My First Childhood Trauma Happened At Five
It’s still impacting my life more than sixty years later.
Courtesy Of Author | Steve Johnston Sitting in the back seat of our family car at age five, I was excited about my first trip to a fancy car wash. My dad and older brother were in the front, and I was busily sliding from side to side to look out the windows as we approached the entrance.
There were no seatbelts back then, and I often wonder how any of us made it through childhood alive.
As we slowly moved forward, I felt a bump as the wheels engaged with the track that would carry our car to the other side. Casually, my father turned back toward me and said, “Hey, Schmaltz,” which was his nickname for me.
“Yeah?” I respond.
“Did you know they use big snakes to clean the cars here?”
I was stunned into silence, and my brother added, “Yup. That’s how they do it.”
The car inched forward, and soap began to coat the outside, temporarily obscuring my view. And then I saw them. The giant snakes were relentlessly slithering back and forth across our windshield.
“There they are,” my dad and brother shouted in tandem, both starting to laugh.
My screaming was so loud and strange that it seemed disembodied from my scrawny frame. I scrambled to the floor of the car, continuing to wail, curling up in a ball with my arms covering my face and head.
“We’re just kidding,” my dad yelled. “Look, see, they’re not snakes!”
But I couldn’t look, and I couldn’t see.
I remember nothing more from that day. I do not recall coming out of the car wash or returning home. I don’t recollect what was said after or if my dad bothered to comfort me.
Trauma is often like that. Our brain works to hide that which is painful.
But our bodies and emotions remember.
It will be no surprise to anyone that I have an almost pathological fear of snakes. It doesn’t matter if they are poisonous or not or whether they are big or small.
I don’t fear that they will hurt me. I fear them in a way that is not rational or definable.
Interestingly, my car wash memory bubbled up to the surface a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t forgotten it, but strangely, I hadn’t yet attached it to my adult fear of snakes. This connecting of dots stirred a flood of emotions in me.
When I made the connection, I felt relief.
All the years spent feeling embarrassed and bewildered by my fear suddenly came into focus, and I finally understood what was behind that fear.
About a year ago, I tried confronting my fear of snakes because it is something that often controls me. I made it a point to watch videos with snakes and to look at pictures of them while speaking positive messages to myself.
I thought I was making some headway until we returned to Washington State for the summer. The property we stay on is home to many garter snakes, and I will inevitably see them. Instead of emotional progress, I spent my entire summer fearing those encounters.
The second emotion I experienced when my car wash memory rose to the surface was abandonment.
Parents should be protectors of their children, not active contributors to their trauma.
Though my father was sitting in that car with me, he abandoned me emotionally. It would be a couple of years before he abandoned me physically.
Childhood abandonment tends to cultivate adults who believe they only have themselves to count on. This is true of me. I learned early that I needed to depend on myself to survive. In my adult years, I have been reluctant to express my physical needs.
This is problematic for someone who battles chronic pain. My wife can tell you that, even with her, I’m reluctant to ask for help or admit it when my pain elevates. When I do consent to her helping me, I worry I’ll become “too much,” and she’ll get frustrated and leave.
It’s important to note she has never displayed anything remotely close to this scenario.
Instead, she’s helped me by talking about my thought pattern surrounding abandonment. She’s gentle and kind, and she reiterates her love for me in the hope of me shifting my perception.
Little by little, I’m learning to be honest about my pain cycles and learning to ask for help or accommodation when I need it.
The last feeling that bubbled to the surface was anger. The stark reality that my car wash experience at age five still affected me nearly sixty years later is beyond aggravating.
The reality is childhood trauma is life-altering.
Though we may find varying degrees of healing and recovery, the impact of painful experiences will likely continue to haunt us.
There is never a time that I don’t fear seeing a snake when I step outside. It could be snowing, and it will still cross my mind. My fear causes me to avoid visiting a park or playing in the yard with my grandson.
Recently, a friend who lives in Florida went to grab a UPS package from her front porch and had a large corn snake fall on her head when she stepped through the door. As you might imagine, her experience has produced a fear of something similar happening to me.
Want to know the worst part about this story? We stay with this friend and her husband during the winter months, so what used to be a mindless task has now become a strategic operation for me.
Last week, I had an Amazon package delivered, and I was the only one home. I went to great lengths to attempt to look out the window above the door to see if there was a snake up there before I opened it.
It was too tall to see through, so I gently opened the door about an inch and then slammed it shut, thinking I would scare the non-existent snake into falling while I was safely inside.
Partially convinced I was safe, I cracked the door open, and when I leaned over to grab the package, the neighbor across the street sneezed loudly, causing me to jump back inside as quickly as I could move. I kid you not. This actually happened.
The humor of this situation is not lost on me. I know, logically, this is ridiculous. At the same time, the fear I feel is very real. And it does not go away. I have heard stories about people finding snakes in their houses, so of course, I also fret about this happening.
Then, there was the story about a woman driving her car down the freeway when suddenly, a large (they are always large!) snake dropped onto the floorboard near her feet. She stopped the car in the middle of the freeway and jumped out to safety. I’m fairly certain I would exit a moving car should this ever happen to me.
I could go on, but my point is I believe we are never in a snake-free environment. Unless, perhaps, if you move to New Zealand. Reputable sources say there are no snakes on that island.
When I consider the fact that my father acted in a way that brought a lifetime of emotional harm to me purely for his amusement, I feel angry. And why wouldn’t I?
Our lives are like an emotional laboratory. If we pay attention, we regularly have the opportunity to confront our fears, hang-ups, skewed perceptions, and behaviors in a way that is redemptive.
Or, we can allow those same things to become what we adopt as our identity.
Several years ago, when I started dealing with my messed up childhood, I made the decision that I wouldn’t allow my trauma to become the truest thing about me.
Instead of seeing myself as a victim, I work to see myself as someone who endured many traumas without allowing them to destroy me.
You probably won’t find me going to the Reptile Gardens in South Dakota anytime soon, but I’m grateful to at least understand why I’m so frightened of snakes.
Kim Kelly (she/her), calls the Pacific Northwest home when she isn’t traveling with her wife in their 21-foot teardrop trailer. She is a writer, speaker, and espresso enthusiast who writes about authenticity, retirement, relationships, and life on the road.