I often think about what is the truth of my life. By "truth", I mean to really look at what has happened to me over the years. Statements that people have made to me and what I have thought and felt at one time or another. Desires and dreams never realized. Magic made in spite of difficult circumstances. Sometimes my truth overwhelms me and I find it in places where it does not belong. It makes itself known to me at the most inopportune times like an uninvited guest. Once they are there it is difficult to get them to leave.
During the course of my day I rarely have time to dwell on the past. I like to believe my life is different now. For the most part I have joined the ranks of the upper middle class. I have a profession and two degrees. A house and two cars. But my truth of what I lived before is but a flashback away. They come and they go. They come and often they stay. A blinding reminder that although I have crossed over from one road to another, if I look back I can still see that path littered with the trash of bygone days. Truth does not change. It is what it is and always will be. It may be twisted, revised, but then it become something else. It is not truth.
I like to believe that I have moved on. I know that you have moved on too. All that we know is different, changed from what used to be. We are all grown up now, with children of our own that we treat like children. We tuck them in and paste crude crayon drawings on the refrigerator.
In them we see a life vibrant with possibility.
The past cannot be changed, altered. And that is the truth about truth.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Stranger In A Strange Land
Are there times when you are not sure what you are feeling? Only that you know there is an incompleteness in you that surfaces from time to time? A sensation that perhaps you missed an important event that everyone else attended and somehow you were left out?
There are many moments when I feel this way. A nagging feeling that there is something amiss. I am going along fine, my day no different that any other and then: I am falling off the edge, my balance disrupted, slipping off the side of an uneven slope. Conversations of colleagues make their way into my line of hearing: how beautifully someone has decorated their house, an upcoming weekend to be spent at an elite spa and resort. It is not that these things are out of my reach for they aren't.It is that inside I feel as though I am an outsider. Hustled in through a side door to a gathering where I don't belong, eager to be a part of it but with nothing of value to offer.
It is terrible to feel this way as you know. At these moments, I want to get up from the table and not even excuse myself, as those that are there are surely grateful for my exit. Who and what am I? I find myself in these circumstances, how ever did I ever end up here with these people who are so much better than me?
A few years ago another therapist told me how very low my self-esteem was. No matter what I accomplish, I never feel worthy of any of the benefits. As a child, no one ever stood up for me. I took what I got because there was no other way. I was all the names I was referred to by my mother and grandmother, and I would never amount to anything, an embarrassment for the family. My brother once told me I would spend my adult years drinking beer from a brown paper bag, my legs spread akimbo on a dirty stoop. It was just one of the many predictions made for me that did not come to pass, as I was stronger than them all.
I have been diagnosed with a number of conditions: panic disorder, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, post traumatic stress disorder to name a few. I am sure there are more. There are other conditions that plague me too: happiness when I can find it, success in my career, security in the love of my husband and daughter, delight in a job well done. When we sit back and take stock, if even for a moment, we realize that we are not those bad things we were told, but women gaining trust in who we are.
Carry on.
There are many moments when I feel this way. A nagging feeling that there is something amiss. I am going along fine, my day no different that any other and then: I am falling off the edge, my balance disrupted, slipping off the side of an uneven slope. Conversations of colleagues make their way into my line of hearing: how beautifully someone has decorated their house, an upcoming weekend to be spent at an elite spa and resort. It is not that these things are out of my reach for they aren't.It is that inside I feel as though I am an outsider. Hustled in through a side door to a gathering where I don't belong, eager to be a part of it but with nothing of value to offer.
It is terrible to feel this way as you know. At these moments, I want to get up from the table and not even excuse myself, as those that are there are surely grateful for my exit. Who and what am I? I find myself in these circumstances, how ever did I ever end up here with these people who are so much better than me?
A few years ago another therapist told me how very low my self-esteem was. No matter what I accomplish, I never feel worthy of any of the benefits. As a child, no one ever stood up for me. I took what I got because there was no other way. I was all the names I was referred to by my mother and grandmother, and I would never amount to anything, an embarrassment for the family. My brother once told me I would spend my adult years drinking beer from a brown paper bag, my legs spread akimbo on a dirty stoop. It was just one of the many predictions made for me that did not come to pass, as I was stronger than them all.
I have been diagnosed with a number of conditions: panic disorder, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, post traumatic stress disorder to name a few. I am sure there are more. There are other conditions that plague me too: happiness when I can find it, success in my career, security in the love of my husband and daughter, delight in a job well done. When we sit back and take stock, if even for a moment, we realize that we are not those bad things we were told, but women gaining trust in who we are.
Carry on.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Free to be Me.
It is difficult for me to describe who and what I am. When confronted with that question I pause. Who am I?? What makes me me?? Even now words escape me, and as I try to round up the suitable ones to describe me, I can say with certainty what I am not.
I am not evil or cruel. I am not greedy, nor do I find satisfaction in the ill treatment of others. I am not complacent and will come to the aid of those that need me if at all possible. I am not rich and I do not try to present a false picture of myself to others. As I continue on, I would like to tell you some of the things that I am, try to be, and long to be.
I am and always have been and will be, a thinker, a dreamer, a seeker and speaker of the truth. I am the faithful lover of a stirring man, and together we are more than the sum of our parts. Our daughter is the product of a profound and sincere love, and I am not complete without him or her.
As a small child I was confused as to my gender. I wasn't sure if I was a girl turning into a boy, or a boy turning into a girl. When puberty struck, my confusion turned to panic. To relieve myself of the worries, I identified myself with a comic strip character, a hillbilly by the name of "Snuffy Smith". That was my picture of myself. I cannot tell you why. Perhaps because there was nothing explicitly sexual about him, an unattractive loudmouth that could not be told the difference between right and wrong. That was me, I was him.
Today, I identify myself with me. I am unlike anyone I know. It has taken quite some time for me to be free to be me. I am a reader of good books, a woman of little importance except to my family and small circle of friends. I am a mom who finds it difficult to watch her daughter grow up because one day I will have to let go. In time. I am a work in progress, still evolving, free to be me.
I am not evil or cruel. I am not greedy, nor do I find satisfaction in the ill treatment of others. I am not complacent and will come to the aid of those that need me if at all possible. I am not rich and I do not try to present a false picture of myself to others. As I continue on, I would like to tell you some of the things that I am, try to be, and long to be.
I am and always have been and will be, a thinker, a dreamer, a seeker and speaker of the truth. I am the faithful lover of a stirring man, and together we are more than the sum of our parts. Our daughter is the product of a profound and sincere love, and I am not complete without him or her.
As a small child I was confused as to my gender. I wasn't sure if I was a girl turning into a boy, or a boy turning into a girl. When puberty struck, my confusion turned to panic. To relieve myself of the worries, I identified myself with a comic strip character, a hillbilly by the name of "Snuffy Smith". That was my picture of myself. I cannot tell you why. Perhaps because there was nothing explicitly sexual about him, an unattractive loudmouth that could not be told the difference between right and wrong. That was me, I was him.
Today, I identify myself with me. I am unlike anyone I know. It has taken quite some time for me to be free to be me. I am a reader of good books, a woman of little importance except to my family and small circle of friends. I am a mom who finds it difficult to watch her daughter grow up because one day I will have to let go. In time. I am a work in progress, still evolving, free to be me.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother's Day
Happy Mother's Day to all of you out there. I hope this day brings peace, comfort, and a sense of having all that we need!
My Mother's Day was spent like any other day; I cooked and cleaned and baked and cooked and cleaned. My daughter made me a bracelet of plastic multi-colored beads and flowers which now adorns my wrist. I recieved calls and texts of well wishers and made several of my own. A beautiful card from my husband. I lamented that once again I did not make it to the gym but promised myself (and my thighs) that I would surely get there tomorrow.
I had dinner with my family and friends and a cocktail that I now believe was much too big for my own good. I am sure that many of you spent the day in a similar fashion. Yes, it was just a normal day.
I had everything I needed.
And that was the part I liked the best.
My Mother's Day was spent like any other day; I cooked and cleaned and baked and cooked and cleaned. My daughter made me a bracelet of plastic multi-colored beads and flowers which now adorns my wrist. I recieved calls and texts of well wishers and made several of my own. A beautiful card from my husband. I lamented that once again I did not make it to the gym but promised myself (and my thighs) that I would surely get there tomorrow.
I had dinner with my family and friends and a cocktail that I now believe was much too big for my own good. I am sure that many of you spent the day in a similar fashion. Yes, it was just a normal day.
I had everything I needed.
And that was the part I liked the best.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Chair
Over the years I have seen a number of therapists. I can honestly say that most have been a help to me in releasing some of the numbing pain that has built up inside me. The woman I see now has been my therapist for perhaps three years. She has been extremely supportive and never hesitates to prompt me to look deeper into who and what I really am and not the labels that was slapped on me as a child. On my first visit to her office, my pain was so great that I promptly dropped my head into my hands and wept as I told her the story of me. I was embarrassed by my tears but I returned because there was a comfort there in the chair.
I don't believe that we can live through the experiences we have had and never seek therapy or some sort of help to heal the injured body and spirit. We are like broken dolls in need of fixing by a caring hand.
There in the chair I understood that as broken as I was that I would mend. There in the chair I looked around and found a safe harbor where I could state the facts as they happened. I would not be questioned about their veracity, I would be taken at my word.
There in the chair.
I don't believe that we can live through the experiences we have had and never seek therapy or some sort of help to heal the injured body and spirit. We are like broken dolls in need of fixing by a caring hand.
There in the chair I understood that as broken as I was that I would mend. There in the chair I looked around and found a safe harbor where I could state the facts as they happened. I would not be questioned about their veracity, I would be taken at my word.
There in the chair.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Making of Memories
Not too long ago as I was driving my daughter and a few of her friends to the movies, I began to think about the memories that she will carry with her through her life. In the back seat, their chatter hung in the air like weightless clouds, one brief conversation spilled into another, and their excitement at life's possibilities of the next few minutes grew.
I have tried (and with great success) to build a cache of amusing and tender moments that she (and I) can look back on that will one day bring bursts of laughter and tears of joy. To know that a life has been filled with as much joy that any human can fill it with is a gift as great as any prized possession. To intentionally take away simple joys and pleasures such as those that may be experienced by a child is truly an act that will earn that person a direct ticket to Hell. As forgiving as our God is, there are also acts that are shameful in His sight. My daughter, whether knowingly or not, shares the delights of her youth with me. As wonderful as it is, it would have been nice to have my own.
My elderly neighbor who just passed away used to always tell me there was no point in denying yourself anything in life. Use the good china, take the exotic trips, love now in the moment. You will reach that point in your life where you have been relegated to the armchair, your only vehicle. It is then that you can reach back into those memories and remember a time when there were no limits to what you could do.
I am building those glorious memories for us. One day her children will giggle at these stories, their eyes sparkling and chubby little hands clasped gingerly over their mouths.
Another memory in the making.
I have tried (and with great success) to build a cache of amusing and tender moments that she (and I) can look back on that will one day bring bursts of laughter and tears of joy. To know that a life has been filled with as much joy that any human can fill it with is a gift as great as any prized possession. To intentionally take away simple joys and pleasures such as those that may be experienced by a child is truly an act that will earn that person a direct ticket to Hell. As forgiving as our God is, there are also acts that are shameful in His sight. My daughter, whether knowingly or not, shares the delights of her youth with me. As wonderful as it is, it would have been nice to have my own.
My elderly neighbor who just passed away used to always tell me there was no point in denying yourself anything in life. Use the good china, take the exotic trips, love now in the moment. You will reach that point in your life where you have been relegated to the armchair, your only vehicle. It is then that you can reach back into those memories and remember a time when there were no limits to what you could do.
I am building those glorious memories for us. One day her children will giggle at these stories, their eyes sparkling and chubby little hands clasped gingerly over their mouths.
Another memory in the making.
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