Volcanoes from a frozen sea
Why I identify with a moon called Triton
When I think about my childhood, this is always the image that comes into my mind - a small person alone in a world of overbearing large people, subject to arbitrary rules which were never explained to me, and which I grew up trying to figure out for myself. Little Moominpappa was an orphan, and grew up in an institution deprived of unconditional love. I still had one parent living, but she had lots of other things on her mind when I made my appearance.
I was well into my sixties before I entered therapy; it was revelatory and I’m still processing a lot of the stuff that came up. I remember vividly the week that I was so angry with my mother that I wanted to smash her gravestone with a hammer and throw it into the depths of the sea. The intensity of this emotion came as a complete surprise for me, and after a few months I reached the point of forgiveness and acceptance, and thought it would be plain sailing from now on.
But the thing about trauma - and that’s what this is - is that it comes up to bite you in all kinds of unexpected ways. Recently, I’ve been doing a course with the wonderful Doctor Rachel Writing The Undiscovered Self. Last night we had to write a letter to a wise elder figure. Most people familiar with the Hero’s Journey would pick some Gandalf type character. I chose Moominmamma. It’s probably no coincidence that meeting her turned out to be the salvation of Moominpappa. Mildly subversive, unflappable, hospitable and patient, she is the beating heart of the strange, shifting menage that inhabits the Moominhouse.
Our next exercise was to write about an incident we’d found difficult to handle. I picked booking flights online, something I made a spectacular mess of a few weeks ago - my daughter ultimately sorted it out, though not before I’d given Ryanair £75 I could ill afford to spare. Partly because of my age, but more likely due to my childhood fear of displeasing implacable authority, I find that complicated digital procedures make me extremely anxious. I am always deeply ashamed of this, and likely to spend a lot of time and money before I ask for help.
The last stage of the exercise was to write a dialogue with your Wise Elder. You’d expect this to go something along the lines of “Hard to see the Dark Side Is” or, slightly less gnomically “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.”
I took a deep breath and hoped we’d run out of time before I was called on to share this with. my break-out group. Then I crawled onto Moominmamma’s psychic lap, buried my head in her apron and howled. I was three years old again, trying to figure out how to make breakfast and stop my mother crying. It’s not the kind of situation that plays to Gandalf’s strengths.
“Well,” said Moominmamma, “the best thing to do if you feel small is to let someone give you a hug. It’s no use trying to talk about difficult things when you feel small and insignificant. You need to feel bigger first, then you’ll think of the right thing to do.”
And that’s childhood trauma for you. You think you are so grown up, so calm, so totally in control. And you are, just about, until you start rootling about in your subconscious. There is no getting out of it - if you didn’t get that kind of love as a child, you will never stop needing it. But you will probably hide it so well you’ll even hide it from yourself.
Our final task was to think of a symbol that represented our Great Self. I came up with Triton. The moon of Neptune, that is, not the source of Ariel’s Daddy issues.
Triton is an odd little world. It’s the most distant moon of the Solar System to exhibit volcanic activity. The volcanoes on its surface are vast plumes of water, visible from space and captured as images by Voyager II. It’s beyond bizarre that a planetary body with a surface temperature of below 200 degrees C, covered in a crust of frozen nitrogen and carbon dioxide hundreds of miles thick, can support volcanic activity. The answer lies in its unique retrograde orbit, proximity to the gas giant Neptune and the fact that, below that surface, lies an underground ocean of liquid water that occasionally bursts out through weak points in the deceptively smooth surface.
I can’t think of a better metaphor for unprocessed childhood trauma. All looks blank and calm on the surface; in fact Triton’s albedo is massive because of all that reflective ice, making it far more visible than you’d expect any planet so far away from the Sun to be. But underneath, there’s a roiling ocean of unshed tears which can burst through the crust with spectacuar force when the pressure becomes too much. The last time that happened to me, I was trying to book a flight. Your mileage may vary.
There’s one bright spot, however, Beneath all that frozen nitrogen, there just might be somewhere that harbours life. I hope that’s true of me, too. I’ve been frozen for far too long. Let it go.
How wonderful to share your writing processes exploring your Great Self via the wonderful avatar that's Moominmama - don't we all sometimes want a big lap to cry in? Her advice sounds wonderful too!