Yesterday evening, good conversation with my sister. We talked about the whole personal narrative thing. This is something she thinks about a lot, her stories. Recently my mother moved in with her and what she's discovering is that there are often vast differences in how events are remembered, each of them putting their own sanity preserving spin on things that happened. We are glad to have each other because when we think we might be going a bit crazy and fabricating things, we check in with the other - like in the Hunger Games after the hero had his mind programmed to hate the people he loved. As he regains his mental health, he relies on the people around him, asking "Real or Not Real" as he remembers things that happened prior to the programming. So my sister and I ask each other often, "Real or Not Real". Most of the time, the response is "Real" which is a huge relief. I feel sorry for people who have experienced childhood trauma who don't have a sibling as a witness. They must never be very sure what is "Real or Not Real". Crazy making.
I tell the sad story of the time when I was a young girl, probably about seven or eight. We lived in a huge house, high on a hill overlooking the Atlantic ocean (OK, right there is a bit of fiction. I always say that and everyone sighs appreciatively, wishing they had lived in a big house overlooking the Atlantic. Truth is that we were blocks away from the ocean and only in the winter, when there was no foliage, was it possible to glimpse the water from the upper rooms of the house). We rarely went anywhere. One friend of my mother's once told her, "You need to get those kids off the hill", or something like that. One annual highlight was when wealthy friends invited us to their house for the Fourth of July. It was magical, lots of guests, each of the many children were given sparklers at a point in the evening and dozens of us raced around their enormous property, swirling the sparklers. We were human fireflies. It was beautiful and fun.
There was one year that stands out. I remember Henry (my adopted father) telling me, as he and I stood alone in the kitchen, that we had been invited to the Bittinger's party. Maybe that was the first year or maybe I was so overwhelmed with excitement because I remembered the fun from the year before. Anyway, I ecstatically and impulsively threw my arms around him in joy. I can still feel his reaction - he stiffened. My joy turned to shock and shame. I knew I had done something wrong, hugging him. I knew he found me repulsive.
I tell this story as an explanation as to why I became the way I am/was. Something changed that day. I no longer wanted to be touched. I cringed at physical affection. I pushed away hugs. I developed a hair trigger reaction to anyone coming into my physical safe zone - violence if that zone was breached. I was impenetrable. I was Xena, princess warrior.
And it wasn't that I didn't love. I think, if anything, it made me love more fiercely, with longings that I didn't allow myself to surrender to. I envied people who demonstrated affection in easy physical ways but I knew it wasn't for me. When I became fierce it suited me, made me feel seen and powerful. Since I couldn't receive love from others, the next best thing became fearful admiration. It thrilled me to hurt people. I remember one dear high school English teacher who recognized my talent for writing. He encouraged and nurtured me. Once day he said something that hurt me - I was crushed. In retrospect I realize he meant no harm. We had words. He asked me what I wanted from life. I told him that I wanted to be important so that I didn't have to have a stupid job like a High School English teacher. His eyes. Still remember them. He was so hurt. I eviscerated him. My reaction? He deserved it.
I am a lousy hugger. Everyone knows it. I rarely hug my children. They were raised loving and fearing me and probably wishing for my loving touch. Instead we showered our animals with physical affection. It was the cats who were the recipients of my soft love. To them I talked baby talk, cuddled, fussed, kissed them on the lips (yeah, gross right?) and sat for hours, not moving so as not to wake them from a lap nap. The kids saw all of this and I'm guessing it was gratifying to them in a vicarious way to see that I had a soft and loving side. They, in turn, mothered the cats. So here we were, mother and children, with cats between us, using them as physical intermediaries. I hug the cat. Then you hug the cat and it's almost as if we hug each other. If A=B and B=C, then A=C. The transitive property, right?
Just last week, Elizabeth who I hadn't seen in a few days came to the office with Joey (he spends the days with me, many days). I found myself doing exactly the same thing. She and I each said, "Hey", and then I showered the dog with hugs and kisses an effusion of love. She sat at the front desk to check her e-mail. I went back to my office. Then I thought, WTF! I got up out of my chair and walked over to her and motioned for her to stand and then I gave her the biggest, unexpected hug. The dog watched, probably confused.
It is my father's legacy to me and my children that I have hated displays of affection, hated to be touched, hated to touch. Only with therapy did I allow myself to be penetrated, let the armor down - but not before I passed along his legacy.
Tomorrow I tell the story with different eyes. Today your challenge is to think more about your own stories. Take an event that had an impact on your life think about it with different lens' - something that made you who you are today.
Peace,
Sarah
PS. DJ, a friend and business associate told me to write about him "nicely". The whole hug thing is a "thing" between us. When I first met him, he hugged me I made a big deal of telling him he hadn't earned the right to hug me - that it was inappropriate and premature. I neutered his gesture and probably made him feel bad - that was my intention. Respect not affection was the currency I dealt with in those days. Now I'm thinking we can have both. DJ, you can hug me and I might, just might, give you a sincere hug back.
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