OK, so this is a little convoluted. I was remarking with a friend how ridiculous it is that some people -- people who OUGHT to know -- don't actually know our names. I'm not talking about people who only know our nicknames [in my case, this is definitely true....some friends only know my by a moniker given to me freshman year in college: Didi's Wilson-Malone...don't ask] but specifically people who have been schooled in our real names and who, for whatever reason, choose to ignore it and call us something else. In my case, there are legions of "friends" who think my name is "Diane," despite repeated reminders to them that they are dead wrong about that.
[My mother might be slightly at fault for this. She has, upon occasion, referred to me as "Di-ane," said in a luxurious southern drawl, even though she named me, for crissakes. It's something she thinks of as "cute." There are many friends from grade school who call me Diane to this day, probably because my mother set the standard some 40 years ago. I find it endearing and yet annoying at the same time.]
In any event, I think it's been crucial in my life to get names and naming right. I want to know how people's names are spelled, whether there is an "E" on the end, or if there is something unusual about a name. Is it pronounced Jee-nah, or Jenn-ah? Do you prefer "Steve" or "Steven"? These things matter to me.
Names and naming are integral to my view of life, and have been for years. When I was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism, I was thrilled to learn that the phrase "Nam Myoho Renge Kyo" is the name Nichiren gave to the mystic principal at work in the world -- a universal principal or energy that we cannot put our finger on per se, but something we know is there. In my youthful quest to understand the meaning of life and its source, I had searched for some way to name the thing that underlies all things. None of the concepts I had encountered really fit the bill; Dao was close, but lacked a practice; "God" was overburdened with Judeo-Christian baggage.
In my process of self-discovery, the act of naming -- I recently realized -- is also crucial. I move through personal angst more quickly if I am able to articulate my experience to others -- for example, through this blog, or by sharing my truth with others one-on-one. By naming what is going on with me, I am able to establish an emotional ground, a place to land. I can say, "this is what is true." Considering that so much of my formative years was spent being told that what I was experiencing was NOT true, I am able to reclaim reality as I see it. And in doing so, I discover myself there.
It's not that I want to -- or do -- wallow in stuff that's going on with me. I don't have an investment in giving my experience more emotional torque than it deserves. Frankly, my experiences truly SUCK at times. But, in being able to name the experience that belongs to me, not only do I establish who I am in it, but that experience paradoxically loses its steam as well. By naming it, I can eliminate the desire/tendency to make the experience more real than any other experience I have. I deflate its power over me. I can see where it comes from, how it manifests in my life, and then consciously decide how I will react. Is this some attribute that I want to keep? Is it something that I need to let go of? What age am I reliving right now? How can I support and nurture the part of me that experiences this trauma from thus-and-such vantage point?
Consciousness is an iffy thing. Sometimes being aware (for me anyway) is a double-edged sword. It means I am painfully reminded of how sometimes I move through the world completely UNconsciously. However, unless I am conscious of what is going on with me -- even if I cannot control it at this moment -- how can I ever possibly make a change? How can I take action based on self-knowledge? The struggle at times is to see the painful bits and remain compassionate towards the self that doesn't understand, or doesn't see, or is afraid to change.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
"Helpful" things I learned at the age of 2
My last post was about living life at the age of 13. Well, friends, I am regressing. I am now facing shit I conjured up at the age of 2, it seems.
Here's some background: around the age of 2, my mother decided to have some kind of emotional breakdown. She was young, educated, and I think completely unsuited for motherhood. Except that's what you did back then, in the early 1960s. My brother, a mere 2 years older than me, was probably a handful, a youngster full of "why" questions -- why is the sky blue, why this, why that.
Mom's breakdown consisted of an ongoing paranoia/panic that she would lose control and slam my brother's head and mine against the wall to kill us both. Like the good wife and mother she was, she went to a shrink for help, but he was completely useless. In classic form, he told her that if she weren't so selfish and thought about her family instead of herself, she would be fine. In disgust, he turned her away, without real help and certainly no medication.
Mom did her best to pull herself together, which was only marginally effective. My paternal grandmother came during the day to "help" my mom out around the house, while dad was at work -- which really meant, grandma was there to make sure mom didn't act out her fantasies and kill us. It was a charming time, all the way around.
[BTW, I know a lot of this because my mother filled me in on the story when I was in my 20s.]
At the age of 2, however, I am sure I didn't understand what the hell was happening. My mother withdrew emotionally, and I recall vividly her vacant stare. In later years, I remember trying to engage my mom in conversations over lunchtime (I was maybe 5 or 6) and the panic I felt at her monosyllabic responses. I would do anything to have her connect with me. I learned how to perform little vignettes for her amusement. I made up games to rope her into my world. When I was supposed to be napping every afternoon, I rarely did, instead listening from my crib for signs of life in the house.
So at the age of 2, my therapist tells me, I would have likely gone into survival mode, since at that age connection with the mother is paramount. Except for me, it was there and then wasn't there. My mother disappeared, and even now -- 47 years later -- she's not entirely "there" all the time.
As an adult, I have somewhat made peace with the fact my mother has been emotionally unavailable nearly my entire life. However, I have also learned that, deep within me, are ingrained thoughts and responses of a pre-verbal variety that I am STILL trying to untangle.
One of the "helpful" things I learned at the age of 2 was that, without effort on my part, loved ones leave and never come back. Even WITH effort, the return of connection is never assured. Saying goodbye to a friend even now sometimes engenders fear or panic, especially if it is uncertain when the next reunion will take place. And in potential love relationships -- well, fogeddaboddit!
My 2-year-old way of trying to maintain connection is something I am just now working through. I see it in action sometimes, but often I cannot seem to stop it. Recently, it's completely in my face. Here are some things I do to maintain connection in the face of the 2-year-old's terror:
1. Manufacture attachment. Make myself indispensable in some way to the person I don't want to leave me. Create a need for my services in others. Examples include being the best prop designer for the high school musical; being able to create a papier mache rock at the last minute; helping build a bridge over a backyard creek (as I have all the right tools); designing a recording studio with no prior knowledge but figuring it out anyway (pre-internet, mind you).
2. Be in-demand as entertainment. Make myself the go-to person for fun. This was more common when I was younger, but I can still wing it if I have to. Examples include: dressing up in costumes to put on a show for my mom; making up new words to old songs to lobby for some dessert; being the life of the party by telling stories of my life that are only SLIGHTLY exaggerated.
3. Offer compliments, adoration and statements of affection to others in the hopes of getting the same in return. If that doesn't work, then demand compliments, adoration, and statements of affection from others. This one is really biting my ass these days. I am seeing this at work in awful, painful ways, something I didn't entirely see I was doing until recently (as in, this week). I am trying to pay attention to what energy I am putting out there to discern what I am trying to collect in response, and jesus christ on a crutch, it hurts.
To add insult to injury, my inner critic has been telling me what a loser I am for going through this at nearly 50 years of age. I feel sometimes like I should have figured this shit out a LONG fucking time ago. I feel humiliated at only now being aware of some very old, ingrained habits. And it is showing up where I least want it to.
My inner critic does really need to leave for a permanent vacation. Lacking compassion for the 2-year-old self, I know intellectually, is not going to help matters at all. I said months ago I wanted to live my life differently, and this is what I got. Dammit.
My process of human revolution -- inner transformation -- is painful, but I want to change. I want to show up as a fully actualized, happy person. I don't think I can get there if I am being operated by a 2-year-old's fears. I am determined to let go of these old habits, even if it takes me the rest of my life. I don't think it will, but I really haven't a clue. It takes faith.
Here's some background: around the age of 2, my mother decided to have some kind of emotional breakdown. She was young, educated, and I think completely unsuited for motherhood. Except that's what you did back then, in the early 1960s. My brother, a mere 2 years older than me, was probably a handful, a youngster full of "why" questions -- why is the sky blue, why this, why that.
Mom's breakdown consisted of an ongoing paranoia/panic that she would lose control and slam my brother's head and mine against the wall to kill us both. Like the good wife and mother she was, she went to a shrink for help, but he was completely useless. In classic form, he told her that if she weren't so selfish and thought about her family instead of herself, she would be fine. In disgust, he turned her away, without real help and certainly no medication.
Mom did her best to pull herself together, which was only marginally effective. My paternal grandmother came during the day to "help" my mom out around the house, while dad was at work -- which really meant, grandma was there to make sure mom didn't act out her fantasies and kill us. It was a charming time, all the way around.
[BTW, I know a lot of this because my mother filled me in on the story when I was in my 20s.]
At the age of 2, however, I am sure I didn't understand what the hell was happening. My mother withdrew emotionally, and I recall vividly her vacant stare. In later years, I remember trying to engage my mom in conversations over lunchtime (I was maybe 5 or 6) and the panic I felt at her monosyllabic responses. I would do anything to have her connect with me. I learned how to perform little vignettes for her amusement. I made up games to rope her into my world. When I was supposed to be napping every afternoon, I rarely did, instead listening from my crib for signs of life in the house.
So at the age of 2, my therapist tells me, I would have likely gone into survival mode, since at that age connection with the mother is paramount. Except for me, it was there and then wasn't there. My mother disappeared, and even now -- 47 years later -- she's not entirely "there" all the time.
As an adult, I have somewhat made peace with the fact my mother has been emotionally unavailable nearly my entire life. However, I have also learned that, deep within me, are ingrained thoughts and responses of a pre-verbal variety that I am STILL trying to untangle.
One of the "helpful" things I learned at the age of 2 was that, without effort on my part, loved ones leave and never come back. Even WITH effort, the return of connection is never assured. Saying goodbye to a friend even now sometimes engenders fear or panic, especially if it is uncertain when the next reunion will take place. And in potential love relationships -- well, fogeddaboddit!
My 2-year-old way of trying to maintain connection is something I am just now working through. I see it in action sometimes, but often I cannot seem to stop it. Recently, it's completely in my face. Here are some things I do to maintain connection in the face of the 2-year-old's terror:
1. Manufacture attachment. Make myself indispensable in some way to the person I don't want to leave me. Create a need for my services in others. Examples include being the best prop designer for the high school musical; being able to create a papier mache rock at the last minute; helping build a bridge over a backyard creek (as I have all the right tools); designing a recording studio with no prior knowledge but figuring it out anyway (pre-internet, mind you).
2. Be in-demand as entertainment. Make myself the go-to person for fun. This was more common when I was younger, but I can still wing it if I have to. Examples include: dressing up in costumes to put on a show for my mom; making up new words to old songs to lobby for some dessert; being the life of the party by telling stories of my life that are only SLIGHTLY exaggerated.
3. Offer compliments, adoration and statements of affection to others in the hopes of getting the same in return. If that doesn't work, then demand compliments, adoration, and statements of affection from others. This one is really biting my ass these days. I am seeing this at work in awful, painful ways, something I didn't entirely see I was doing until recently (as in, this week). I am trying to pay attention to what energy I am putting out there to discern what I am trying to collect in response, and jesus christ on a crutch, it hurts.
To add insult to injury, my inner critic has been telling me what a loser I am for going through this at nearly 50 years of age. I feel sometimes like I should have figured this shit out a LONG fucking time ago. I feel humiliated at only now being aware of some very old, ingrained habits. And it is showing up where I least want it to.
My inner critic does really need to leave for a permanent vacation. Lacking compassion for the 2-year-old self, I know intellectually, is not going to help matters at all. I said months ago I wanted to live my life differently, and this is what I got. Dammit.
My process of human revolution -- inner transformation -- is painful, but I want to change. I want to show up as a fully actualized, happy person. I don't think I can get there if I am being operated by a 2-year-old's fears. I am determined to let go of these old habits, even if it takes me the rest of my life. I don't think it will, but I really haven't a clue. It takes faith.
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