I was a loner. I don't believe that I was born to be a loner. I adore others today. I thrive through connections. I don't even know you, but I am so happy and literally covered in thrill bumps anticipating my words floating through your creative mind.
I know now I was created, or at least the behaviors I manifested were created by those who cared for me. My caretakers molded my ideas of the world and sadly my ideas of my own Self.
My parents were not very faithful people. They were strongly bound to ideas like small rocks are caught up in large clumps of concrete. If my father couldn't see it, it wasn't real.
My mother spoke of God often, but I wondered if her beliefs stemmed from faith or the absoluteness of the words she found in ink on the pages of the bible. In my opinion, believing only in what is written in ink, and lacking the ability to have faith in ideas alone, has nothing to do with faith at all.
I believe I was cheated as a little girl. I believe that I was supposed to be held, nurtured, babied, cooed at, kissed, and looked at fondly. I believe my eyes were supposed to meet the eyes of validation, and connectedness. I believe I was supposed to be encouraged to play, and to get dirty, and to laugh until my belly hurt, unconcerned with how others would judge me for my free spirit. I believe that my natural curiosity was supposed to be encouraged, and that when I made a mistake, I was supposed to be gently motivated to be better.
But in my world, instead I was taught to be small, to be invisible and to go away.
Human connection was as prickly as sleeping in a bed of bees.
The only aspect of my existence that felt remotely comfortable was making myself small, feeling invisible, and getting out of the way.
In those moments, when life become too painful to tolerate, I would count numbers in my mind, pull hairs from my head, and fantasize about being loved.
I shutter to think what might have happened to me, if I had not found the rocking arms of OCD.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
The Unspoken Rules That Created My Beliefs
It is uncomfortable for me to write sometimes. I feel myself recoiling from wanting to write my truth. I can feel guilt wanting to make me stop, and go make another cup of coffee, because I know that much of what I write about my childhood is so negative, and sometimes hard to believe.
Much of what I experienced with my mother was in private. The dysfunction played out like a secret production. She and I were the only performers. Through my third eye, or what most would refer to the eyes of self awareness, I see now that I was simply a manifestation of all the nervous, disappointed, frustrated, angry, disillusioned, self loathing energy that was truly her own.
My mother was an abandoned, neglected, emotionally and psychologically starved child. How could she have ever been able to mirror back to me, what her 19 year old child Self did not possess? It would have defied law.
These truths of mine are not about revenge. In fact, they are about forgiveness, understanding, compassion, and empathy. But I realize that many unaware others may not be able to see the forest through the battered limbs of so many trees.
My mother and father infected me with rules that did little more than help me disown my Self.
When my father took his frustration out on my mother, and as she took it, and swallowed up her own disappointment and sadness so not to upset him any further, and when my father refused to apologize for hurting my mother, the rules that were getting ingrained in me, would be the groundwork for the belief systems that governed my very existence.
In my house I learned that the only persons feelings that mattered were the ones in charge. I learned that it was of the utmost importance to swallow feelings, especially ones that might make someone else angry. I learned that it was acceptable to be called names when no one was looking. I learned that talking about feelings was unacceptable. I learned that crying was a form of weakness. I learned that my truth was unimportant. I learned that men come first. I learned that pleasing a man was more important than a man pleasing a woman. I learned that a woman should not expect to be understood. I learned that women clean, cook, and take care of others. I learned that women do not take care of themselves. I learned that what a man thought of me, was more important than what I thought of me.
Much of what I experienced with my mother was in private. The dysfunction played out like a secret production. She and I were the only performers. Through my third eye, or what most would refer to the eyes of self awareness, I see now that I was simply a manifestation of all the nervous, disappointed, frustrated, angry, disillusioned, self loathing energy that was truly her own.
My mother was an abandoned, neglected, emotionally and psychologically starved child. How could she have ever been able to mirror back to me, what her 19 year old child Self did not possess? It would have defied law.
These truths of mine are not about revenge. In fact, they are about forgiveness, understanding, compassion, and empathy. But I realize that many unaware others may not be able to see the forest through the battered limbs of so many trees.
My mother and father infected me with rules that did little more than help me disown my Self.
When my father took his frustration out on my mother, and as she took it, and swallowed up her own disappointment and sadness so not to upset him any further, and when my father refused to apologize for hurting my mother, the rules that were getting ingrained in me, would be the groundwork for the belief systems that governed my very existence.
In my house I learned that the only persons feelings that mattered were the ones in charge. I learned that it was of the utmost importance to swallow feelings, especially ones that might make someone else angry. I learned that it was acceptable to be called names when no one was looking. I learned that talking about feelings was unacceptable. I learned that crying was a form of weakness. I learned that my truth was unimportant. I learned that men come first. I learned that pleasing a man was more important than a man pleasing a woman. I learned that a woman should not expect to be understood. I learned that women clean, cook, and take care of others. I learned that women do not take care of themselves. I learned that what a man thought of me, was more important than what I thought of me.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
My Emotional Triggers
It is said that it is not what we hear ourselves thinking, but what we don't hear ourselves thinking is what is at the root of all of our behaviors and reactions.
When I think of a tsunami, I am reminded that a shift at the bottom of the ocean is the cause of the massive destruction that manifests at the waters surface. I can imagine quite clearly the disconnectedness somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, being what is causing all the destruction on land. Truer, the actual disturbance we see manifest through the enormous waves of water, has nothing to do with water at all. Tsunami's are the result of a disturbance in the earths plates. The rushing water is simply what shows up after the earth has cracked a bit.
When I liken a tsunami to areas of my life that have been explosive, I can see how often it was that while reacting in the moment to a certain event, the truth was that I was reacting to something much deeper inside of me that had very little to do with any moment at hand.
Triggers are those places in us that draw us back to painful times in our lives when specific psychological woundings actual took place. They are the points of negative creation within us, that unless we assimilate and somehow make peace with, will draw us back emotionally as if the initial wounding is reoccurring in our present time.
When I was a little girl, my fathers sister suffered a nervous breakdown. She was ultimately diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. It was a difficult time to navigate through as a child. I was only about 10 or 11 at the time.
My aunt had always been someone I admired. She was attractive, and quite successful for a woman back in the 70's. She lived with a man I believed was my uncle Mike. 10 years into my aunts relationship with this man she discovered he had another life. Mike was actually married and had three children. He worked for a bus company and was somehow able to explain his nights out through overtime and multiple swing shifts.
The realization left my aunt unable to cope. She could not bridge the ten years of deception emotionally through to mental acceptance. Her mind simply could not accept that the man she trusted could have been such a liar. Rather than face that reality, it is my opinion my poor aunts mind split.
There are so many tangents I could go off onto from here. I could draw analogies to the idea that my aunts mother abandoned her when she was 10 through suicide. I could write about how that wound-that sense of abandonment, and betrayal was the unstable groundwork that all of her prior relationships were built, including the relationship with her self, and that instability is what really caused her psychological split, and I would probably be right or pretty damn near close if I did. But these writings are about my souls recovery. And so I choose to connect the dots with a focus on the groundwork that was 'me' instead.
When my mother would find herself frustrated by me for whatever reason, it was not uncommon for her to say cruel things to me like, "You're just like Aunt Eleanor. You're going to end up just like her. You'll never have any friends Lisa. You're a little psycho."
We lived in a tiny little house. My bedroom was on the second floor. Back then only the rich had air conditioners, so we always fell asleep to the sound of crickets, cars passing by, and airplanes taking off and landing in the distance. On one night in particular, I remember my mom talking to one of our neighbors on our front stoop. I overheard her telling our neighbor that she was concerned for me. She told her friend that she thought I was a little crazy like her sister in law. The really fucked up thing for me was, that while my mother was talking to her friend, she made her concerns seem genuine. It confused me, because my mother never acted genuine or considerate of my feelings when ever she did speak to me. In fact my mother seemed to taunt me into frustration.
Her calling me a psycho wounded me. Her telling her friend that I was crazy, cut my emotional Self like a knife. So when my ex husband would not only deliberately frustrate me, or withhold affection, or attention from me, but in addition would refer to me as crazy, or a fruit cake, or flakey, I would react not only to the moment, but through the eyes of that still very wounded little girl I still was.
When I think of a tsunami, I am reminded that a shift at the bottom of the ocean is the cause of the massive destruction that manifests at the waters surface. I can imagine quite clearly the disconnectedness somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, being what is causing all the destruction on land. Truer, the actual disturbance we see manifest through the enormous waves of water, has nothing to do with water at all. Tsunami's are the result of a disturbance in the earths plates. The rushing water is simply what shows up after the earth has cracked a bit.
When I liken a tsunami to areas of my life that have been explosive, I can see how often it was that while reacting in the moment to a certain event, the truth was that I was reacting to something much deeper inside of me that had very little to do with any moment at hand.
Triggers are those places in us that draw us back to painful times in our lives when specific psychological woundings actual took place. They are the points of negative creation within us, that unless we assimilate and somehow make peace with, will draw us back emotionally as if the initial wounding is reoccurring in our present time.
When I was a little girl, my fathers sister suffered a nervous breakdown. She was ultimately diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. It was a difficult time to navigate through as a child. I was only about 10 or 11 at the time.
My aunt had always been someone I admired. She was attractive, and quite successful for a woman back in the 70's. She lived with a man I believed was my uncle Mike. 10 years into my aunts relationship with this man she discovered he had another life. Mike was actually married and had three children. He worked for a bus company and was somehow able to explain his nights out through overtime and multiple swing shifts.
The realization left my aunt unable to cope. She could not bridge the ten years of deception emotionally through to mental acceptance. Her mind simply could not accept that the man she trusted could have been such a liar. Rather than face that reality, it is my opinion my poor aunts mind split.
There are so many tangents I could go off onto from here. I could draw analogies to the idea that my aunts mother abandoned her when she was 10 through suicide. I could write about how that wound-that sense of abandonment, and betrayal was the unstable groundwork that all of her prior relationships were built, including the relationship with her self, and that instability is what really caused her psychological split, and I would probably be right or pretty damn near close if I did. But these writings are about my souls recovery. And so I choose to connect the dots with a focus on the groundwork that was 'me' instead.
When my mother would find herself frustrated by me for whatever reason, it was not uncommon for her to say cruel things to me like, "You're just like Aunt Eleanor. You're going to end up just like her. You'll never have any friends Lisa. You're a little psycho."
We lived in a tiny little house. My bedroom was on the second floor. Back then only the rich had air conditioners, so we always fell asleep to the sound of crickets, cars passing by, and airplanes taking off and landing in the distance. On one night in particular, I remember my mom talking to one of our neighbors on our front stoop. I overheard her telling our neighbor that she was concerned for me. She told her friend that she thought I was a little crazy like her sister in law. The really fucked up thing for me was, that while my mother was talking to her friend, she made her concerns seem genuine. It confused me, because my mother never acted genuine or considerate of my feelings when ever she did speak to me. In fact my mother seemed to taunt me into frustration.
Her calling me a psycho wounded me. Her telling her friend that I was crazy, cut my emotional Self like a knife. So when my ex husband would not only deliberately frustrate me, or withhold affection, or attention from me, but in addition would refer to me as crazy, or a fruit cake, or flakey, I would react not only to the moment, but through the eyes of that still very wounded little girl I still was.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
The Disconnected Self
So many of us seem to be searching for something, but what? At the end of the day, when you close your eyes can you feel peace? Can you feel joy? Can you feel as if you are satisfied with your life?
All to often, most of us feel as if we are missing something, although we can not name it. If we are not frantic with worry, or excited at all times, many of us become bored. Our minds so accustomed to the search, seem to mistake boredom for something that which may be so much more.
Most of us were taught to worry. As children we worried what the neighbors would think, or what the teachers would say. We worried about the bullies at school, or about getting good grades. We were conditioned to worry about what others thought rather than what we thought. The point is we were taught to worry.
Our brains are like computers. Teach a brain to worry and it will worry even when there is nothing to worry about. A brain will create an idea out of nothing simply to continue doing what it was taught to do, which is worry.
All of us need to wonder whether we worry because there is something to worry about, or do we worry because we were conditioned to do so. What your mind does, it does because it has been taught to do so. Until your awareness of self grows, you can not know why your mind does what it does.
I worried for all of the reasons I mentioned above.
Because I was born to a mother with a fractured sense of self, she could not help me stay connected to my divine truth. My divine truth as is your divine truth, is that at your core you are perfect and created by god. Just as trees, and rivers are a part of this universe, so am I and so are you. Just as a tree is born and a tree dies, so will you and I.
While in my mothers womb, my being floated in divinity. Living within my mothers womb, blanketed by all that is good, I knew my truth. The act of being born, and becoming disconnected from my mothers womb, severed me. Once my being needed to rely on that of the material world, the connection to my self was lost.
Being born requires that newborns rely completely on their caretakers. If our caretakers do not know their own truth, they can not possibly help us know our own. Most of us discover the truth along the path of life, through painful and excruciating experiences.
We all needed to be mirrored. We all needed to have our goodness reflected back to us by people we knew truly loved us. When we are not seen by others, it becomes impossible for us to see ourselves. We learn to do what others do. We worry, we lie, we obsess, we deny, we manipulate, we hide, we drink, we eat, and we make complete messes of our lives.
Pain is good because it forces the psyche to look at what is causing the discomfort. Without pain in our lives, why would we need to change? Without pain, there would be no need to look further into our own hearts or minds. A mind that does not know pain, is a mind that may be blind to the self. The love of self is crucial in order to live a life worth living. To not love the self, is to not know the experience of joy.
Many of us were taught to disconnect from our self in order not to upset the apple carts. This was wrong. Instead we should have been taught to shake the damn apples from the trees if we had to. Fear of upsetting others was programmed into us. It was not our fault. But as adults, we are called to know our minds, to connect with our self, and to give glory to our spirits.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
When You Do Not Know You Are Love
It is uncomfortable to remember how unloved I felt as a little girl. It is a feeling of unease to recall the doubts, the fears and even the guilt for wanting to feel loved. By all normal standards, my family was good. Our home was modest, immaculate, and our hedges were neatly trimmed. My brother, sister and I went to private school, and attended church every Sunday morning. No one would have or could have known how detached, and dead I felt within our seemingly perfect little family.
In my heart I believe my mother was simply ill equipped to deal with a newborn at the age of 19. Not only was she entirely too young to have me, but the additional burden of being the child herself of not one but two alcoholics, as well as both siblings of hers being alcoholics, tipped the scales out of my favor for having a chance at a smooth welcoming. Empty herself, how could it have been possible for there have been anything left to give me?
As a young child of 9 or 10, I still very much wanted to feel connected to my mother. But by that time far too many power games had been played between she and I. Unfortunately when my mother was kind to me, for instance when neighbors or family was around, I did not trust in her kindness and more often than not made it obvious I did not. It was impossible for me to smile on her cue with all the sadness I felt towards her inside. As I got older that sadness turned to bitterness, which only intensified the distance and chill between us.
As a result of my growing animosity against her inability to make me feel loved or accepted by her, my attitude towards her began to become increasingly hostile as I approached the teenage years. It was a perplexing paradigm I found myself in. For so long I had craved her, and felt assaulted when it was me or our 'personality conflict' she gave blame to for her chill towards me. And then as I got older, I became the chill, which only reinforced her earlier portrayal of me and our relationship, whatever our relationship was.
When you don't know you are love, you tend to believe you are as others treat you. I had been told so often that I was a 'cold fish' or that I had a serious psychological issue, that I eventually became that which I had been labeled.
As a much wiser self I now see how critical it is to be aware of what labels we give others and especially our children. Deeper, I have also learned that my mother simply attracted to her what was in her vibrational non physical language, only my vibrational non physical self could understand. My mother's perception of me or her belief of what we were manifested in her physical reality. It was, as it always is whether we acknowledge it as so or not, the law of attraction working in our lives by our own default, and through our unconscious intents.
In my heart I believe my mother was simply ill equipped to deal with a newborn at the age of 19. Not only was she entirely too young to have me, but the additional burden of being the child herself of not one but two alcoholics, as well as both siblings of hers being alcoholics, tipped the scales out of my favor for having a chance at a smooth welcoming. Empty herself, how could it have been possible for there have been anything left to give me?
As a young child of 9 or 10, I still very much wanted to feel connected to my mother. But by that time far too many power games had been played between she and I. Unfortunately when my mother was kind to me, for instance when neighbors or family was around, I did not trust in her kindness and more often than not made it obvious I did not. It was impossible for me to smile on her cue with all the sadness I felt towards her inside. As I got older that sadness turned to bitterness, which only intensified the distance and chill between us.
As a result of my growing animosity against her inability to make me feel loved or accepted by her, my attitude towards her began to become increasingly hostile as I approached the teenage years. It was a perplexing paradigm I found myself in. For so long I had craved her, and felt assaulted when it was me or our 'personality conflict' she gave blame to for her chill towards me. And then as I got older, I became the chill, which only reinforced her earlier portrayal of me and our relationship, whatever our relationship was.
When you don't know you are love, you tend to believe you are as others treat you. I had been told so often that I was a 'cold fish' or that I had a serious psychological issue, that I eventually became that which I had been labeled.
As a much wiser self I now see how critical it is to be aware of what labels we give others and especially our children. Deeper, I have also learned that my mother simply attracted to her what was in her vibrational non physical language, only my vibrational non physical self could understand. My mother's perception of me or her belief of what we were manifested in her physical reality. It was, as it always is whether we acknowledge it as so or not, the law of attraction working in our lives by our own default, and through our unconscious intents.
Monday, June 30, 2008
No Place To Hide
It was not easy for me to make friends.
When one feels their own essence is diseased, it is difficult to muster up the ability to stand independently when surrounded by others, and to not become overwhelmed by the agonizing fear of being suffocated by your intense wanting to feel like you belong. You must learn to survive the tug of war between wanting to belong, and the fear of that same wanting.
I was too young to know why my mother disliked me. The only thing I remember is hearing her say many times that she and I had a 'personality conflict'. If her thoughts about me ever surfaced around family or friends, this is the excuse I heard her say. It was as if the phrase soothed her as well as excused her uncomfortable feelings for me.
I know now that the discomfort she was feeling, was merely a mirror of the discomfort she felt within herself. She was unable to love her Self, therefore she was unable to love me. I may have been an innocent little being that needed to be nurtured, but so was she. And she had suffered greatly in her childhood due to her mothers emotional absence that was the result of her mother's severe dependency on alcohol.
When I was a child I never felt safe. I felt as if I lived in the Twilight Zone, as if nothing was really real. The mood between my mother and I was abrasive, and often when no one was around I felt picked on, as if I were her whipping boy. When my father would come home from work, my mother's demeanor would immediately change. It was as if she were playing a role. A role she knew would make my father happy.
My mother taught us to pretend as well. If my brother, sister or I were arguing in the house before my father arrived home, and once my mother heard the slam of his Volkswagon Van, she would stop in her tracks, glare at the three of us and through gritted white teeth say, "Shut the hell up you kids. Your father is home!" By the sound of her voice, the stiff movement in her body, and the intense look upon her face, we knew we'd better swallow whatever it was that was going on and smile, because daddy was home.
Through the peephole of awareness, back over my shoulder and while searching the lost files of my minds library, I can understand why my mother did what she did. When my mother gritted her teeth at us, and demanded we stop whatever it was we were doing, she was simply trying to make sure my father came home to a calm house after a long hot day of work. But what she didn't realize was, that in all those innocent moments she was conditioning us to disown our feelings, and to fear making others angry. Unbeknownst to her, she was in the process of creating enablers.
My mother was not an alcoholic, but she was codependent, and unknowingly the lack of awareness she had about her Self and how alcohol had effected her on so many levels, my mother ignorantly infected her children with the same dynamics that had effected her as a result of living with alcoholics.
Alcoholics consume families. They are self absorbed individuals that lack self awareness themselves, and find various creative ways to justify why it is they drink until they pass out, lose their jobs, get into fights, cannot keep a clean home or sustain themselves financially. Alcoholics lie, and expect others to go along with those lies. And when someone challenges the alcoholic, the alcoholic plays the victim, and twists reality to fit his/her personal view of it.
Alcoholics don't see you. They cannot. When a child is born to an alcoholic, that child is born to a person who is incapable of giving that child what he/she needs psychologically, emotionally or spiritually. An alcoholic may have a great job, a great house and a great car...but they won't have the ability to love authentically, or be able to take care of a child the way he/she deserves to be treated.
That child will have no place to hide. Interactions with others become feared.
When one feels their own essence is diseased, it is difficult to muster up the ability to stand independently when surrounded by others, and to not become overwhelmed by the agonizing fear of being suffocated by your intense wanting to feel like you belong. You must learn to survive the tug of war between wanting to belong, and the fear of that same wanting.
I was too young to know why my mother disliked me. The only thing I remember is hearing her say many times that she and I had a 'personality conflict'. If her thoughts about me ever surfaced around family or friends, this is the excuse I heard her say. It was as if the phrase soothed her as well as excused her uncomfortable feelings for me.
I know now that the discomfort she was feeling, was merely a mirror of the discomfort she felt within herself. She was unable to love her Self, therefore she was unable to love me. I may have been an innocent little being that needed to be nurtured, but so was she. And she had suffered greatly in her childhood due to her mothers emotional absence that was the result of her mother's severe dependency on alcohol.
When I was a child I never felt safe. I felt as if I lived in the Twilight Zone, as if nothing was really real. The mood between my mother and I was abrasive, and often when no one was around I felt picked on, as if I were her whipping boy. When my father would come home from work, my mother's demeanor would immediately change. It was as if she were playing a role. A role she knew would make my father happy.
My mother taught us to pretend as well. If my brother, sister or I were arguing in the house before my father arrived home, and once my mother heard the slam of his Volkswagon Van, she would stop in her tracks, glare at the three of us and through gritted white teeth say, "Shut the hell up you kids. Your father is home!" By the sound of her voice, the stiff movement in her body, and the intense look upon her face, we knew we'd better swallow whatever it was that was going on and smile, because daddy was home.
Through the peephole of awareness, back over my shoulder and while searching the lost files of my minds library, I can understand why my mother did what she did. When my mother gritted her teeth at us, and demanded we stop whatever it was we were doing, she was simply trying to make sure my father came home to a calm house after a long hot day of work. But what she didn't realize was, that in all those innocent moments she was conditioning us to disown our feelings, and to fear making others angry. Unbeknownst to her, she was in the process of creating enablers.
My mother was not an alcoholic, but she was codependent, and unknowingly the lack of awareness she had about her Self and how alcohol had effected her on so many levels, my mother ignorantly infected her children with the same dynamics that had effected her as a result of living with alcoholics.
Alcoholics consume families. They are self absorbed individuals that lack self awareness themselves, and find various creative ways to justify why it is they drink until they pass out, lose their jobs, get into fights, cannot keep a clean home or sustain themselves financially. Alcoholics lie, and expect others to go along with those lies. And when someone challenges the alcoholic, the alcoholic plays the victim, and twists reality to fit his/her personal view of it.
Alcoholics don't see you. They cannot. When a child is born to an alcoholic, that child is born to a person who is incapable of giving that child what he/she needs psychologically, emotionally or spiritually. An alcoholic may have a great job, a great house and a great car...but they won't have the ability to love authentically, or be able to take care of a child the way he/she deserves to be treated.
That child will have no place to hide. Interactions with others become feared.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Lost Little Girl
Growing up it it was not uncommon to hear my mother refer to me as "crazy, psycho, lil' bitch, liar" and so on. I can remember specifically a time when I was in my feetie fuzzy pajamas lying on our maroon living room carpet in front of the television. Both my parents were seated on the couch behind my sister, brother and myself. We were all watching a program on television about animals that were being slaughtered. My tiny heart was bursting open for these defenseless baby seals, but I felt too intimidated to show my emotions, so I kept them in.
"Lisa is such a cold fish. She is so hard. Look at her. She hasn't shed a tear. Oh my God, what a cold fish she really is", my mother said as I tried to survive her emotional surprise assault on my little nine year old soul. I felt completely confused by what I was feeling. I had been conditioned to believe that showing emotions in our home was not acceptable, and yet I was being mocked for not showing emotion.
I am forty six now and my body still has tears to shed over what happened so long ago. My mother could never have known how traumatizing her comments were. To feel rejected by ones own mother is like being aware you have been dying since the day you were born. Life is sort of like a ride on a long rolling razor blade. You're on it, but you don't know why. You want off the ride, but there is no other ride around. This crazy pain is all you know.
"Lisa is such a cold fish. She is so hard. Look at her. She hasn't shed a tear. Oh my God, what a cold fish she really is", my mother said as I tried to survive her emotional surprise assault on my little nine year old soul. I felt completely confused by what I was feeling. I had been conditioned to believe that showing emotions in our home was not acceptable, and yet I was being mocked for not showing emotion.
I am forty six now and my body still has tears to shed over what happened so long ago. My mother could never have known how traumatizing her comments were. To feel rejected by ones own mother is like being aware you have been dying since the day you were born. Life is sort of like a ride on a long rolling razor blade. You're on it, but you don't know why. You want off the ride, but there is no other ride around. This crazy pain is all you know.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Surviving The Pain
When I was a little girl I used to fantasize about spending time alone with my mother. The pang of the emotional distance between us cut like a hot dagger. I yearned for her touch me to help make me feel real. But instead I felt pushed to the side, which made me feel wrong.
I was too young to realize that my mothers insufficient bonding with her own mother, was the root cause of her inability to mother me. Adding insult to injury, the sudden death of her beloved father while pregnant with me, only compounded the sorrow my already overburdened young teenage mother carried. It could have been no other way. How could have my mother been able to 'see' me? My mother had not yet discovered her own Self.
By the time I was seven, fantasy was pretty much a norm for me. It was how I survived feeling 'not real'. Escaping into a world my mind created, that I could manipulate and create was how I escaped reality when my reality became too painful.
I since understand that the emotions of alienation I experienced as a child were the result of feeling psychologically invisible. What I and what every new soul needs as a child is a sense of worthiness that is mirrored back to them through the eyes of caretakers. It is essential to a child's emotional development to have acceptance, validation, forgiveness, and unconditional love be reflected back into them so that they can adopt those feelings unto themselves.
When this does not occur, a child does not develop emotionally as fully as it should. When a child does not believe she/he is loved, the child grows feeling foreign to his/her own world. The child feels alien even unto his/her own self. It is a feeling of detachment that leaves the mind feeling fragile and assuming it is unworthy of love.
I did not 'feel' loved. Intellectually I assumed I was because my house was clean, we always had wonderful meals on the table, and my parents kept a nice home. But there was always a sense in my that I was not good, not good enough, and worse not real.
I see now that because a healthy sense of Self was not mirrored back to me, I could not connect to my own soul. Growing up in a home void of emotion, kept me yearning instead of becoming. Disconnected from her own Self, my mother could never have known what it was she was not giving me.
I was too young to realize that my mothers insufficient bonding with her own mother, was the root cause of her inability to mother me. Adding insult to injury, the sudden death of her beloved father while pregnant with me, only compounded the sorrow my already overburdened young teenage mother carried. It could have been no other way. How could have my mother been able to 'see' me? My mother had not yet discovered her own Self.
By the time I was seven, fantasy was pretty much a norm for me. It was how I survived feeling 'not real'. Escaping into a world my mind created, that I could manipulate and create was how I escaped reality when my reality became too painful.
I since understand that the emotions of alienation I experienced as a child were the result of feeling psychologically invisible. What I and what every new soul needs as a child is a sense of worthiness that is mirrored back to them through the eyes of caretakers. It is essential to a child's emotional development to have acceptance, validation, forgiveness, and unconditional love be reflected back into them so that they can adopt those feelings unto themselves.
When this does not occur, a child does not develop emotionally as fully as it should. When a child does not believe she/he is loved, the child grows feeling foreign to his/her own world. The child feels alien even unto his/her own self. It is a feeling of detachment that leaves the mind feeling fragile and assuming it is unworthy of love.
I did not 'feel' loved. Intellectually I assumed I was because my house was clean, we always had wonderful meals on the table, and my parents kept a nice home. But there was always a sense in my that I was not good, not good enough, and worse not real.
I see now that because a healthy sense of Self was not mirrored back to me, I could not connect to my own soul. Growing up in a home void of emotion, kept me yearning instead of becoming. Disconnected from her own Self, my mother could never have known what it was she was not giving me.
Friday, June 6, 2008
We Do What We Have Been Shown
My parents are both adult children of alcoholics. Neither of them were blessed with childhoods that they'd like to remember. My mother had two alcoholic parents, and my father had a father who was an alcoholic, and a mother who committed suicide when he was just four years old. My parents were not coddled, cooed, nurtured, or psychologically validated. They were ignored, neglected, disregarded, abused, and abandoned.
It is no accident that my parents met and married. Likes attract likes. One adult child of an alcoholic marries another adult child of an alcoholic. Back then these similarities were not spoken of. They were considered coincidental, silly, and amusing if they were considered at all.
I was born when my mother was just nineteen years old. Four months before my birth, my fathers mother suffered a massive cardiac arrest and died. Just prior to his death, he promised his daughter he would stop drinking once I was born.
I cannot remember, sadly, a time when my mother ever made me feel 'seen'. I felt awkward in her presence, as if my presence annoyed her. I felt as if I was a burden. The only thing that felt right, was removing myself from wherever she was. Feeling invisible to her, hurt more deeply than removing myself from her presence. In my removing of myself, I felt oddly good for doing something that was pleasing to my mother.
My mother was a caretaker and enabled my father throughout their marriage. It was common for me to witness my mother shrink when my father raised his voice on the phone. My father owned and operated his own refrigeration business out of our home, and my mother answered the business phones. If she routed the calls in a way that displeased him, he was not the type of man that knew how to control his anger. He made no excuses for taking his frustrations out on my mother.
Growing up I witnessed my mother disowning her own Self for the sake of her man. Their relationship was not a tender, nor a sharing one. It was distant, unemotional, and more like a business relationship than a marriage.
As my marriage began to draw its last breaths, it became clearer and clearer to me that in many ways I had become my mother, and in other ways I had married her as well.
It is no accident that my parents met and married. Likes attract likes. One adult child of an alcoholic marries another adult child of an alcoholic. Back then these similarities were not spoken of. They were considered coincidental, silly, and amusing if they were considered at all.
I was born when my mother was just nineteen years old. Four months before my birth, my fathers mother suffered a massive cardiac arrest and died. Just prior to his death, he promised his daughter he would stop drinking once I was born.
I cannot remember, sadly, a time when my mother ever made me feel 'seen'. I felt awkward in her presence, as if my presence annoyed her. I felt as if I was a burden. The only thing that felt right, was removing myself from wherever she was. Feeling invisible to her, hurt more deeply than removing myself from her presence. In my removing of myself, I felt oddly good for doing something that was pleasing to my mother.
My mother was a caretaker and enabled my father throughout their marriage. It was common for me to witness my mother shrink when my father raised his voice on the phone. My father owned and operated his own refrigeration business out of our home, and my mother answered the business phones. If she routed the calls in a way that displeased him, he was not the type of man that knew how to control his anger. He made no excuses for taking his frustrations out on my mother.
Growing up I witnessed my mother disowning her own Self for the sake of her man. Their relationship was not a tender, nor a sharing one. It was distant, unemotional, and more like a business relationship than a marriage.
As my marriage began to draw its last breaths, it became clearer and clearer to me that in many ways I had become my mother, and in other ways I had married her as well.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
You Attract What You Know
Have you ever thought why me? Have you ever found yourself puzzled by the drama in your life? Do you ever feel like someone out there is out to get you? Does your life ever sometimes spin so far out of control that you find yourself wondering if things are ever going to get better?
The truth is we have all had those thoughts.
At the age of 32, I found myself overwhelmed, frustrated, drained, exhausted and feeling very much victimized by others in my life. Everything 'looked' so perfect from the outside. My life, so idealistic and perfect, was a facade. I wasn't happy. I wasn't fulfilled. In fact, my life was the complete opposite of joy. It was just dark.
My marriage was exhausting. Trying to communicate with my husband was like trying to get a garden hose to behave like a hedge trimmer. Speaking to him was more frustrating than trying to trim my lawn with a pair of pedicure nail clippers. Life was unnecessarily confusing and hampered. It was as if it was my husbands predominant intent not to hear me.
What I understand now I didn't know then. What I realize now is, no one ever held a gun to my head and told me I had to stay in a place of unhappiness. No one ever told me I had to stay in a place that drained the very life out of my being. No one ever told me I had to put the needs of everyone else above my own. The decisions I made in my lifetime, I made all on my own.
I see now however, I was living by default, asleep, unawakened, and disengaged from my soul.
As frustrating as my husband was, it was not his fault I married him. I see now I married him because the distant-cold love he offered was the only kind of love I recognized.
I attracted my husband into my life because chasing after peoples approval was what I was accustomed to doing. Love was something I wasn't truly worthy of. It was something I needed to earn.
At the age of 32, I found myself overwhelmed, frustrated, drained, exhausted and feeling very much victimized by others in my life. Everything 'looked' so perfect from the outside. My life, so idealistic and perfect, was a facade. I wasn't happy. I wasn't fulfilled. In fact, my life was the complete opposite of joy. It was just dark.
My marriage was exhausting. Trying to communicate with my husband was like trying to get a garden hose to behave like a hedge trimmer. Speaking to him was more frustrating than trying to trim my lawn with a pair of pedicure nail clippers. Life was unnecessarily confusing and hampered. It was as if it was my husbands predominant intent not to hear me.
What I understand now I didn't know then. What I realize now is, no one ever held a gun to my head and told me I had to stay in a place of unhappiness. No one ever told me I had to stay in a place that drained the very life out of my being. No one ever told me I had to put the needs of everyone else above my own. The decisions I made in my lifetime, I made all on my own.
I see now however, I was living by default, asleep, unawakened, and disengaged from my soul.
As frustrating as my husband was, it was not his fault I married him. I see now I married him because the distant-cold love he offered was the only kind of love I recognized.
I attracted my husband into my life because chasing after peoples approval was what I was accustomed to doing. Love was something I wasn't truly worthy of. It was something I needed to earn.
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