Branded

Branded

Branding, a practice of the old west, involved burning of an identification mark into the skin of cattle. A temporary searing pain for the animal and a long lasting mark of ownership has given way to modern, less painful identification labels. At least that ranching activity could claim a worthwhile purpose for its old practice.

Individuals are branded! The activity, sexual assaults, a broken nose, ribs, or arms, can have a life-long lasting effect. While the physical wounds may heal, the psychological scars that a person carries are not only unseen, but can be debilitating. Painful memories give way to apparent unreasonable behaviors. Subsequent criticism or embarrassment leads to isolation. Treatment and healing prolongs the person’s agony.

Apparent unreasonable actions arise from pain. How severe must a pain be to cause one to make decisions that aren’t in their best interest? Difficult to imagine? Possibly. Two experiences have shown me that being branded by a past pain can muddle one’s thinking.

One night, while getting out of bed to use the toilet, I raised my legs slightly to swing to the floor. Piercing back pain froze me. Movement of any part of my body in any direction was impossible. Paralyzed, I questioned how long I could hold that position. Already the weight of my

legs were demanding relief. Like a person in a burning building facing the prospect of running through the flames to survive, I let my legs sink to the mattress and almost fainted. Never did I, or have I, experienced arresting pain like that. Short of cutting the nerve, I can’t imagine anything eliminating the pain. So, when my arthritic specialist tells me not to worry; he can manage the pain, I don’t believe him. He doesn’t know how excoriating pain can be. Illogical that I can’t take comfort from this highly respected expert? My head says yes, but my indelibly

imprinted memory tells me living for more than the minute than I did with that pain would be impossible. Expecting to consciously live with it is not likely.

The year before my back trouble I met a person who’d been branded by abuse. Teen home life had been so terrible that running away from the rest of the family and friends seemed the only alternative. Such are the circumstances of Jill, in my novel, Baggage burdens. Sparked by the prospect of having to return to a painful, hellish home, Jill moves to another province. She gets married, for security, to change her surname, to avoid being easily found. Again she leaves those who are closest to her, those who can help her most. Understandably, a marriage not based in love, will struggle. Her choices of fleeing in the face of potential trouble, or exercising strong control over those around her, a behavior she learned from her problem drinking father, is counter productive. They are her survival tactics to avoid expected pain.

Do you have a painful past experience that limits your actions?