I was feeling a pocketful of anger and sadness for days with no clue as to why. I am so dramatic that I metaphorically drop to my knees.
And like a flash of lightening (yes, the dramatic effect), there it was “clear as a giraffe in a herd of buffalo” …I was floundering in the same place emotionally as I’d been in my marriage, which was way back in the covered wagon days.
Progress? Yes and No.
It is just that prickly cactus I am sitting on that screams: “I am treated the same way and made to feel the same way as in all my yesteryears, wow, ain’t that a revelation!”
Before I continue, this discovery has little to do with the other person.
It is squarely my made-up craptastic beliefs about myself. In which, I’ve worked hard all my life to find the right people to act out roles (Not paid SAG actors) to honor my hurtful patterns, which re-confirmed falsehoods that kept me stuck.
Choosing men like my Daddy-O who don’t do well with loss and letting go, (like anyone does)—but with a lil’ extra sumthin’ these dudes believed they’re unworthy too, they dig being rejected and abandoned (not really, but you’d think with the effort they put into making it happen, that’d be the case). They withhold their true feelings and rarely disclose words and actions showing they care. And when feelings are expressed, but not acted upon, it reminds me of my Dad, who says to “take care,” not “I love you” (those words were rare as a kid, like finding the golden ticket from Mr. Wonka) or my mom has been known to speak for the dear mime aka “my Dad”.
Never-ending to do lists, crazy obstacles like protecting the village from lions, tigers and bears; are prioritized way ahead of me, how is it possible I re-created this over and over?
As a child I hoped it would change…and as an adult I didn’t recognize how deeply ingrained I was in living out the belief that I am invisible, not special and unworthy. Wah, wah…poor me a glass of milk and gimme an Oreo!
At first I asked, what do I need to do differently to break the pattern?
Follow my gut. Change my actions in accordance to my heart not my head. Harder to do than think.
I was indiscriminately a people pleaser to be accepted I asked, “Would you like more curd with your cheese?” The men I chose never gave back good & plenty, so I’d become resentful taking back my Cheerios and running away!
Fun is now a part of my daily life. I attracted men who preferred to work 24/7 rather than explore guilt-free pleasure, just like my childhood dungeon of dirges. My dad had no idea he was setting me up for so little. He’s a good guy, smart, kind-hearted, likeable and funny. If he had he any clue when I was a kid that he had a hand in my suffering… I know he would have made different choices.
I was conditioned to believe I didn’t deserve time and attention. I‘ve connected these dots and there is no reward for punishment and suffering only the realization that it was my own belief system keeping me imprisoned.
I felt like my elbow was dislocated every time I pulled or yanked to have a guy (even my husband when I was married) show up in any way. They showed up on their own when I didn’t care anymore or went numb. But now, check it out; my awareness lets me keep my elbow intact, no more wrenching or dry heaving!
Adorable current guy is just like my father, some of the same quirky facial expressions, humor, both only children: one who never knew his dad, the other who felt his abandoned him, both undeserving in self-reflection.
I cannot fix the impossible from my childhood; as an adult I can open to possibility, like eating a popsicle with the Novocain wearing off a root canal… now is my time.
My mom would like it if I’d just change my perception of my childhood, because she says it’s absolutely 100%, incorrect. I don’t have a magic wand to change overnight.
My mom tells me I was born serious and insecure. If a baby came into the world biting its fingernails, it would seem that baby might have been emotionally swathed in its Momma’s moods for nine months. Hmmm?
Children are acclimatized, inadvertently taught what they deserve. When someone of influence labels the child (You are shy; bratty; not bright, etc…), the child sets up situations to prove this label over and over. Otherwise, it could be a pattern developed by a wounded vulnerable child who needed strategies to be invulnerable, so there was no pain again (Pouting at 5 is cute, at 45? Not so much).
I’ve slowed it down, so I am clear that I don’t act against my gut or myself. It’s an act of kindness for me just like lavender infused bubble bath.
I now pay attention to where I make sacrifices and where do I just “be”? Stopping my inner resistance to what is while seeking fulfilling relationships that practice reciprocity. As long as I am finding peace inside, then the pattern cannot control me.
When Dad got home from work, he’d sit transfixed in front of the TV. In my mind, I felt invisible.
Not his fault intentionally (he liked to watch the snow), he had a lot on his plate (several helpings). Unfortunately for years, I made the same “invisible needs” okay with others (I was very independent), until it wasn’t and then all hell broke loose.
Now, I’m all about lovingkindness. I spend my days feeling fulfilled by my own gift rather than waiting for someone to give who has no interest in doing so. I feel the letting go of wanting things to change, because the answer to breaking the pattern means I got the music in me and I am ready to play it out loud!
I’ve mourned like wasted time at a bad movie, how I thought I deserved so little. Now I’m trippin’ on down the yellow brick road enjoying reciprocity, FUN, love and digging my spilt’ milk kinda life, even when I drop to my metaphorical knees. I can have it all and I mean all.
Edited by Hayley Samuelson.
Tracy is a hyphenate: female, writer, curiosity quencher, artist, poet, gardener of real gardens and existential ones, clairvoyant, momma to grown ups, life coach and real, imperfect chick. Loves life, even days when she doesn’t like it and appreciate, appreciation for everything. Website: www.13degreez.com and Blog:13degreez.wordpress.com