When I was little and a family "tease" got too hard, I would run away, to be alone. As a result, I was often accused of "being too sensitive". I was ordered to "suck it up" and to "stop crying for yourself". My recourse was to head out to the woods, to be among the birds and trees, to cry for myself, since it was clear no one else would ever cry for me. Sometimes, these days, returned to the original "set" of my childhood, I feel that same lump rising in my throat.
Parents who had little parenthood training often use their first child as a crash-test dummy. Like all dummies, we are supposed to take the hits and remain silent. Hopefully, something will be learned from the "accidents". My siblings will tell you that little was culled. Except, perhaps, that there is a fierceness and a damming up of true feelings, lest they reveal weakness. Weakness displayed, in my family, is the worst sin one can uncover to the world. These kinds of parents often believe that their children are extensions of themselves--including their own fears and mistakes. While they may not be able to control their own lives, they will control their children...So, the children are not allowed to be emotional; weak; failures.
It has taken me decades to deal with suppressed anger. It has taken me longer to deal with the shrapnel of when that anger exploded. Imagine my surprise when, now back on the set of so much of that childhood drama, I come across the Lojong phrase: don't wallow in self-pity. Does this mean that now, instead of elders in my family telling me to "suck it up" and "don't be so sensitive or moody" it is now the Universe pointing a finger and laughing? I don't think so.
I believe it means that, as with everything, I must not shy away from analyzing this aspect of my life. I must watch my childhood self go through its hurts and misunderstandings. I must watch my parents judging, misjudging and re-judging my life, in fear that someone might judge THEM because of who I am. I must accept the fact that my parents never will truly want to know where I have been, what I have done nor who I can be--at least not on any stage where they are not also present. For them, the only act is the one they are starring in, or so it seems to me. It is as if I didn't exist when I was out of their sight.I went away for a lifetime, out of their control. I had to do this in order to see them from a distance; to heal my own wounded heart; to realize I am not an extension of anybody.(I am connected to, but not an extension of...hmmm. Interesting complication, eh?) Uncovering this fact, I find that perhaps returning to the primal scene is not as easy, nor as clean, as I'd hoped it would be. The messy work of being present; being open, is tough.
So, I may cry for that little kid in the woods, alone, who felt no one would ever feel her pain, nor take her seriously enough to validate that pain, let alone help her alleviate it. I may dissolve the lump of anger, instead of swallowing it. I may continue to experience my parents as separate identities who are learning their own lessons and try to learn along with them.(It doesn't have to be what it once was because I am carrying new tools, with new skills on how to use them.) I am choosing not to wallow in self-pity because I have been given gifts of strength--given great teachers who have shown me other paths. I have been gifted with people who take notice of who I really am--who value that insight--who bear witness to the pain--who accept a reciprocal caring. Now, it is time to use gentle mindfulness-- on myself; no matter what has occurred.
Parents who had little parenthood training often use their first child as a crash-test dummy. Like all dummies, we are supposed to take the hits and remain silent. Hopefully, something will be learned from the "accidents". My siblings will tell you that little was culled. Except, perhaps, that there is a fierceness and a damming up of true feelings, lest they reveal weakness. Weakness displayed, in my family, is the worst sin one can uncover to the world. These kinds of parents often believe that their children are extensions of themselves--including their own fears and mistakes. While they may not be able to control their own lives, they will control their children...So, the children are not allowed to be emotional; weak; failures.
It has taken me decades to deal with suppressed anger. It has taken me longer to deal with the shrapnel of when that anger exploded. Imagine my surprise when, now back on the set of so much of that childhood drama, I come across the Lojong phrase: don't wallow in self-pity. Does this mean that now, instead of elders in my family telling me to "suck it up" and "don't be so sensitive or moody" it is now the Universe pointing a finger and laughing? I don't think so.
I believe it means that, as with everything, I must not shy away from analyzing this aspect of my life. I must watch my childhood self go through its hurts and misunderstandings. I must watch my parents judging, misjudging and re-judging my life, in fear that someone might judge THEM because of who I am. I must accept the fact that my parents never will truly want to know where I have been, what I have done nor who I can be--at least not on any stage where they are not also present. For them, the only act is the one they are starring in, or so it seems to me. It is as if I didn't exist when I was out of their sight.I went away for a lifetime, out of their control. I had to do this in order to see them from a distance; to heal my own wounded heart; to realize I am not an extension of anybody.(I am connected to, but not an extension of...hmmm. Interesting complication, eh?) Uncovering this fact, I find that perhaps returning to the primal scene is not as easy, nor as clean, as I'd hoped it would be. The messy work of being present; being open, is tough.
So, I may cry for that little kid in the woods, alone, who felt no one would ever feel her pain, nor take her seriously enough to validate that pain, let alone help her alleviate it. I may dissolve the lump of anger, instead of swallowing it. I may continue to experience my parents as separate identities who are learning their own lessons and try to learn along with them.(It doesn't have to be what it once was because I am carrying new tools, with new skills on how to use them.) I am choosing not to wallow in self-pity because I have been given gifts of strength--given great teachers who have shown me other paths. I have been gifted with people who take notice of who I really am--who value that insight--who bear witness to the pain--who accept a reciprocal caring. Now, it is time to use gentle mindfulness-- on myself; no matter what has occurred.
