The “flea” analogy is my favourite of all analogies. Maybe it’s because it is something close to my own heart. It involves jumping fleas in a jar such as an old jam jar. It’s not something I’ve actually seen myself, but I’ve heard and read about it.
The jar contains a number of fleas, twenty, thirty, forty or maybe more. Fleas like to jump. They don’t like to be restricted, of course. They just like to jump as high, or as far, as they can and land wherever they land. But these fleas are in a small jam jar with the lid removed. They jump no lower or higher than the rim of the jar and they never escape, despite their natural instinct to jump higher and exit the jar. How on earth could this happen?
It’s very simple. The fleas are placed in the jar and then, immediately, the lid of the jar is put back on. They jump in their usual manner, only to find that they bump their heads on the underside of the lid. It hurts a little and they don’t like it. But fleas aren’t always especially intelligent and don’t have particularly good memories. They jump again and bump their heads. The same thing happens again, and again, and again. But even fleas aren’t completely stupid. Eventually, they become used to the idea that, whatever it is, something is preventing them from jumping as high as they’d like, and it hurts. Obviously, it takes a little longer for some. Just as with humans, some fleas have learning difficulties. But once they have become conditioned to jumping no further that the rim of the jar, the lid of the jar is removed. The jar can then be left alone, or carried around, and the fleas will remain in the jar and will never jump out.
This sweet little story is the essence of how, with humans, controlling and coercive relationships work. The victim realises there are certain boundaries that are simply not worth attempting to cross. The controller has made it clear that the victim will be given a hard time if these boundaries are breached – sometimes physically and sometimes psychologically. Either way, they become satisfied that they have eventually subdued the victim sufficiently. Sometimes, no words have even been spoken about it. It becomes a sinister, unmentionable but mutual understanding.
In social situations, onlookers see the victim merrily jumping around in the jar, seemingly have a ball, and happily staying within the jar. But the truth is unseen. Basic rights, such as freedom to socialise with friends or maintain close family bonds become eroded; their natural instincts are suppressed. There may be occasions where the victim needs to jump out of the jar, such as family issues or bereavements. Even in the most controlling of relationships there is usually some leeway.
A family member of mine was at a doctor’s appointment and had, in the past, expressed concerns about my circumstances. The doctor, who had been my own doctor for many years and knew me well, asked about how I’d been coping with my situation. My family member explained that it had been getting worse and worse. The doctor said that, unfortunately, most people in these kinds of relationships never succeed in escaping, and that things will probably remain the same.
However, I found the strength and reached the edge of the jar, climbed out, landed somewhere or other and kept running. I’m now totally free. It took a long time to recover from the events that led to my escape. They were serious. They were cruel. They were deliberate. They were devoid of compassion. The only way to completely escape this kind of situation is to completely cease all ties with the controller. This is what I did, and this is how it remains.
Seeing as most people had the impression that my life in the jar was an acceptable one, I was concerned about how people would react towards me. As time went by, things became more and more clear to those who hadn’t previously understood my predicament. There is nothing more satisfying than a friend coming up to me, giving me the most sincere of handshakes while looking me in the eye and saying, “Fucking well done, Mark!” It comforts me to know that it is all now understood. It really wasn’t easy.
It was, in fact, the hardest thing I ever did, but the easiest decision I ever made.
MARK D PRITCHARD writes... 