I believe I was gullible because I was in a constant state of dissociation to protect myself from the danger lurking behind me constantly when I was at home. By not being "present" because I was on alert to protect myself from harm, life lessons and skills did not click for me. It wasn't until I was 40 years old, in recovery and in a safe place with safe people for an extended period of time, that I could relax. And then I'd remember the good and kind adults in my life, like Mrs. Segaloff, my 4th grade teacher, who always hugged her students at the end of the day as we walked out the door. That brief moment of affection for 5 days a week during the school year sustained me through terrible nights of my alcoholic father violently attacking my mom, siblings and me. I also remembered Mr. McCraney, who was my first employer. I started working for him in his small department store a month after my dad was run out of town by the police. Mr. McCraney spent a lot of time with me, teaching me about the value of making good grades in high school; going to college; dating, dressing professionally, how to look people in the eye when I spoke to them. He was a good "father" figure to me, but I didn't trust him at the time because I felt like I was a target for anyone to hurt me . It wasn't until I relaxed in my recovery that I saw the Providence of God and the value of having Mr. McCraney in my life during that time when I was in high school and early college.
My second husband teased me at first my gullibility. He was amazed that someone as intelligent as I was would fall for such simple obvious jokes. Knowing he loved me, I finally started laughing at myself for the things I would fall for. There was something about the assurance of his love for me that helped me lighten up and laugh at myself. I know some people spy a gullible person a mile off and out of meanness make a fool of him. But my husband wasn't like that. He'd laugh about something I would do, and he'd be hugging me. I'd whine "You're laughing at my expense!" He laugh and say "I sure am!" and then I'd start laughing. Sometimes he'd tell me something that I knew wasn't true, and I'd tell him "You're full of baloney!" when I really wanted to say he was full of something else!
At more serious times, he would say, "You've got to find the humor in everything." He did and he taught me how. He was a Vietnam vet with PTSD. In his own way, for the most part, he had worked out a way to live with it. He taught me to trust my gut. That lesson alone has helped me avoid bad situations I used to find myself in.
I am so grateful to my husband for loving me and having the patience with me to create a safe home and guide me toward making friends with safe people. He taught me so much about life and living. As my confidence has grown in my living skills, I find I'm not nearly as gullible. And when I do "fall" for some silly joke or trick, I can genuinely laugh at myself and at/with the other person, and not take it personally. I've learned not to be so judgmental of other people. Peope are funny. We do unexplainable things that don't make sense to others, maybe not even to ourselves. (I'm not saying that in a mean way. It's just an observation I've made as I grow away from the pain into happiness.) Sometimes a family member will ask me, "Why does your brother act that way?" (He has PTSD.) I respond, "I don't know. I don't even know why I do some of the things I do."
My husband died 3 years ago of lung cancer. It's kind of funny, he helped me heal of my severe PTSD, and when I became highly functional, he was diagnosed with cancer, and I spent a year taking care of him. I feel so strongly that I want my life to count for something, not for my ego or glory, but to honor him and show that his efforts with me were not in vain. I give God the glory for bringing that man into my life.
