Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth;…
To me, loving someone means always being ready to drop everything you're doing and doing what your beloved needs you to do, not complaining or putting conditions on the things you do. I realize this is simplistic, but because I love this way, I can only consider it love if it IS this way. Convenience has nothing to do with loving. Babies don't generally set a clock to make sure they don't wake up their parents. When they're hungry or wet or teething, that's all that matters. Someone is going to hear about it and had darned well better be ready to alter the situation to the infant's liking. If a child is going to throw up, it's not going to be on Sunday at 2 pm sharp - it's going to be whenever is the least convenient for everyone around him. If a tire is going to go flat, odds are good it'll be in the middle of the night in a sleet storm. Why? Just because that's reality.
"I know you're starving/homeless/sad/overwhelmingly lonely/sick, but I'm busy/this isn't a good time for me" translates to one thing to me, and that is "I am incapable of loving you or anyone else unselfishly, because my wants/needs/comfort are much more important than yours.You put your life on hold to make sure I was okay, but this isn't a good time for me to listen to your troubles, and certainly not a good time for me to deal with them. They don't directly affect me, so I really don't want to discuss them. You've survived this way for fifty years, and by now you've surely learned not to complain. It's okay for ME to complain, but your issues are insignificant and can, therefore, wait indefinitely." And they WILL wait indefinitely,.
The only people I've ever known who loved the way I love, putting others before themselves, got taken advantage of, and rarely complained about it. Yes, they were very good, loving people, but what did it gain them? They're dead.
I am fifty years old and I sleep alone, except for my pets. I have worked hard and tried my level best to put others first, and it's paying off by, oh, wait, NOTHING. I haven't historically rocked the boat, so if I am upset, it's no big thing. Anyone close enough to me to upset me also knows I'm terrified that complaining will get me chastised and ignored, at best. Pain? I can live without it. Comparison? No thank you. Being told I'll suffice (barely)? It's not really cutting it for me anymore. "I don't mind that you're fat/ fifty/broken/talk because people rarely allow you to talk, much less listen to you/ need desperately to be held and comforted. You are EXACTLY right for me, and I thank God you exist." These are things I have never heard and don't foresee ever hearing, and it hurts.
Will I ever sleep again in the same bed with a man who calls me foul words then blames me for "causing" him to do so? No, I won't. Will I ever willingly pass the time of day or night missing someone who doesn't miss me? No, I won't. Will I always feel guilty when I no longer care? No, I don't think so. For now, sure. I'll grieve for what might have been, but I'll be damned if I'm going to keep making excuses for other people's selfishness and egocentricity.
I feel anger and pain and I ache not knowing why I am not enough. For some people, the world stops at their pleasure, trembles at their displeasure, and spins because it pleases them. For me? No. No-one's world even slows down for a moment. My usefulness must always far outweigh the inconvenient fact that I'm human. Apparently, it will always be okay for others to put my wants, my dreams, my happiness, and my life on hold in order to see to their own.
So how about I don't pencil you in for sometime that's good for you?
Monday, November 25, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Moments of Healing
Moments of healing occur. Some are due to big things that are hard to miss - congratulations for a job well-done, being told your new hairdo looks nice, thanks for a gift.
Friday, October 4, 2013
What is REALLY wrong with me. Truly.
About four days ago, I ran out of Welbutrin, which is the medication that helps me stay awake and functioning in a more or less "normal" fashion. Otherwise the Effexor XR makes me sleep nonstop, and the dreams are terrible.
Anyone who claims that dreams are meaningless has never dreamed. My dreams are of being abandoned, inadequate, unlovable, too fat, too bright, too weird, too emotionally needy, too unrealistically honorable, too hopeful, too young, too old, too whatever. Just pick something you perceive to be a character flaw, put the word "too" in front of it, or, to the converse, put "not nearly (insert character trait here) enough. Yep, I'm probably all of those or none of them, depending on your point of view.
Allow me to tell you about the four days without my medications. After day 1, I started feeling punchy. Disconnected in short spurts. Overly tired yet overly stimulated simultaneously. Then came the leg cramps. No, a gallon of Gatorade wouldn't help. It's a chemical imbalance, not a shortage of potassium. That would've been too easy. I got an appointment with my psych meds nurse, who is wonderful.
Now there is no little boy needing me to raise him, since Gunner has gone to pre-school, where he is flourishing and has been declared by his teacher to be "the happiest child I ever saw", it's time to get back to my life. I can handle that. Truly.
The sadness caused by the loss of my sons, the bigger part of my family relationships, in the past, has dulled a bit, and some healing has taken place. That is good.
What is not good is that until tomorrow morning, I am unmedicated. If I take Welbutrin now, I will simply be awake all night and sleepy again tomorrow. No thanks. The plan is to "tough it out" tonight and get my medication back on track first thing tomorrow morning.
I've become so very good at NOT being outspoken when I hurt or am offended, the very soul of politesse and courtesy, I've taught myself to appear to be pretty much impervious to the unkind or downright rude behaviors of others in my world.
Tonight, the unmedicated version of Laurie is in attendance for the first time in over 10 years. Two people in particular, neither of whom live under the same roof with me, thankfully, are really rubbing me the wrong way.
Person #1: I cannot and will not move halfway across the continent to listen to you revel in your past glory and whine about your present lack thereof, most of which is due to your lifelong belief that you are somehow entitled never to be inconvenienced, impoverished, or unhappy. You made it a lot longer in that lovely state of denial than most of us could even imagine. Good for you. Now welcome to the real world. It may puzzle and frighten you to find that you are not the center of the universe, regardless of what you may have thought for a very long time. I'm not a fan of the ugly realities of life, but face it, what we are when we are at our poorest advantage (old, sick, broke, alone, sad, and other of those ugly things that are part of life), the person the world sees is who we truly are.
When my beloved grandmother was dying, out of her mind with cancer and medications and pain, she was still sweet-tempered, soft-spoken, gracious, and appreciative. She did not blame anyone for her plight, and lived several months longer than her doctors predicted - to give the rest of us, especially my grandfather, time to adjust to losing her.
The last time I saw her, I was expecting my eldest son, Eric. When I walked into her hospital room, she was moaning and tossing in her sleep. I didn't say anything, because I couldn't bear to see her hurt more than she already hurt. The duty nurse stopped into her room on ward rounds, and asked "Mrs. Childs, can I do anything for you?" My grandmother opened her eyes, looked confused for a moment, then sweetly said "Don't go to any extra trouble, but the next time you come around, could you possibly give me something for the pain? I think my medication has started to wear off." She didn't know who I was, except that she seemed to understand I was a female relative of some sort, yet even in pain and drugged, she was considerate of others. I was 23 years old, and I have never forgotten the lesson she lived in front of me that day. THAT was the lady she truly was.
I adored my grandfather. He was a good man who did many good and kind things for many people, especially poor students from rural areas. He received awards and plaques and was routinely praised and told how wonderful he was, and what an inspiration he was to the youth of our state.
In his last two or three years of life, though, I saw him at his worst, as well. He was sometimes verbally cruel and said horrid things about those who cared for his needs, spouted brutal opinions of the worthiness or lack thereof of those same people.
It broke my heart, because I knew that although he had overcome unsurmountable odds, and had done much good in his long lifetime, he was not completely at peace, and still in some inner part of his soul, he was angry and believed that he was not receiving the respect he was due. This was several years after my grandmother, his wife, had died, but the difference in the manner in which they ended their lives' performances was starkly different.
May God grant me the grace to be half as good a person as my grandmother was, and a tenth as selfless.
Person #2: You are like so very many people I've met in the past 45 years or so. You assume you are "just right". You are quick to pass judgment based on your own imagined superiority. You thought I had a pretty smile and a warm heart. You were right. I do.
I also have emotional scars, many of them caused by people like you who jumped away as if burned when they realized I am just ME. No, I do not have the body of an 18 year old goddess. I am not independently wealthy. I will not lie to you and I will not lie for you. I will not stroke your ego.
Why? Because after fifty years of not being "enough" in some way or the other to people who were invariably willing to take what I offered - adoration, help, child rearing, caring for sick people, being genuinely compassionate and not considering myself above any task, regardless of how distasteful, and, of course, the joy of hearing 'Where are all the GOOD women?" as if I were a toad with no merit, I have abruptly stopped trying to be more or less than I already am.
Anyone stupid or arrogant enough to assume that only perfect packaging can contain wonderful gifts certainly deserves to unwrap that perfect packaging and discover the box is pretty much empty of anything worth having.
After all these years, I can honestly say that while words DO hurt, unrealistic expectations hurt far more. As Edgar Guest wrote in his poem, "Myself", "I have to live with myself, and so I want to be fit for myself to know..." in other words, regardless of what you or you or you might think I should change about myself, it is utterly immaterial to me. I have fought an uphill battle this whole time, and have come to these few conclusions - and they do not in any way take into account what YOU think:
I have a beautiful smile that lights up my eyes. It's not perfect, but it's genuinely felt and it reflects a beautiful soul and a good heart.
I am probably one of the most competent people currently living when it comes to raising little boys, whether they are mine or someone else's. I can give them an excellent start, as well as instilling in them the sense of self-confidence my egg donor made sure I never developed.
That's right. I am a MOMMY by profession. The pay is nonexistent, but the intrinsic reward found in seeing a child go out into the big world knowing he can handle anything and that he is LOVED is worth more than gold to me, because I have proved I CAN do it. Anyone who says otherwise is buying a bill of goods, and they are welcome to keep believing it. Do I "have it all"? No, I do not. I do, however, have what matters most. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
After a lifetime of believing there was something wrong with me, I have learned that it is merely a matter of perception. If you stand in front of a distorted mirror, don't expect to see yourself as beautiful. People often criticize those around them in order to make themselves feel superior, when secretly inside themselves, they see their own true value, which is rather insignificant.
If you must hurt others to feel better about yourself, or if you are arrogant and presume others must live up to your perceived superiority, don't be surprised when, at some late stage of the game of life, you find yourself alone, or even worse, settling for life's REAL dregs. After all, life's best gifts often come in imperfect packages.
I am not ready to give up on the anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. I know I'm not. The world is too full of unkindness, and I cannot live with quite so much pain. I do know, however, that I have worth. To the inexpert eye, many priceless treasures have been missed. someone who knows what to look for will see their true worth.
I can say at long last I have a circle of friends equally as quirky and brainy and "real" as I am, people who do not take themselves too seriously and are accepting and loving.
As I go to bed, I am in tears, but can wipe them aside because I know I am blessed.
Anyone who claims that dreams are meaningless has never dreamed. My dreams are of being abandoned, inadequate, unlovable, too fat, too bright, too weird, too emotionally needy, too unrealistically honorable, too hopeful, too young, too old, too whatever. Just pick something you perceive to be a character flaw, put the word "too" in front of it, or, to the converse, put "not nearly (insert character trait here) enough. Yep, I'm probably all of those or none of them, depending on your point of view.
Allow me to tell you about the four days without my medications. After day 1, I started feeling punchy. Disconnected in short spurts. Overly tired yet overly stimulated simultaneously. Then came the leg cramps. No, a gallon of Gatorade wouldn't help. It's a chemical imbalance, not a shortage of potassium. That would've been too easy. I got an appointment with my psych meds nurse, who is wonderful.
Now there is no little boy needing me to raise him, since Gunner has gone to pre-school, where he is flourishing and has been declared by his teacher to be "the happiest child I ever saw", it's time to get back to my life. I can handle that. Truly.
The sadness caused by the loss of my sons, the bigger part of my family relationships, in the past, has dulled a bit, and some healing has taken place. That is good.
What is not good is that until tomorrow morning, I am unmedicated. If I take Welbutrin now, I will simply be awake all night and sleepy again tomorrow. No thanks. The plan is to "tough it out" tonight and get my medication back on track first thing tomorrow morning.
I've become so very good at NOT being outspoken when I hurt or am offended, the very soul of politesse and courtesy, I've taught myself to appear to be pretty much impervious to the unkind or downright rude behaviors of others in my world.
Tonight, the unmedicated version of Laurie is in attendance for the first time in over 10 years. Two people in particular, neither of whom live under the same roof with me, thankfully, are really rubbing me the wrong way.
Person #1: I cannot and will not move halfway across the continent to listen to you revel in your past glory and whine about your present lack thereof, most of which is due to your lifelong belief that you are somehow entitled never to be inconvenienced, impoverished, or unhappy. You made it a lot longer in that lovely state of denial than most of us could even imagine. Good for you. Now welcome to the real world. It may puzzle and frighten you to find that you are not the center of the universe, regardless of what you may have thought for a very long time. I'm not a fan of the ugly realities of life, but face it, what we are when we are at our poorest advantage (old, sick, broke, alone, sad, and other of those ugly things that are part of life), the person the world sees is who we truly are.
When my beloved grandmother was dying, out of her mind with cancer and medications and pain, she was still sweet-tempered, soft-spoken, gracious, and appreciative. She did not blame anyone for her plight, and lived several months longer than her doctors predicted - to give the rest of us, especially my grandfather, time to adjust to losing her.
The last time I saw her, I was expecting my eldest son, Eric. When I walked into her hospital room, she was moaning and tossing in her sleep. I didn't say anything, because I couldn't bear to see her hurt more than she already hurt. The duty nurse stopped into her room on ward rounds, and asked "Mrs. Childs, can I do anything for you?" My grandmother opened her eyes, looked confused for a moment, then sweetly said "Don't go to any extra trouble, but the next time you come around, could you possibly give me something for the pain? I think my medication has started to wear off." She didn't know who I was, except that she seemed to understand I was a female relative of some sort, yet even in pain and drugged, she was considerate of others. I was 23 years old, and I have never forgotten the lesson she lived in front of me that day. THAT was the lady she truly was.
I adored my grandfather. He was a good man who did many good and kind things for many people, especially poor students from rural areas. He received awards and plaques and was routinely praised and told how wonderful he was, and what an inspiration he was to the youth of our state.
In his last two or three years of life, though, I saw him at his worst, as well. He was sometimes verbally cruel and said horrid things about those who cared for his needs, spouted brutal opinions of the worthiness or lack thereof of those same people.
It broke my heart, because I knew that although he had overcome unsurmountable odds, and had done much good in his long lifetime, he was not completely at peace, and still in some inner part of his soul, he was angry and believed that he was not receiving the respect he was due. This was several years after my grandmother, his wife, had died, but the difference in the manner in which they ended their lives' performances was starkly different.
May God grant me the grace to be half as good a person as my grandmother was, and a tenth as selfless.
Person #2: You are like so very many people I've met in the past 45 years or so. You assume you are "just right". You are quick to pass judgment based on your own imagined superiority. You thought I had a pretty smile and a warm heart. You were right. I do.
I also have emotional scars, many of them caused by people like you who jumped away as if burned when they realized I am just ME. No, I do not have the body of an 18 year old goddess. I am not independently wealthy. I will not lie to you and I will not lie for you. I will not stroke your ego.
Why? Because after fifty years of not being "enough" in some way or the other to people who were invariably willing to take what I offered - adoration, help, child rearing, caring for sick people, being genuinely compassionate and not considering myself above any task, regardless of how distasteful, and, of course, the joy of hearing 'Where are all the GOOD women?" as if I were a toad with no merit, I have abruptly stopped trying to be more or less than I already am.
Anyone stupid or arrogant enough to assume that only perfect packaging can contain wonderful gifts certainly deserves to unwrap that perfect packaging and discover the box is pretty much empty of anything worth having.
After all these years, I can honestly say that while words DO hurt, unrealistic expectations hurt far more. As Edgar Guest wrote in his poem, "Myself", "I have to live with myself, and so I want to be fit for myself to know..." in other words, regardless of what you or you or you might think I should change about myself, it is utterly immaterial to me. I have fought an uphill battle this whole time, and have come to these few conclusions - and they do not in any way take into account what YOU think:
I have a beautiful smile that lights up my eyes. It's not perfect, but it's genuinely felt and it reflects a beautiful soul and a good heart.
I am probably one of the most competent people currently living when it comes to raising little boys, whether they are mine or someone else's. I can give them an excellent start, as well as instilling in them the sense of self-confidence my egg donor made sure I never developed.
That's right. I am a MOMMY by profession. The pay is nonexistent, but the intrinsic reward found in seeing a child go out into the big world knowing he can handle anything and that he is LOVED is worth more than gold to me, because I have proved I CAN do it. Anyone who says otherwise is buying a bill of goods, and they are welcome to keep believing it. Do I "have it all"? No, I do not. I do, however, have what matters most. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
After a lifetime of believing there was something wrong with me, I have learned that it is merely a matter of perception. If you stand in front of a distorted mirror, don't expect to see yourself as beautiful. People often criticize those around them in order to make themselves feel superior, when secretly inside themselves, they see their own true value, which is rather insignificant.
If you must hurt others to feel better about yourself, or if you are arrogant and presume others must live up to your perceived superiority, don't be surprised when, at some late stage of the game of life, you find yourself alone, or even worse, settling for life's REAL dregs. After all, life's best gifts often come in imperfect packages.
I am not ready to give up on the anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. I know I'm not. The world is too full of unkindness, and I cannot live with quite so much pain. I do know, however, that I have worth. To the inexpert eye, many priceless treasures have been missed. someone who knows what to look for will see their true worth.
I can say at long last I have a circle of friends equally as quirky and brainy and "real" as I am, people who do not take themselves too seriously and are accepting and loving.
As I go to bed, I am in tears, but can wipe them aside because I know I am blessed.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
What is abuse?
What is abuse? According to www.mincava.umn.edu, "abuse is defined as the systematic pattern of behaviors in a relationship that are used to gain and/or maintain power and control over another."
When we define domestic violence in terms of physical abuse only we do not fully understand the dynamics that keep these relationships together.
To me, physical abuse is merely the tip of the iceberg. It's also the most socially acceptable form of abuse to discuss, because its evidence is usually so blatant - a black eye, a bruised breast, buttocks and thighs covered in welts left by a belt or clothes hanger wielded by an angry hand.
In my experience, physical abuse is generally an indicator that other forms of abuse are going on in the abusive relationship. Just as "faith is the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen" Hebrews 11:1, KJV, physical abuse is the substance, the evidence of a far bigger, if usually unseen, problem.
Far less easily seen are the other, more insidious forms of abuse - psychological, emotional, and sexual abuse. These frequently leave no physical scars, so they are harder to prove and easier to ignore. In reality, these forms of abuse do far more damage and have much longer-term effects on the victim.
Unless there's blood or a public "scene", it is pretty much accepted that if we didn't see it, it didn't happen, and the person who says he or she has been abused is frequently viewed as a "drama queen" or "attention-seeker". The knowledge of this probable perception frequently makes victims very reluctant to report these forms of abuse, because they fear they may be met with scepticism or outright derision.
Abusers are generally very good at hiding abuse. They convince their victims that nobody will believe if they tell relatives, friends, law enforcement personnel, teachers, pastors/rabbis, or anyone else who might intervene. What is the tool the abuser most often uses? "They'll never believe YOU. They won't love you, because they'll see how worthless you are, which is the reason I did this. It's YOUR fault."
Because much of my life story is that of having been a victim of every single one of these forms of abuse, I will be exploring all of them and dissecting them, discussing them in detail, along with their implications and the fallout, the long-lasting results of those abuses. If you have a weak stomach or want to pretend that this sort of thing doesn't happen and doesn't have lasting effects on its victims, I'd advise you to move along and retreat to the pretty universe in which you choose to exist, a universe where bad things don't happen, most especially to innocents.
When we define domestic violence in terms of physical abuse only we do not fully understand the dynamics that keep these relationships together.
To me, physical abuse is merely the tip of the iceberg. It's also the most socially acceptable form of abuse to discuss, because its evidence is usually so blatant - a black eye, a bruised breast, buttocks and thighs covered in welts left by a belt or clothes hanger wielded by an angry hand.
In my experience, physical abuse is generally an indicator that other forms of abuse are going on in the abusive relationship. Just as "faith is the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen" Hebrews 11:1, KJV, physical abuse is the substance, the evidence of a far bigger, if usually unseen, problem.
Far less easily seen are the other, more insidious forms of abuse - psychological, emotional, and sexual abuse. These frequently leave no physical scars, so they are harder to prove and easier to ignore. In reality, these forms of abuse do far more damage and have much longer-term effects on the victim.
Unless there's blood or a public "scene", it is pretty much accepted that if we didn't see it, it didn't happen, and the person who says he or she has been abused is frequently viewed as a "drama queen" or "attention-seeker". The knowledge of this probable perception frequently makes victims very reluctant to report these forms of abuse, because they fear they may be met with scepticism or outright derision.
Abusers are generally very good at hiding abuse. They convince their victims that nobody will believe if they tell relatives, friends, law enforcement personnel, teachers, pastors/rabbis, or anyone else who might intervene. What is the tool the abuser most often uses? "They'll never believe YOU. They won't love you, because they'll see how worthless you are, which is the reason I did this. It's YOUR fault."
Because much of my life story is that of having been a victim of every single one of these forms of abuse, I will be exploring all of them and dissecting them, discussing them in detail, along with their implications and the fallout, the long-lasting results of those abuses. If you have a weak stomach or want to pretend that this sort of thing doesn't happen and doesn't have lasting effects on its victims, I'd advise you to move along and retreat to the pretty universe in which you choose to exist, a universe where bad things don't happen, most especially to innocents.
Finding My Wings
Two days ago I reached a milestone; I turned 50. This morning I awoke to yet another oft-repeated page from my past: verbal abuse. I swore to myself and a friend several years ago that by the time I was 50, I would be with a man who loved me as much as I loved him (overwhelmingly, wonderfully, and completely) and with whom I truly wanted to spend the rest of my life. I would be HAPPY.
I remember being asked "Well, what if he's not READY yet?" to which I replied "If he's NOT, he's obviously not the right man." Then I let that moment retreat quietly to a corner of my mind, and have rarely allowed it to come to the forefront of my consciousness.
During the past three weeks or so, that thought has returned to the forefront of my thoughts, and I remember that I am never going to be the injured, frightened girl I was for those fifty years; I am going to be a happy, fulfilled woman. I don't expect life to be perfect, but I will no longer be a victim, no longer allow my sweet, pleasant nature to be suppressed, or my creativity quashed by those whose primary pleasure in life is making others feel "less than". Only toxic people deliberately make others feel "less than", and I've had a constant string of them since birth. Today I'm saying "ENOUGH" to those people.
Ever since I can first remember, perhaps since about the age of 2 1/2, I have been abused in some way on a perpetual basis. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I now know that abuse exists in many forms, most of them so insidious you'd never notice them.
My egg donor was a beautiful woman who used her looks and pseudo-beauty to dazzle my father, who married her and brought her several levels up the food chain from "white trash" to polite society. Then she proceeded to manipulate and abuse him until he died of a massive stroke at age 53. He was a moth drawn to a candle flame. He never stood a chance, and being a good and loving man who truly believed there was good in most people was his undoing. He died trying to please this glamorous woman who was full of herself and greed. He never tried to impress anyone, but she more than made up for that.
She frequently lost her temper with me. I was a bright little girl with a bubbly temperament; obedient, dutiful, and easy to please. I've been a dog person like my Daddy since infancy; I don't just adore dogs, I have the heart of a dog. No, that isn't a bad thing. I am loving, effusively and sincerely adoring my beloved. I am loyal to a fault, and I am happiest when I am doing anything that will please my humans.
No, I do not consider myself to be subhuman, but given much of what has happened in my first fifty years, it's a wonder I don't.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)