Family · Health · Memory · Personal · relationships

Stuck in the Past

Once married, I moved away from home. For nearly twenty years, I lived too far away for easy family visits or too much family drama. When I moved home, that quickly changed.

Unfortunately, some family members were stuck in the past, insisting on analyzing the actions and relationships from that era rather than establishing adult ones.

Analyzing present events and interactions based on the past, leaves little room for building relationships. Slights are easily found if you are looking for them. No accommodation or concession is enough when measured against the past.

I’ve found that living through the same events does not mean you have the same experiences. When those events are memories, motivation becomes subject to the human need for patterns and storytelling.

For example, I hid my hearing loss all through grade school. Why? My sister lectures me about being responsible for the degree of loss because I didn’t tell anyone while it was happening. I believe NOW that I was trying to fit in. I didn’t want another thing that made me different. I doubt I’d have explained it that way when I was twelve.

My sister believes that I got all the attention from our parents and grandparents because of my early health issues and I can’t deny the truth of that in the early years. However, as we got older, I was independent and often solitary. Those adults had time for her, but she had to forge those relationships … find those activities … and interpret them in positive ways.

Scarcity sees attention given to others as diminishing the attention given to you. Inclusion means the quality of the attention diminishes. You are lesser. Standing up for yourself means others accepting your interpretation or else. Sadly, “or else” is often the outcome that ends relationships.

I put an end to analyzing the past (and not just for me). I put a moratorium on guilt. I also refuse to worry about how every action or inaction will be interpreted. I don’t have an “or else,” but I do have “I’m done with that.”

Ethics · Health · Nature · Personal · Pets · Uncategorized

Sixth Sense

What if everyone has an extra ability? Or several? They could be big or small, but they wouldn’t be considered “normal.” They wouldn’t be something everybody talked about. They would probably be hidden

Empathy might be a more common one. I know that I cared more in general when I was a child. I slowly realized that could be used to hurt or control me. I layered other gifts over it … things like logic, objectivity and observation.

As a child I believed that I could understand animals, not speech but still communication. In the beginning, I believe it was natural and went along with my instinct to be quiet and still, to watch and wait.

Adulthood was a long Interlude where I locked away my instincts, intuition and emotions in order to fit it and even to compete and excel. I was both disconnected and searching for connection. In my thirties I asked, “Is this all there is?” The meaning of THIS varies for everyone, but I meant trying to please other people, to meet expectations, and to work to make money to buy better and bigger things.

While searching for understanding, I renewed my sense of wonder, my connection to nature and began reforging the link between my emotions and my mind. I got really sick and an abused cat helped rescue me. We bonded so intimately that we really did share emotions and thoughts/intentions. Possibility bloomed … slowly.

I started the journey back to the beliefs and intentions I’d lost or never codified. The biggest one has been that all life has intrinsic value beyond how humans can use it, including my own.

I have several other knacks. I can wake during the night and know what time it is, usually within ten minutes or so. If I truly care about it, I can set a mental alarm clock and wake when I need to. I’m a lucid dreamer, although less so now than when I was young. I have a sneaking suspicion that many people have similar knacks and that a lot of people suppress then and never get them back.

I remain more cautious and more reserved than in my childhood, but I’m grateful to understand I’m making that choice and can change whenever I need to.

Family · Memory · Personal · relationships · Story · Uncategorized · Writing

Pseudonym

I will probably have to make this the introduction to any memoir I write.

As I go about the process of living, I turn my life into stories. Individuals in these stories tend to be recognizable and some of them dislike that, even though I try to show all their facets, not just the bad and not just the good. Consequently, I will probably have published under a pseudonym. They will still be able to recognize one another, but they’ll likely remain anonymous to the rest of the world.

Family · gender · Memory · Personal · relationships

The Habit of Sorry

From childhood, we start apologizing. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Teacher. Sorry, World. At some point though, boys get a pass and girls just get habituated.

This conspiracy is built on a lie. The lie is that staying small (apologizing, not taking up too much space) will keep girls safe. In reality, this makes girls less safe because they don’t learn how to fight for themselves without also taking steps to ensure everyone else has had their needs met. That everyone else stays happy. Their power is muted. They try to keep the peace and minimize the danger. Staying small and saying “sorry” becomes a dangerous habit.

I find the current idiom of “sorry, not sorry” a useful transition. The recipient is disarmed. On the other hand, passive aggressive isn’t the best coping skill. I’ve learned to use disengagement. In a few memorable instances, I’ve said, “I’d only have this argument if I cared about your (fill in the blank). And I don’t.”

When my marriage was ending, criticism and control was so common that I slipped back into the automatic “sorry” habit to avoid constant conflict. The incident that made me realize it was:

My spouse was on overnight duty one summer weekend. Our duplex had no air conditioning and retained heat. We used fans to create air currents by pulling from the coolest side. We commonly left windows and doors open with screens only. I left the front door open and double locked the security screen door. I went to bed.

I was awakened early the next morning by banging and shouting. He was waiting at the door with a bunch of military gear. He wasn’t happy. He wanted to know why I’d locked up when I knew he’d have all his stuff with him. Still groggy, I started with “sorry” and began to explain. Then I stopped myself and asked, “Would you want to sleep alone in a house way out here with unlocked doors?” I got only an,”Oh, yeah.” I realized I’d been making myself smaller and letting him take up more and more space.

Habits are hard to break, especially when they are being reinforced. Trying to replace them with something else, like a question, helps.

Family · Health · Memory · Personal

Broken Heart

I was born with a broken heart and everyone knew it. I was too small for surgery. I had to wait. While I was waiting, I had to be quiet and careful. I had to be small when I wanted to be big.

I wanted to do everything. I wanted to feel everything. I wanted to know everything. I also wanted love. I also wanted approval. I tried to do as I was told and, when I did, I got love and approval. Doing what other people wanted, gave me love and approval. This was experience not reasoning. Call it conditioning.

My world was small, but I had my imagination and then I learned to read and I HAD BOOKS. And my heart was mended. But quiet and careful were already habits for me as expected by everyone.