“What will become of Chimby? What will become of Chimby?”
That was the sentenced I reportedly uttered over and over in Hungarian when I was a toddler in situations where I felt helpless.
“Chimby” was a nickname and, from stories I have heard, the sentences were muttered during incidents like getting stuck on a swing set or not being able to get out of a playpen.
It’s kind of “cute” now, but the feeling of impotence all those decades ago was not.
When we think of all the children caught up in needless wars, with family members killed and homes destroyed, we must empathize with the extreme vulnerability they must feel.
How does the human spirit continue when there is no understanding of horrors that surround anyone, and in this case, very young individuals still learning to speak and to make sense of their world?
What is the result of early trauma that is not understood as trauma at the time?
Talking to refugee children years after the wars and struggles abated has been enlightening to me. The feeling of fear and powerlessness continues for many of them and, in turn, are duplicated in adulthood.
When something disastrous begins to form in a child’s mind and emotional structure, that framework can remain extremely fragile, so much so that their fears are immediately unearthed and even undefined decades later.
I recently heard from a friend for whom a frail make-up framed her for deep anxiety. It may sound like nothing for people who were not brought up with fear and vulnerability, but that does not make it any less real.
My friend received an email from someone she knew only superficially. That person forwarded a different email from a gentleman which asked if he could have my friend’s address, stating that he was a very close friend in 1977.
Thankfully, the initial email recipient did not provide the address; instead, she forwarded the note to my friend.
The name of the person who claimed to be so close to her meant nothing; nor did the pictures he attached after my friend’s husband became alarmed and wrote him, asking just how he knew my friend and why did he want to be in touch 50 years later.
The man replied that he never expected a husband to return an email, so he attached more pictures, letters and other “evidence” that clearly showed he indeed had a friendship with her.
My friend is an example of someone whose confidential early trauma bled into the present and made her hypervigilant of what many people would see as a harmless incident. She did not remember the man, and it frightened her.
If something like being sought out by what appeared to be a stranger thousands of miles away was so traumatic that my friend panicked, it makes sense that something deeper than anxiety was involved.
Quoting Google AI: “An anxiety disorder feels like a constant, overwhelming false alarm. It traps your mind in a loop of racing, catastrophic thoughts, and sends your body into an exhausting ‘fight-or-flight’ response. It is much more than just temporary stress, making everyday situations feel dangerous.”
Having my own trauma when I was a toddler during the Hungarian Revolution, I understand that something mundane can be met with deep unease.
I think of this incident now, as I imagine the children of ravaged, strife-filled countries and wonder what will become of them.
America celebrates its 250th birthday this year. Not just as United States citizens, but also as thoughtful human beings, we must — at the very least — offer kindness and gestures of considerate care to these children and their families.
They are the future. Does anyone think of them? What will become of these little Chimbys?
This article originally appeared on Amarillo Globe-News: Where have all the childhoods gone? | OPINION
Reporting by By Andrea Elise, Special to the Amarillo Globe-News / Amarillo Globe-News
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
By Andrea Elise, Special to the Amarillo Globe-News | USA TODAY Network
