Another disclaimer: I know that what happened to me as a kid is sunshine and rainbows compared to many people's childhood experiences. I know that what happened to me was not true "trauma"—but that's the nature of some childhood events. They're mainly painful due to how they're perceived by the child.
"I remember the minute.
Was like a switch was flipped.
Was just a kid,
who grew up strong enough
to pick this armor up,
and suddenly it fit.
God, that was so long ago,
long ago,
long ago.
I was little,
I was weak
and perfectly naive,
and I grew up too quick."
One thing that sets Eights apart from the other types is that they can usually pinpoint the moment when they consciously Became an Eight. Everyone is born with a type and it gets solidified as they're very young, but Eights have a moment where they felt something Happen.
I have that moment. (Edit: But before I get to that I'm apparently going to unpack this other small thing for a long time.)
I totally believe that I was an Eight from infancy, from the moment my parents loved me so intensely that I started to subconsciously feel* the threat of...being controlled by love? Hold on. Let me see if I can get this right, or at least better than that.
At intense of love/affection, I find myself narrowing my eyes, whether literally or figuratively. I feel that someone is trying to manipulate me into doing something for them or feeling something toward them that I might not naturally do or feel. I always need to feel that I am acting by my own volition. If I feel you are manipulating me in any way, I will figuratively punch you in the face and walk the other way. (I'm working on this. I recognize that 99% of the time I am not being manipulated at all and it is a form of my Need to Be Against coming through.)
I can imagine this coming into play in my infancy and early childhood. My parents are not manipulative people. I have often noted this, actually. They have never pressured or manipulated me into anything that kids are often pressured into. They did not pressure me into being a Christian, wanting to go to Wake Forest, abstaining from alcohol, or a host of other "big" things. However, they definitely did love me a lot in a very hands-on way that, as an Eight, I found overwhelming and threatening. Hence, I probably stiff-armed a lot of their love. (Sorry.)
But none of that is The Minute when it was like a switch was flipped.
Lots of Eights grew up in a legitimately unsafe environment (e.g., abusive, war-torn, etc.). As we've established, I did not. I grew up with great parents, a great sister, and even had a built-in childhood best friend. His name was John** and our parents were friends before we were born. He was born a week before me, so I've never not known him.
We were best buddies. We played together, we pretended together, we laughed hysterically together, our families went on vacations together. Very early on, I knew that this was The Guy: the guy the universe was setting up to be the childhood sweetheart I would eventually marry. I never had a crush on John; I genuinely loved him from the moment we met and continued to love him as we grew up. We showed each other the waistbands of our underwear when we were like seven and felt SO scandalous.
Sadly, his family moved a couple of hours away when I was five or so (?) and we saw them much less often. Sometime after that, John changed.***
The change was abrupt and utter. One of the next times I saw John, it was like he hated me, and not in an innocent, childish, probably-picking-on-you-because-he-likes-you way. In a way that felt evil and terrible. This transformation completely shattered everything on which I had built my concepts of friendship and love. A person that I loved and trusted with innocent abandon had now turned into a nemesis that knew me with chilling intimacy.
I remember being taken aback, hurt, confused. As kids are wont to do when they don't understand, I sort of ignored the change and tried to carry on as usual. I don't know how long that worked for, but one day something happened and it was like a switch was flipped.
John, his little sister, my little sister, and I were playing in my room. I don't remember what we were playing. John and I disagreed about something, and he socked me in the stomach as hard as he could, and that was it.
I doubled over in pain and shock, wind knocked out of me. I fell over one of these little clear plastic tubs with a blue lid that we used to have. There were plastic dishes inside, and for some reason I can still hear the rattling sound they made when I tipped the tub over.
As soon as I could manage, I was standing straight up again, and I screamed at John. Tears of fury steamed down my face. I balled my fists up by my sides. I screamed words at him. I don't know what I said. Probably "I hate you" among other things.
He didn't care at all. He walked away and I heard him saying gruffly to his little sister, "If she's still crying when the parents come, then we're in trouble."
I don't remember whether or not I told my parents. I definitely didn't that day. If I ever did, nothing came of it.
I know this is a small thing to have happen to a person, but it was big to me. And I never felt the same on the inside after that.
~Stephanie
* I know, Gr'anne, it's a split infinitive. I'm against them too, but I've been reading that sometimes one is supposed to split an infinitive in casual writing if it makes the sentence flow better to the reader.
** I can't find this person on Facebook, but I've changed his name anyway to avoid any possible unpleasantness.
*** Now I wonder if this was a sign that something terrible was going on in John's life. I worry about him in retrospect.
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