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I have just read two books over the Christmas holidays, as I travelled to San Diego to spend my first Christmas with my partner, and now fiancé, Christelle. I knew I would have time on the journeys to read, and maybe time during, also one of the things that Christelle and I do a lot of is read to each other. The books were ‘The Seat of the Soul’ by Gary Zukav, and ‘The Choice’ by Edith Eger, and today I have just finished the second the two. Both books have been incredible in very different ways. But its Edith Egers that I have underlined more furiously, and brought so many aspects of my own journey to there surface.

In ‘The Choice’ Edith describes her experiences growing up in Hungary/Czechoslavakia, being sent to Auschwitz in 1938, dancing for the Dr of Death, surviving, when 1m others didnt, being taken to camp, work house, woods, being starved, punished and separated from her family, some of which she had no knowledge of whether they were alive.

In the second half of the book she describes her marriage, her children and then her journey into becoming a therapist, and then going back to the places, Germany and Poland, where she experienced her traumas. She intertwines beautifully how her patients in therapy brought her to her own self reflection of her past, present and future, and how, ultimately, we all have a choice.

I will more than likely write about a number of aspects from the book, there are so many. The first is what struck me, about the things that gave her hope during the years in Auschwitz; three things emerge from her story; One is the love of her life – Eric, who she was separated from, the other was her Sister – who she was with for much of these years – and the third thing were the words of her mother – and the dream that one day she would see her mother again.

‘I hear my mothers words come back to me, as though she is there in there barren room, whispering through the music..‘just remember, no one can take away from you what you have put in your own mind’

Later Edith reverses something her mother had said to her (Im glad you have brains, because you have no looks) in Auschwitz, for survival, she translated this as ‘I’ve got brains, I’m smart, I can figure this out’

One of the questions my therapist asked me in a very first session with her over a year ago was ; ‘What were some of the life lessons you received from your parents?’

Nothing.

But that wasn’t exactly true. There were rules… but not life lessons

Whats fascinating is that the very people who want to control you, dehumanise you, abuse you and neglect you, are the very people who give you no advice for how to overcome them. That makes sense, doesnt it.

So, had I been sent to the plains of the Gulf in 1990, or Kosovo in 1997, or a Nuclear bomb landed on Market Harborough in 1991 and I was having to survive that situation, there would have been no life advice, at all. I would have been armed with such wise sayings like

‘Dont you dare upset me again‘ or

‘I need you to make me proud‘

‘ Dont you be so smart’

‘ You’re asking too much, dont be spoiled’

‘ I needed to get that temper out of you’

‘Dont be so ungrateful’

These would have been pretty useless in terms of what I needed to survive, should I have been put in a place to have to.

Thats the thing, they dont give you guidance for life – just rules, or invisible rules, of obedience in their created world. Its like any of the ‘gifts’ they give – they are loaded with hidden meaning, and rarely meant for your actual good.

Unlike Edith, I had to rely on an inner voice despite the emotional contagion of the parent who’s world everything had to revolve around. How do you trust an inner voice that is so disabled and frightened?

I also realise, that from a very early age, probably 9-10 that I had to rely on myself, to survive – developing my own inner voice that was all about survival. Not unlike Edith, but my escape date was when I was 18, and I was counting down the days from about the age of 12. Edith had no idea when hers was.

My personal prison, was the family home – with the emotionally abusive monster within. I don’t compare my situation to Ediths in terms of severity in any way, but it brought to my attention the lack of guidance or wisdom passed on to me by my parents, ever. I also note how desperate Edith was to see her parents again, to have them alive, to go back to a time when this was the case. I watched as other children ran to hug their mum at school and nursery. I had to be dragged away from school, and the one who wanted to be last to leave every day.

So I developed an inner voice- a survival voice one day this will be over, ill survive, I always do, and needed voices of support from outside the situation. Some from books, some from teachers, some from youth workers and church.

But its strange that reading a book about a Holocaust survivor brings me closer to aspects of my own past. Closer to aspects that were different for me, closer to aspects that reveal what I did or didn’t have. What if its not your care-giver that gives you couple through the trauma – but the one who creates the trauma? What if thats what I have to heal from?