"I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories from your life - not someone else's life - water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. That is the work. The only work." - Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves
I was quite sick last week. Looking at the silver lining, being unable to do much of anything allowed me some time for reflection. Admittedly, I don't permit myself much time for such things, if any at all. Clarissa Pinkola Estes write a good deal about the starved soul and our need to return home to the Wild, even if only briefly, to recover from the demands of our modern and disconnected lives. We've forgotten how to howl. We've forgotten to sing. We've forgotten to nourish ourselves in what connects us with the Divine to the point that we're starved so much that we can look for anything to fill the inexplicable void we're feeling. We hear the voices in the distance calling us, pleading to come back to our roots. It's far too easy to cast them away with the excuses we often make for ourselves. I will when winter is over. I will as soon as I've finished . . . . I would, but . . .
Bring the unfinished novel to a climatic end, dance, complete the poem that was never quite good enough, laugh, sing and cry. Mostly, keep dancing.
I am a master of excuses. Having made two moves within 6 months while simultaneously performing the juggling act of my life, getting the hound settled and grappling with Truths that I've finally acknowledged I need to accept - I've become accustomed to casting away what nourishes the essence of who I am because of everything else I've told myself should take precedent: the hound (he always comes first) and the constant barrage from others asking me why I'm still not completely unpacked, why haven't I done this or that and why has it been so long since we've seen each other? If the hound is not walked immediately he won't hold it against me for long and everything else that the world tells me I should be doing will still be there. The dishes in the sink will still be there, my un-vacuumed floor will still exist and the three small unpacked boxes remaining in my studio will still be waiting for me. Those things aren't going anywhere. I've been hearing the beating drums in the distance for a while now. I'm starting to hear the howls, beckoning me back home to rest for a while. I'll be heading to my emotional retreat shortly.
I hear your call. I'm coming home soon.
I'm still physically recovering from an illness that lasted a little over 5 days. I'd wager it's not in my best interest to jump into dancing, running or gymnastics right away. I've decided my starting point will be the relationships I've allowed to exist in my life. I can't always spot the bad applies right away, and in spite of the red flags that are apparent to everyone else in the beginning I tend to be entirely oblivious to the early warning signs. There are several reasons for this; I've been working on them. I've heard from more than one source that I'm too trusting of a person. This is part of the Truth. The other is my tendency to want to see the good in everyone. My therapist compares me to someone drawn to a hot stove: even though I've been burned countless times, I am hoping that I'll be proved wrong and the world isn't as ugly as most of my experiences have been. On that note, I have forged meaningful friendships with amazing people with whom I may not have otherwise connected if it weren't for my trusting, open nature. I have no regrets for these and they are precious to me. However, there are some relationships from which I have decided I need to step back from or eliminate entirely.
I need time - so much time to process what took place in a highly dysfunctional household.
It was rare that I spoke about my relationship with my adoptive mother (I'll call her Morgan) outside of therapy. I'm sure most people thought our strained relationship was normal and that I was simply overreacting. Based on the assumptions of most, I didn't know any better because I hadn't been indoctrinated into a family unit since I was a very young girl. To those people and also to Morgan, I was the source of the problem: I was too sensitive, too angry and had too many issues that needed to be dealt with. Also, I was the only one in therapy and that makes for solid scapegoat material. Lastly, I've been prone to depression for a very long time and any feelings of sadness obviously couldn't have been correlated to how I was treated, but instead resulted from my own weakness as a sensitive human being. I'm not even sure my therapist found my stories believable - not only because Morgan's actions were outlandish and irrational, but also not the actions of a person of sound mind.
Morgan has some very deep rooted control issues, particularly when it comes to finances. Morgan offered to help with my student loans (making sure her friends and relatives knew that her intentions were to save me from student debt) and regularly asked me about my loans. When I finally forwarded the information to her, what I received in response was one of the most condescending e-mails I've ever seen because she was astonished by the total amount (I'm far lower than the national average) and how could they be so high if I wasn't paying for rent or utilities? Sure, I didn't pay for rent or utilities, but I did my best to carry my own weight. I paid for my food, cell phone, car and care for my dogs. Additionally, because I wasn't paying rent I was the live-in house keeper. I worked hard to keep that place up to Morgan's standards and that has been more than one occasion when I had to cancel my plans because she wanted me to do extra in-depth cleaning projects. Her e-mail was offensive and troublesome to me.
Because I couldn't make sense of Morgan's words, I chose not to respond. Morgan then began calling and texting. I still didn't respond. After only a week of silence on my end Morgan showed up at my office on a clinic day completely unannounced. My co-workers got a sense of what's been bothering me, as they interacted with her briefly and saw me go from a 0-10 within a second. I was very worked up, but it was only noticeable to the handful of people that know me fairly well. For the record, Morgan does not fall under that category.
Morgan has never really seen me. I'm fine with that, only irritated that she pretends to know me.
Several days later I asked Morgan not to come into my workplace unannounced. It's not professional and an invasion of my space. Naturally Morgan was defensive. She always let her subordinates visit with friends and family. What was the problem?!
Recently I told Morgan she needn't be concerned with my student loans; I can handle it myself. Since then, she's made a point of fishing for information regarding my finances. I find it irritating and pathetic. There's not a doubt in my mind that she knows I need to distance myself from her because something is very wrong and she's known for a while - she just lacks the level of self-awareness to ever see herself as a contributing factor to the issue. I'm not saying it's entirely her fault our relationship is on thin ice. I'm searching myself as well and will deal with the Truth's as they come. I think my first mistake was moving to Portland in the first place. I was so desperate to be wanted and loved. It's not like the signs weren't there - I just chose to overlook them and I still don't know why. Morgan has wanted ultimate control of my life since the moment I began living under her roof.
Regarding Morgan's finances, the truth is that she could have easily afforded to send me to college without me accruing any debt at all. Currently, she can afford to pay off my students loans like she promised. That's not really the issue though, is it? My issue is her attempt to manipulate and control me at every turn and her blatant use of my presence in her life to make herself seem like a compassionate, caring, and giving person.
I'm tired of the facade and the feigned bond of a mother and daughter relationship that doesn't exist.
No one likes being used. I've been struggling with this particularly long and drawn out chapter in my life because so much of my childhood was spent under similar circumstances: being used to make someone else look better or charitable, being used for services or money, and the caregiver (Morgan included) making a point to let me know that I wasn't wanted. It hurts. I'm working on letting it go. I'm reminding myself that I'm loved and am blessed to have wonderful and loving people in my life. They're not blood related. None of them have legally adopted me. They've chosen to be a part of my life and offer me unending support, guidance and unconditional love. This is what I'll be holding on to while I'm focusing on letting go.
