It has previously been mentioned that one of my favorite books of all time is Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. The story is an epistolary from Charlie, a character journaling about his journey through being a scientific study of synthesized intelligence for low-IQ individuals. The test has been successful in mice– more specifically, the titular Algernon– as Algernon seamlessly navigates more and more complex tests. Not only do we witness Charlie’s inner narrative shift, but we watch his writing skill evolve the longer he writes in his journal, to stay active in the assigned scientific research. 

Back when I originally read Flowers for Algernon, I read it because I was told that it would make me cry, and I needed an opportunity to synthesize some tears. Boy, does this book do the job. But on a deeper level, this book eventually shaped my understanding on how I hope to navigate the world: choosing kindness no matter what. Today, we’re going to touch base on why kindness matters, and why Charlie represents the responsibility we hold as human-kind to foster kindness with others.

Keyes writes in a style that consistently shows, and doesn’t tell. This is in large part due to Charlie not initially having the intelligence to discern the world around him: if someone is smiling, they are happy, and Charlie is happy when others are happy. We as the reader, however, witness incidents of shame and humiliation placed on Charlie, simply because his perceived friends know he will take the blow and know none the better. It isn’t until later in the book, as Charlie’s intelligence improves, that he recognizes that his supposed friends were intentionally causing him harm. And this shakes Charlie to the core.

How could they do that?

Why did they do that?

Will this betrayal of trust leave me feeling forever alone?

The nuance of this journey is that we enter a moral dilemma– does harm exist if the recipient cannot recognize it as hurt? From a therapeutic standpoint, my answer is a solid yes. 

There are several books out there that explore trauma, ranging from systemic to generational to childhood to situational. What these books (and the research required to write said books) have shown is that trauma fundamentally shifts our perception of the world and how to navigate it. Dr. Bessel van der Kolk says, “The body keeps the score: if the memory of trauma is encoded in the viscera, in heartbreaking and gut-wrenching emotions, in autoimmune disorders and skeletal/muscular problems, then the mind must be engaged in healing just as the body is” (van der Kolk, 2014). Sometimes, even when we don’t recognize something has happened to us, our body will still keep score on the pain it caused. This includes keeping score on betrayal of trust.

Charlie experiences emotional distress as he begins to understand the pain his loved ones caused him, at a time when he couldn’t tell one way or another. And, understandably, he consistently chooses to isolate. It is not always a conscious choice on his part, but his body has recognized that threats against his safety exist in the outside world– it has collected enough data to perceive threats when others would perceive calm.

What I find particularly interesting is how often Charlie’s journey parallels my clients who have experienced childhood trauma– years before their cognitive judgement could remember. Not only do my clients experience this phenomenon of, “something just doesn’t feel right,” but they also navigate the world, anticipating the next betrayals from trusted loved ones. This is something that survivors of trauma have encoded into their DNA.

Trauma is so encoded and rewired into our systems, the trauma does not need to start with you. Mark Wolynn writes that trauma can be carried down generationally. He explores how stress from your mother while you are in utero can impact the development of not only your emotional wellbeing, but your kids– because your reproductive organs are developed in your mom’s womb (Wolynn, 2016). If our pain and traumas can carry through three generations, what makes it so extreme to assume a physical creature around you won’t have lasting impacts on your choices to cause harm?

I am not speaking to you directly, reader, on the last statement. I personally navigate the world believing that we are all trying our best, to the best of our abilities. I am not assuming anyone on this blog likes to intentionally sabotage a friend’s lego set or kick puppies. But I know that new and unfamiliar things can cause discomfort, and we all prefer to live in a state of comfort and peace. 

There was a time in my life where I was working a customer-facing job. It was a popular franchise that people from all walks of life would enter. On top of that, this was during the COVID-19 lockdown, and this franchise was one of the few places still open. Business was booming because we were of the select few social outings people could access in a time of lost routine– and we worked hard to accommodate as often as possible.

My team was fantastic. We never spoke poorly of customers, we did our best to keep everyone happy, and we rarely had angry customers in return. However, there was an incident where a deaf customer needed to communicate with us. My coworkers froze, with a few of the younger employees hiding in the back to avoid serving the person they hadn’t learned how to communicate with. The customer knew what to expect and they were the ones accommodating us and our discomfort. Thankfully, a couple of coworkers and I took ASL courses enough to not shy away. But it left me rattled, thinking about what demographics I would hide from in the stock room for the sake of preserving my comfort?

We all have experiences that make us uncomfortable, and many discomforts are engrained in our bodies to keep us safe. It doesn’t matter who walks by me in the street at night; as a woman I am afraid and will avoid any discomfort to get home ASAP. But what can we do when someone is not a threat, but challenges our ability to connect with someone new? What happens when a vulnerable party needs your help, which does not align with the social norms? How can we maintain our boundaries of self-preservation while still fostering their agency as free-thinking human beings?

Maybe we don’t step into the role of caretaker for a stranger. Maybe we take the time to smile and help them find a person who is skilled to step in. But what we can do, especially with vulnerable parties, is to become beacons of safety– safety through kindness. “Being able to feel safe with other people is probably the single most important aspect of mental health; safe connections are fundamental to meaningful and satisfying lives” (van der Kolk, 2014). I have found that the easiest way I represent safety to those around me is kindness. Snow White sings to bluebirds– she might not be slaying any dragons– but you know the biggest threat she holds is mixing up the wrong apples in a pie that she wishes to share.

Charlie wasn’t looking for anyone to save him. In fact, he was proud of his independence whenever he was able. What he seemed to desperately seek was a sense of community, and a place to belong safely. When his friends abused that desire and betrayed his trust, he paid the price far more than the perpetrators. We don’t need to welcome everyone into our intimate circles, but we can model what safety looks, feels, and sounds like to those who maybe haven’t yet discovered kindness. I like to imagine that there is a world out there where Charlie found what he was looking for– and I hope to continue playing my role in making this world one where our bodies no longer have a score to keep.

References

van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.

Wolynn, M. (2016). It Didn’t Start With You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle. Viking.