Sticks and Stones

There's a site I like a lot, I get updates from them on Facebook, called Upworthy. They've gotten quite popular on FB and Twitter, so maybe you already know about them. Anyway, this video has been going around for a couple of days. I finally watched it today and... it is very powerful. And painful. And wonderful.

It's a spoken word poem performed by the author and illustrated by many. Please watch

Also, here's more information on the poet and poem via his website and Facebook page.

Article Sharing Time!

I have a blog post in the works, but for today I found another article on Jezebel to share. The title gave me pause, but by the end of the article I was much less worried about it. Here's the link: "Losing Weight Won't Fill the Emptiness Inside. Only Cake Can Do That."

Please read the whole article in order to get past that awful title. Here's a section from the end:

"I don't blame Attenberg for this, or at least I really actively try not to, but it does make me sad.

I went through a lot of my life dealing with the aftermath of chronic dieting and childhood teasing, and it's those things that attempted to make me feel less than whole, less than human. It wasn't some mysterious "hole" inside of me that I was trying to stuff with Cheetos, it was put there by a society that's unrelenting when it comes to women's bodies. And it wasn't something that I ever tried to cram with snack packs; if anything, it was something that I tried to dig out and make thinner, make smaller, make gone.

We can't reframe the way society thinks and feels about weight overnight; there will always be cheering when a fat woman (or probably any woman who doesn't suffer from visible anorexia) loses weight. But we can fight damn hard for the right to be comfortable in and with our own bodies, even if it's really, really fucking hard."

They Have No Power Over Me

So, after a brief break, let’s get back to daily affirmations and the fear of losing the things that I care about. Below is a journal entry from last year, actually from exactly a year ago, minus one day. Funny that, because just this past weekend I was learning this lesson again, but better.

I went to visit my mother and we talked, however briefly, about the pain of my childhood. She is also filled with regret and pain for the past, though that is not what I really wanted for her. I wanted her to be aware, I know that, but I didn’t want her to suffer as I have. I tried to tell her - and you know, I didn’t even realize that I believed it until I said it out loud - that the past is done and gone. That pain has no place in my life any longer, I have finally let my past fall away. Now I get to move on and work on my future and enjoy my present. The past and its monsters are no longer in control of my brain, my emotions. I no longer need to REACT to my past - I may simply ACT in the here and now to take care of myself.

Here’s what I wrote about this one year ago yesterday:

I had a lot to think about after yesterday’s (therapy) session and those affirmations I chose. Last night, while trying to sleep, I kept thinking about why I’m afraid of my feelings, why I think that I will always lose what I love.

But the truth is, that stuff is no longer of any use to me. And as a defense mechanism, it sucks. There is no one now who can hurt me, no one who will use my emotions against me, and no one who can take away the things - the people - that I love. As a child, I was trapped. I couldn’t get away from my mother’s husbands or from the bullies at school. Now, as an adult, I have the power to excise those kinds of people from my life. Like the Goblin King (from the movie Labyrinth), they have no power over me.

I don’t need pain or numbness to blunt my emotions any longer. I don’t need to hide my fears, my anger, my pain, or even my joy. I don’t need to hide in the shower to cry anymore. There is no one left to hurt me - I have left them all behind.

All I will allow in my life are people who love me. I deserve that.


Affirmations:

I THOUGHT that I deserved this pain, but I don’t. 

I deserve good things as much as anyone else. 

I give myself permission to ENJOY. 

(6-4-2011)

How Life Works

Recently I spoke to someone dear to me, and she expressed the idea that “maybe only 10%” of her problems came from her parental issues and that the rest was about things that happened after she grew up. At the time I couldn't figure out how to fully express my response to that, so I let it go. But it has been on my mind ever since.

So, I want to bring together a couple of the things I've been talking about for the past week or two. First, the sense of being broken that arises when your childhood wasn't particularly good (who knows, maybe it was really really bad, or maybe it wasn't The Worst Thing Ever) and second, the sense of self-hatred that comes along with it. Because I believe that the real deal is this – maybe it isn't literally about the things that happened to you; maybe it's about how you learned to respond to those things, and what those things made you believe about yourself. It's about what those events taught you about How Life Works.

One of the big problems that comes from this borrowed sense of How Life Works is the inability to accept that you deserve anything better. For me, and perhaps for the women I am closest to in my life, we became unable to choose or to make decisions for ourselves based on a “best outcome.” We accepted what came into and out of our lives without really thinking about it or about what we wanted – because what we wanted didn't really matter.

As always, I can't speak for you or even for my own sisters, but as for me... well, I learned early enough that a man, ANY man, even a bad one, was better than no man. So I accepted the first one that came along, the first one to pay some attention to me. Was he a good man? Was he good FOR me? Was the relationship healthy for me? I never even asked. But I didn't have to make that decision, anyway, because I had no right to choose between good or bad. I didn't deserve any better than whatever I got.

And honestly? I got lucky. I had a couple of loser boyfriends after high school, but they drifted away before anything really unfortunate happened. I got married in my mid-twenties to a nice enough guy. He was harmless, if useless; he was a child, not a partner, and I was a surrogate mother at best. But I didn't really CHOOSE him. He just showed up, he liked me, and since I took care of him, he just assumed I would marry him and then I did. I don't think he ever even officially asked – he just introduced me one day to his mother as the woman he was going to marry. He wasn't a bad guy, but in the end he wasn't the right guy... only I never bothered to make that decision at the beginning. I clearly remember thinking that this was my one and only chance. That surely, no one else would ever want to marry me. It didn't matter that he wasn't right, just that he had showed up.

This pattern of not-choosing, of not-deciding, is so insidious. And such a relief! Your life just happens, and you just go along with it, and nothing is ever your fault. You never chose it, so in a way, you didn't do it. You aren't responsible. And really, deep inside you know it, even if you won't admit it, that when it all goes wrong it's really what you deserved all along anyway.

So think about it, even if just for a little while. What did your family teach you about How Life Works? Mine taught us that you hold on to the hand you've been given. No matter what. Even if you don't like it, because what you want or like or need is not important. What's important is that you accept what you are given and try to make the best of it. And then you wait. You wait for it to get good or you wait for something to go so bad, so very very wrong, that the hand you hold is literally taken away from you. And then it's over, but it's okay because you did your best, you got what you deserved, and it still isn't your fault. Because you don't get to choose and that's How Life Works.

Except.... that’s all bullshit. What I want matters. What I need matters. I matter.

I can choose, and I choose to take care of myself. I can choose, and I choose to give of myself to people who are worthy of it. I can choose, and I choose to be loved. I can choose, and I choose to protect myself from those who would do me harm. I can choose, and sometimes I choose you over me - but sometimes I must choose me. Because I matter, and that’s how life works.

Who Do I Think I Am?

It’s just a few days into this blogging thing and I have been wondering what I’m really trying to accomplish here. Do I think I’m special or something? Yeah, I’ll admit to being an attention fiend, I get that straight from my mother. But am I important? More special than other survivors? Ummm... that would be a big no. 

So what am I doing this for? Because I’ve gotta be honest with you, this is frightening. Even if no one is reading it other than a few really close friends, this is damn scary stuff. And, and, and! AND, Holy Guacamole, what if Other People ever somehow stumble across this thing and start to read it. Other People are kind of mean sometimes, and sometimes some of them are really, really mean, and frankly, I’m just not equipped to deal with that. Yet. 

However... 

My story isn’t different, important, or even terribly dramatic. No one hit me. No one raped me. Even as far as the sexual abuse went... well, let’s just say other people have far more horrible tales to tell. 

I wonder if there are a lot of us out there, left in some kind of limbo. Wondering how we can be so messed up if nothing that bad ever really happened, if there’s no one to point a finger at, no incident to hold up and say, “This! This is what made me broken!” It just didn’t seem all that bad, but here we are, sort of broken and kind of functional. The in-betweeners. 

Growing up, I had a couple of neighbors who had their suspicions. They knew something was wrong at my house, but they had no proof. They befriended me, talked to me, tried to be pseudo-parental figures, but there was nothing they could do. What were they to say? They don’t love her enough. He says mean things. She has too many chores, too much responsibility. She’s a 10 year old running a household while her mother works 60 hours and her stepfather drinks. They tell her she’s not pretty, not good, and not normal. No, there are no scars, no bruises, no horrific fights, no domestic violence calls. 

Still and yet... damage was done. 

And maybe that is what is important to tell. We all deserve to be loved, to find trust, to get better, to feel better. Even if what we went through wasn’t The Worst Thing Ever. Even if we feel guilty for thinking about it as “abuse.” Even if we still love them, as bad as they made us feel. Even if we think that it isn’t their fault, that they didn’t mean it, that they were doing the best that they could. Even if we feel like we don’t deserve to be angry. 

Someone hurt me and I didn't deserve THAT. That matters.