Boxes

When I was eighteen, I had a summer-temp job at a company where I worked with a diverse group of very nice women. We had almost nothing in common these ladies and I. But they welcomed me into their circle and treated me with kindness, as if I were one of their own, even though I’d only been sent there on a week-long temp job initially.

While we worked, we often chatted with each other about things, and one day, Sue shared a story she’d just read, about a woman whose significant other had convinced her to keep her head in a box. Like ALL the time. Day and night.

Just her head, mind you. While her body was free, he’d rigged up some kind of box that allowed for ventilation, but which kept her head in captivity. He would remove the box for her to eat, but then back on it would go. This went on for years, until her atrocious situation was discovered somehow. And I remember being bewildered by the disclosure that even after she was free of him, she sometimes wanted to put her box back on her head. It was familiar.

I didn’t comment on Sue’s story at the time, because it disturbed me very deeply. I couldn't join the discussion. On so many levels it made me uncomfortable. And though it was just a passing tale, one that I never even read myself, I have never forgotten it.

Last week in my appointment with my therapist, he asked me a question (I don’t remember what the question was), but it reminded me again of this story and I shared it with him. As I asked the question How could this woman have agreed to that situation? How could she have let him convince her to go along with it?, it finally registered why it has always stayed with me.

How could I have gone along with the things I did, as a child? Because in a way, I, too, let myself be trapped in an invisible box. My whole life.

I realized that perpetrators “groom” their victims, and I understand that I was a powerless child, that none of it was my fault; I get all that. But it still made me so deeply sad to realize that I was kind of like the woman with her head in the box. I was bonded emotionally to my dad, and wanted to keep him happy. Wanted it more than my own happiness. Didn't want to wreck what good there was in my life by speaking up about what wasn't.

Today I read a story about kidnap victim Jaycee Lee Dugard, who, at least for part of her captivity, was allegedly kept in a box. This made me weep, and I feel sad tonight. Sad for all the people in all kinds of boxes. Sad for the circumstances that led them (us) there. And a little bit angry too. Which if I were a betting-kinda-girl I'd wager my therapist would be happy to hear.

Have you ever been boxed before? How did you escape?

Grateful for:

1) Amazing lime cake. And Shelah.
2) Finding some cute skirts this week at my local thrift store.
3) Finding my old keyless entry remote, and getting it to work on my car.