Orphaned or Homeless
Understanding Insecurity
Life sometimes brings losses and change that create a sense of abandonment. These times, which I will call being orphaned or homeless, can generate insecurity and its bizarre reactions to perceived threat. Thank you for joining me in this exploration of feeling orphaned or homeless by deepening our understanding of insecurity
Note about the image: Yep, this is Oscar.
My Mysterious Mind
Since we took in a stray dog, Oscar, nine days ago, I have been wondering about what his life was like before my friend found him and brought him to our home. He was alone, wet, and cold when she saw him. Physically, his exterior told a story of difficult times; he had signs of injury on his ears, nose, and front legs. His protruding ribs and backbone spoke of prolonged hunger. No collar or microchip told of his belonging to anyone. He was orphaned and homeless, lost in the cold rain.
A few years ago, the professional family to which I belonged disbanded. Once a part of a thriving program with colleagues and students, my professional “home” was dismantled. I became “programmatically homeless” gradually over the course of three years. I have friends across the university and the state, but I don’t “belong” anywhere. Now in a different department, I have been asked “what is your title?” Oh, I am a professor. I remind myself I was the Chair of the Faculty Senate once upon a time. I threw away all of my business cards because the information is no longer accurate. I am not the “Site Coordinator” of part of a statewide doctoral program anymore. As the protection of my valued role disappeared, so did the resources to support my professional needs. I stopped getting paid for work I was doing that was beyond my salary, even though there was significant money provided to my employer for the work. It took two years to advocate for a new laptop despite the unreliability of my decade-old-computer. Now I just teach a few classes similar to ones I taught before I earned a doctorate nearly a quarter of a century ago.
Those closest to me try to understand, but they cannot. Honestly, I don’t even understand. But when I cradle Oscar’s face and he looks intently into my eyes, I sense he understands. He seems so grateful, euphoric even. He has tales he knows of his homeless time but he cannot tell them to anyone. I have tales to tell, also, but I seldom find anyone who even remotely understands. Somehow the part about getting a good paycheck through it all limits the perception of being professionally homeless and that being a problem for me. I lost my value but couldn’t lose my job because of tenure. Most people don’t have that job security. Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand myself and how insecure I’ve become because of the last few years. My reactions of insecurity don’t make sense to me at times, and I can’t explain them even to myself.
Oscar’s reactions are skittish at odd times from trauma he cannot explain. But I sense his trauma just as I believe he senses mine. We “know” each other in a mysterious way no words can articulate. He’s in our home now and he’s healing, in visible and invisible ways. Very needy, he always wants to keep me or my husband in view, preferably sitting where he can curl up next to one of us. Will he ever stop being insecure? Will I regain my confidence as a professional? I hope so.
Insecurity is an interpersonal hunger caused by abuse or neglect. Oscar is needy and never far from my husband or I. He’s afraid of being homeless again. He hates being corrected when he misbehaves, eager to regain the security of our favor. We try to be generous and consistent in our praise for his “good” behaviors; he is “crushed” so easily.
I’ve been thinking about ways each of us might feel orphaned or homeless. When life brings a loss of someone or something supportive, the normal response is to lose a sense of personal security. The resulting insecurity is worse if the loss of support also diminishes protection, allowing threats to invade or needs to go unmet. Feeling orphaned or homeless brings a dangerous sense of vulnerability. Like dogs, humans are, by nature “pack” animals. We are better in groups; alone we are exposed and at risk.
I have friends who have already lost both of their parents. When they describe themselves as “orphans” it seems strange to me. I always thought orphans were children. But the term still applies because the resources, strength, and protection of their parents is gone.
Other losses that may bring the insecurity of feeling orphaned or homeless might be divorce, destruction of one’s literal home, or the dissolution of an important organization of which one is a member, like one’s church or business. If that loss also ushers in greater danger or unmet needs, the resulting insecurity is worsened. We each, in our own ways, have known what it’s like to feel orphaned or homeless.
Message of Mystery Acres
What does the forest say to me when I feel orphaned or homeless? Does it react in ways that trigger my insecurity? Do the trees, rocks, or mushrooms tell me I don’t belong or I don’t matter? Of course not. Quite the opposite is true. Mystery Acres is a “judgment-free zone,” the ultimate “safe space.” There, I’m just a gal in the woods. The only judgments are the ones I place on myself, and I can turn those off. Sure, I can bring my computer there, but that’s risky. The tether to the world beyond the forest is a mixed bag. Sometimes it connects to messages of value, and other times it brings threats to self-worth.
I’ve heard time in the forest called “forest therapy.” Some have even called it “forest bathing” because of the cleansing process it can provide. The Japanese call it shinrin-yoku. Apparently, there is even an association that trains therapists to be therapeutic forest guides.
But I don’t need to be trained to find what the forest offers me. I don’t have to qualify to be there. The message of Mystery Acres is one of total acceptance. Just being there provides a sense of place and “home” for me. I suspect each of us has access to a physical place of belonging. Perhaps a bench in a certain park? Maybe a lounge chair on the patio? It might be that comfy recliner in the family room.
Many years ago I had a client who had been severely and repeatedly abused as a child, including by her father. She had built such protective walls around herself that she could burn herself with a cigarette and not even feel the pain. After she and I built a sufficiently“safe” relationship, she went through a season of sessions where she wanted to just sit in a fetal position in the corner of my office. She needed to just be with me without any expectations or judgment. At the end of the session I would gently tell her the time was up. She would rise, compose herself, thank me, and leave. Eventually she could engage in conversation again during our sessions, and a beautiful, and more secure young woman emerged. I was her forest. She needed to have time to heal and be in the shelter of my presence and acceptance.
Ancient Mystery’s Voice
“I will not leave you orphaned.” (John 14:18)
The Bible contains a book called John, believed to have been written by a man of that name who was among those closest to Jesus during His physical time on earth. That book includes Jesus’ words regarding His eventual departure from being a man walking among people. His followers, known as disciples, were going to feel abandoned when their teacher was no longer physically with them. What promise did Jesus give them? He said they will not be left orphaned, and added: “I will come to you.”
Jesus promised to send spiritual help to his followers, including John, after He left. They might feel like they had been orphaned by His departure, but they would not be. This is a mystery they didn’t understand until 40 days after He left them. That day, which was during an ancient festival called “Pentecost,” was when what the Christians call the Holy Spirit arrived on the scene. The presence of God, in the form of a spirit, came to the believers. The Holy Spirit provided comfort, guidance, and connection to the disciples after Jesus left.
And that same spirit comes to believers now. When believers feel orphaned or homeless, that feeling is an illusion. In reality, in a mysterious, invisible way, believers are connected to the larger family of God and find their home with Him and each other.
Living in Mystery
Seeing Oscar’s reactions to the slightest correction helps me understand insecurity, including my own. Simple mistakes trigger a dark mental spiral, completely irrational and very unlike the me I was four years ago. I know what happened to dismantle my confidence; I can only imagine what happened to Oscar. More important to knowing the cause is knowing how to help with the recovery.
First, the neglect or abuse has to end, if it is part of the insecurity. For Oscar, he is no longer homeless, hungry, and cold. The dangers of his homeless situation are over. For me, I’ve distanced myself from the settings and people who treated me poorly. They put a demeaning appraisal on me, but I don’t need to remain under it. Insecurity can’t begin to resolve if something or someone is still adding to it.
Next, the insecure person (or animal) needs to be in relationships or settings where healing and validation can happen. Oscar is with us, he’s next to me as I write. For me, I’m seeking and building networks of people where I can feel good about myself. Being with them “reminds” me I have professional value.
Thus, resolving insecurity requires at least two things, getting away from the threats to security and moving into places and relationships where value is increased. Who or what triggers insecurity? –-> Ok, less of that. Who or what builds a sense of value? –> Ok, more of that. If you struggle with insecurity, I suggest you make two lists, one titled “less of this,” and another labeled “more of this.”
Is there someone you care about who struggles with insecurity? Do they somehow feel orphaned or homeless? Do they have peculiar reactions, a skittishness, that seems out of proportion to the visible circumstances? If so, you can be part of the “less of this” or the “more of this” list. By rejecting or judging the person when they react out of insecurity, you may be adding to their insecurity. This message of judgment is a “I don’t know why you’re reacting like this but you shouldn’t be.” By responding with calmness and support, even when their reactions seem out of line, you can help them feel safe with you. It’s complicated, because two people might be reacting to their own insecurity and have difficulty responding compassionately to each other.
I don’t know what Oscar has been through. I suspect it was a hard season for him and I see evidence of that in his reactions. Each of us can’t see what the other has been through, and, even when we can, we may not be able to understand the damage it caused. We can, however, try to give each other the benefit of extra compassion and patience when our insecurities cause us to be a bit twitchy. We can help each other to not feel orphaned or homeless, providing warmth and support.
Connecting with Mystery
Dear Lord of All Mystery, sometimes I feel like an orphan with no place I truly belong. My insecurity can trigger reactions that push people away. Help me to know Your presence and comfort, assure me I have a “home” with You at all times. Help me to respond to others who may be reacting from their feelings of insecurity. Thank You for not leaving me as an orphan without a safe place to feel secure. My home and family is with You. Amen.
Notes from Dr. Mac
If you want to do your own investigation of any of the scriptures I use, I suggest you go to Bible Gateway. This free online version of the Bible allows a search of words or phrases in various translations. The book of John, especially chapter 18, provides words of belonging and encouragement for those who feel orphaned or homeless.
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