful person who puts others first, I started to see that my self image was not in line with reality. My true self may be someone who is thoughtful and kind, but I had completely ignored the necessity of dumping out the bucket. My thoughtfulness and kindness were being drowned in my obsessive focus on my trauma to the exclusion of all else. 

I had allowed myself to be enveloped in a fog of victimhood that was impenetrable and manifested with some narcissistic traits like lacking empathy for others or feeling a sense of entitlement because I had suffered more than someone else had. I thought mostly about what was good for me, not what was good for anyone else. I failed to listen closely, to show concern and care, to love. 

Consequentially, I caused deep damage, some of which I will never be able to undo. 

The problem with trauma is that even if the leak in the basement isn’t my fault, I’m still the only person who can take that bucket out to keep it from overflowing. No one else is responsible for that bucket, because I am the home-owner.  

This isn’t to say other people cannot be supportive through the journey, occasionally helping me carry the bucket up the stairs. But when it turns into “me, me, me” all the time, that’s a problem. I’m not a person who enjoys admitting to mistakes, so having to first reconcile myself with this took time. Then, to reach out to those I’d hurt, to admit my shame to others, was even more painful. The most you can say is “I’m sorry,” even though you both know it’s not nearly enough. 

In my case, the individuals whom I hurt were mostly gracious and forgiving. The bitter pill is that sometimes you cannot rebuild some bridges that you’ve burned. You cannot rebuild trust, rebuild connection, rebuild relationship if two people are not involved. Nor can you force a person you have already hurt to be willing to rebuild anything. Although I have never struggled with addiction to substances, I imagine this is a bit what it’s like to be in recovery, working the 12 steps. You can try to make amends, but sometimes, as I was told, “it’s just too late.” 

In mindfulness practices, there is what is called “the conscious witness” or the “neutral observer.” The basic purpose of this observer or witness is to step outside of the chaos of your thoughts, your reactivity, and observe without passing judgement. When you manage to find your witness, you can detach from what is happening in your mind allowing you to be present and aware. You can see yourself as you are, not as you wish you could be.

In theory, I love this idea, but my personal observer and I have a somewhat tense relationship. Even though I have never read mindfulness masters suggesting that the witness has a name, I call her Linda. If you were around in 2014, there was a viral video of a kid named Mateo who was trying to convince the camera-holding Linda to not punish him for eating cupcakes. When trying to deal with my personal observer, I often find myself in Mateo’s position saying, “Listen, Linda, listen.” Except Linda is not interested in listening, because Linda is not easily manipulated. She is the voice reminding me that our actions have consequences, that there is nothing personal in that reality, but it is what it is. This is why I have a love-hate thing going on with Linda. She tells me what I would rather not hear, and no amount of denial works on her. 

Several months ago, I was happily blaming all the wrong people for my suffering and feeling justified in doing so. Then Linda showed up. She raised her eyebrow at me. Oftentimes, Linda does not need to speak to get her point across. My suffering was my own doing. By allowing myself to focus on my leaky faucet, I had completely ignored the overflowing bucket, and everyone around me was starting to drown; they had to save themselves. The consequences of this were the suffering I was experiencing. I really hate it when Linda is right. 

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