Attics of My Life

A Musical Prelude to Resilience

Listening to China Doll as a girl may have been the first time I contemplated resilience. I’ve always loved the visuality of the Grateful Dead, and as a kid, my mind would play out the songs like scenes from a movie. Cats on hot tin roofs and trains driving too fast.  

I remember listening to China Doll in the living room of my mom’s house, imagining the fragile doll falling through the air, hitting the ground, and almost breaking. But no, she doesn’t shatter. She’s only fractured. She’s just a little nervous from the fall. 

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Jerry and The Grateful Dead playing China Doll in 1990

““Pick up your China Doll

She’s only fractured

Just a little nervous from the fall””

— The Grateful Dead

CONNECTIONS AND CONCERTS

This summer, I heard China Doll live at The Sphere while standing next to my older brother, Drew, who introduced me to The Dead all those years ago (along with my other brother, Johnny). I was flooded with memories and gratitude. Drew’s unwavering ability to see me and support me is part of why I didn’t shatter in the aftermath of trauma, why I was only fractured. Just a little nervous from the fall.  

Drew and I had a ball together at The Sphere, and I felt so myself. We danced, stayed up late chatting, and ran around Vegas footloose and kid-free. 

On the plane back to Denver the next morning, I thought about a Dead show Drew, and I saw together back in 2015. It was the last show of the Fare Thee Well weekend, and the world was under the impression that The Dead was retiring (hehe).  

The last song of what everyone thought would be the final Dead show was Attics of My Life, and I remember how emotional and present Drew and I both were. Trey Anastasio (Phish frontman) was standing in for Jerry Garcia throughout the weekend, and it was sweet to see the connection between the remaining members of The Dead and Trey. Attics was likely a tribute to Jerry, to the Dead Heads, and to each other. The bittersweetness throughout Solider Field was palpable. It was a moment. I felt so connected to my brother in that moment, and also, so distant.

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The Power of Being Seen

At that time in my life, I was hiding so much of myself, secretly suffering and trying to heal, hoping that I could do so privately, somehow put a bow on it and move on. All the while keeping everyone else in the dark. I worried that if the people close to me knew what I was going through, that they’d see me differently, as irrevocably disgusting and broken. And then, they’d leave me. That’s not just what I’d played out in my head, but what I was sure of in my body and spirit. Perhaps that sounds outlandish, but it’s not uncommon for this to happen in families.

How painfully wild to think I was working through such intense trauma for seven years before I told anyone. 

This assumption that my family would leave me if they knew my truth kept me small, contained, and fearful. Not fully myself. Disconnected. How can you be close to people when you’re hiding such a big part of yourself AND assuming you’ll be imminently abandoned? 

My first (and likely hardest) step in becoming more visible was simply showing myself to the people I loved. But my god, it wasn’t simple. To show my truth was to break their hearts. To show my truth was to risk my connection to each of them and to risk my place in the family.   

But it didn’t happen the way I thought it would. The way that I thought I knew it would. They didn’t leave me. And this summer, nine years after Fare Thee Well, Drew and I stood next to each other at The Sphere and had one of the best nights of our lives. And it felt different because it was different. Because I was free and myself, and blissful— not fearful, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

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The Transformative Power of Truth

Today is Drew’s 50th birthday and Attics of My Life feels appropriate for what his support has meant to me (take a listen!). A few hours after I told him what happened to me, after I broke his heart, he sat across from me in the booth of a Santa Monica dive bar and told me that he would never, ever, waver. That he didn’t need to hear the other side of the story. He could bear and accept the horror of the reality without hiding, running, or denying it. He was saying so much more than I believe you. He was saying, I am unequivocally, irreversibly, and forever in your corner. He was saying, let me carry whatever piece of this I can for you now. He was grateful for the truth, even though it was a heart-shattering, life-altering one. That’s fucking courage. That’s compassion in the flesh.

And I was no longer walking alone.

(I have a lot to say on how disclosure can forever change our beliefs about ourselves, but that’s for another post. Stay tuned.)

Drew hasn’t wavered—none of my siblings have. May we all be so lucky to have someone in our corner, helping us carry the massive weight of sexual trauma. May the world keep evolving so this courageous act of compassion becomes less lucky and more commonplace. May our consciousness continue to expand so more people can understand that just because someone is saying the truth, doesn’t mean they created that truth.

There were people I lost in this process, and damn, it was painful. Not everyone was able to muster the courage that Drew did. But by showing my true self and disclosing my hardest moments, my most important relationships—the ones with courageous people who love me–became far more connected than they were before. To me, the newfound depth of these relationships was worth losing the ones that had always been hollow. (Yes, even if those relationships are with parents, best friends, siblings, or grandparents.)

It can be messy, and it’s hard, no doubt. But I know one thing for sure. If you don’t show your truth, if you don’t reveal your true self, you never get the chance for real love and connection. And more importantly, you never get the chance to be yourself. And isn’t that the whole point?

HBD, Drew. May the next decade bring you all you deserve. Forever grateful.  

“ In the attics of my life

Full of cloudy dreams unreal

Full of tastes no tongue can know

And lights no eye can see

When there was no ear to hear

You sang to me

I have spent my life

Seeking all that’s still unsung

Bent my ear to hear the tune

And closed my eyes to see

When there were no strings to play

You played to me”

— The Grateful Dead