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She walked down the hallway in her bare feet. The house was dark and quiet. She slipped into the bathroom quietly, pushed a towel up against the crack at the bottom of the door before switching on the light. The bathroom mirror was big. Too big. She typically made a point of wearing her hair like a shroud 'round her face so she wouldn't see her reflection and other people wouldn't see her, but this time she took a deep breath and shook her hair back.
She was surprised by the girl she saw looking back from the mirror. Her eyes were so sad and guarded. You wouldn't think a 12-year-old would know to identify them as such but she was a girl who paid attention to people and saw too much. She wondered what she would one day be, if she would be ugly or by some miracle maybe a little bit pretty. Maybe she would be grossly fat. Her dad had reminded her at dinner when she'd eaten corn with her mashed potatoes that pigs eat corn. Of course, he was eating it, too, but there was a message there and she didn't miss it. She would be fat, ugly. It was her destiny.
It wasn't long before she was a teenager. She wore her hair long to cover her face, kept her head down, hid her mouth with her hand when she laughed. When some boy said she was pretty, she thought he was making fun of her. When another boy said it she lost all respect for him. If he was THAT stupid, he wasn't worth knowing. How pathetic.
Eventually, she got it. She realized that some people couldn't see the truth, that for some reason they were immune to it. She knew what she was and that was worthless. Her father saw it. Her brother confirmed it. But some people seemed to miss it altogether. She never learned to trust them. She trusted anger. Anger always told the truth, didn't it?
She became adept at pretending but the more she had to pretend the less real she felt until she became utterly invisible. You could do whatever you wanted to her and she wouldn't even feel it.
She eventually ran away from home, tried to run away from herself, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't leave herself behind. One day someone observed to her that she was made for suffering, that she had a penchant for it like he'd never seen before. Although they weren't spoken in anger, she recognized his words as truth, and thus began the slow unraveling of the lie.
Years went by and she became more and more real. She never really went back home. She tried. But home was a place where she ceased to exist, it was inhabited by that girl she'd been, and she felt like she might lose herself to that girl again if she stayed too long near home.
That girl was me. It's still hard to look at her because she breaks my heart. Why do parents sometimes hate their children? Why do people hate one another? Where do those angry words come from? We can build and deconstruct people with our words. That old kids poem, the one about sticks and stones breaking bones while names will never hurt us? It's a lie. We shouldn't tell our children such things. Words are powerful.
I grew to love words, to live inside of them. Words capture truth and lies, reveal beauty and ugliness, create peace and cause wars. I know how to wound with words and I know how to heal. I pray that God will remind me, always, not to intentionally inflict pain.
Mother Theresa said, "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." Those are powerful words and true. When I get angry I say those words quietly to myself to remind me of our shared humanity.
If I could heal the world, I would.
©Just Kate, March 2010
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Crystle, I love the way you equate books with knowledge and knowledge with freedom!
Something weird there isn't there? How you can be treated so harshly as a child and yet there is nothing in you - nothing at all - that even remotely shows up on your radar as a possibility for your own children.
I do get angry though, as The Beast did. But not for the same reason. And I'm not quite sure whether it's actual anger or just sadness. Anyway it shows up when I see a mother scolding her child for acting childish. (!) Or when a father refers to his children as burdens. Makes me want to slap them upside the head and tell them "pay attention! Wake up! These little things are precious. One day they'll grow up. Do you really want them to hate you?"
While another part of me - the part that grew up with a dad full of hatred, that I never did figure out - knows that even that would be useless.
Hey, Wolfshades. I think there's a certain percentage of us who feel rage but turn it inward rather than projecting it outward to others, especially our children. I think there are things about both of our lives (I'm talking about you and me) that reveal what we suffered as children. We hurt ourselves without thought or intention and had to learn how not to do it. At least that's my perception.
It took me a long time to realize that I was entitled to anger. I always thought it was something I couldn't feel. The truth was, it was there, I just had it aimed at ME.
As you know, I have four adopted children who come from backgrounds of severe abuse and neglect and I tend to rescue critters. It's an innate thing in me, the desire to stop suffering when I see it, to somehow reach out and touch it. That being said, I haven't always been a good mom. I've had more than my share of angry moments. :( I suppose the huge difference between my father and I is that I have self-awareness and I know how to apologize. I'm sorry goes a long way when one blows it as a parent.
What I truly hate is seeing mothers in WalMart and outside 7-11 (I don't know why those are the places I normally see them), telling their little "shits" to shut the "f" up. I have to curb the impulse to literally snarl at them. That being said, I usually DO say something. I try to say it in such a way that I MIGHT be heard. Who knows what reaches inside the heart of a person when they're alone. (?)
Perhaps there's a certain type of parent that cannot be stopped. I'd like to believe that some can. I think my dad might have toned it down a bit if he'd been called on the way he treated me. He was very careful to keep it at home where others couldn't see but it leaked out enough that some people saw it. They just never SAID anything.
You called your dad "damaged." YES! I have said the same thing of my father, tried to recognize that what he did came from a dark place and his own hard childhood. I loved my dad. I love him still. He taught me from a very early age that people are not either "good" or "bad." We're ALL comprised of different degrees of darkness and light. My father was a wonderful neighbor, employer, brother, member of his community, etc. He was even a GREAT father to my brother. The fact that he was horribly abusive toward me does not cancel out those other WONDERFUL things about him. People are complex beings and not easily categorized.
"Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them." ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
I might add, that lack of words can hurt, too. Katy, thank you for sharing. As usual, made me think.
And YES!!! books = knowledge = freedom.
I'm struggling to think of who might be. You're appearing as "Anonymous."
The only people I know who love quotes as much as I do are Kym and Kev. I think you must be Kev.
The quote is a good one. Thank you for sharing it. And, yes, the absence of words can hurt too. I appreciate that reminder. You've made ME think. :)
*facepalm*
I didn't think to sign it. You've disappeared again, I noticed. Thank you for the comment on my status.
So, you ARE Kev. I got it right. :) Now, tell me what you mean by "disappeared." I haven't disappeared!
"The tongue is a fire...a restless evil and full of deadly poison" (James 3:6,8)
"I will guard my ways, that I may not sin with my tongue; I will guard my mouth as with a muzzle"
(Psalm 39:1)
"I have often regretted my speech, never my silence"
Publius
OK, I need some expounding on one statement: "One day someone observed to her that she was made for suffering, that she had a penchant for it like he'd never seen before. Although they weren't spoken in anger, she recognized his words as truth, and thus began the slow unraveling of the lie"
I don't understand this sentence. How did being told "you were made for suffering" unravel the lie? If someone told me I was made for suffering, it would have just depressed me further.
I'm glad you asked about what I said about being told that I was made for suffering. It may not make sense out of context. Before I left to go to the jungle, my dad told me that I would never be able to handle it, that I was weak and would fall apart, that I shouldn't even try it. I heard him but there was this small voice inside of me that knew it wasn't true.
A short time later, I was sent out to a very remote village in the Solomon Islands, the only girl on an all guy team. I remember the collective groans that went up when the guys heard I was going with them. They didn't want the girl with the hair and make-up to go out into the jungle with them. They wanted someone who appeared more rugged, I guess. Or maybe it was because they didn't take me seriously because of how I looked back then.
The person who said I was made for suffering was actually the leader of our team. It turned out that I was really, really good at being out in the jungle. I did what I was asked and more. I jumped right in and got to work. I didn't complain. I didn't lean on anyone.
Still, there was a part of me that wondered if I was contributing, if I was doing ENOUGH to make up for the fact that the team got stuck with ME. Hearing from our team leader that I was made for suffering was an affirmation of who I really am. I am someone who has always embraced the hard thing. I have endured. I am not lazy or weak. I'm the opposite, so much so that I can honestly say I was MADE for suffering.
For me, it was an acknowledgment of my STRENGTH. It's like that old saying, when the going gets tough the tough get going. :)
The lie began to unravel when I realized that I was the opposite of what I had been named. I wasn't just someone who could suffer, I could do it well. I didn't fall apart. I didn't melt. I was stronger and better than I'd been in Hawaii where things were easy.
Anyway, I've probably over-explained it now. It's important to me that I communicate well in this. Have I made sense, Jay?
Jay,
Exactly! My dad always told me I would fail at everything because I wasn't tough enough. He said, and my brother echoed, that I was selfish, lazy, fat, a waste of an excellent mind, etc. The truth was that I was the OPPOSITE of everything they named me. In other words, I was MADE for suffering. They tried to break me and they failed. When I finally began to understand, the lies began to unravel. There was this pinprick of light and truth in my life. I began to see myself differently. :)
And I *hear* you - oh dear Lord I HEAR you about anger. I used to think I didn't have it either. I did but didn't know it, just as you did. Only when my anger wasn't pointed internally, it came out in other ways, like the two instances where I (righteously) blew up at someone, but found I couldn't stop. It's a wonder we didn't get into fist fights and more when that happened. I told my therapist "at least no one died". She was startled by that, I could tell , but I was kidding her. *grin*
When my team leader said I was made for suffering I understood him immediately and assumed that it would be obvious to others, which was obviously a wrong assumption. :0) I, too, am glad that Jay asked about it. Sometimes in my effort to keep my blogs short and therefore more readable, I edit out important information. Note to self: Don't do that.
When I talked about anger turned inward I was making a rather vague reference to something we've both worked hard to overcome. I realize that's still vague, but perhaps you'll pick up on what I'm referring to. For me, my struggles were related to self-hatred (anger turned inward). It might have been different for you. As for letting my anger out at others, righteously or not, I rarely do that. I think it's because I wasn't allowed to get angry when I was growing up. Everything "bad" was my fault. Always. It didn't matter how ridiculous it was.
Anyway, I understand very well what you're saying about yourself. You have a certain "edge" that I actually like, albeit I've never seen it to the degree you're talking about. I just know that you don't tolerate bullshit. :0)
I remember a blog a looooong time ago where you eluded to what you have written here. I was half way through this Blog when I realized you were talking about....you.
My Mom was bitter at times and it manifested itself in harsh words, though I knew Mom didn't mean them. I love that woman with every atom of my being. She had a lot to deal with after my Father divorced the family.
Words do hurt and you will hear them for years, unless you choose to deal with them as you did.
Being friends with you and reading your Blogs opens up areas in my heart that I feel I still need to grapple with. I will, because your Blogs challenge me to better myself through the things you have already dealt with.
I remember something written by Charles Kingsley......I will copy the last part here:
"...you will make sin and misery for yourself out of everything God sends you; you will be as wretched as you choose...".
The rest of this paragraph is very harsh as written by him. Rather than being wretched by the hurtful words that were thrown at you, you chose a different path and became the wonderful person you are. As I see it anyway.
This Blog is very inspirational and I enjoyed reading how you chose to be the person you are.
With love and respect,
~Calvin
I have no idea how to respond. Whoever you are... thank you.
Calvin, Thank you for seeing that I meant to inspire. Thank you for, once again, seeing my heart. I loved my dad, so much. More than anything, I just wanted to figure out how to make him love me. It took me a long time to realize that his anger toward me wasn't really about me at all.
I often go to the cemetery and talk to him. I tell him that I'm sorry his life was so hard, that I loved him, that he was the best grandpa ever to our son.
He did so much good in his life. I'm proud of that. I can't judge him. I can only move forward and do my best to live out the lessons I learned, like the importance of healing words.
I wear my hair long. I've had short hair in the past and it felt wrong. So I wear my hair long. I hide my eyes and my emotions with it. People think I have pride in my long curls (yes I do) But it's really just a shield I discovered as a child. The easiest and most effective way of keeping others out and remaining invisibe.
I think we despise in others what we hate in ourselves. With children it is amplified because as parents, so much more of us is reflected in our children. It is an uncomfortable mirror sometimes. In our worst moments, when we hate ourselves the most, we lash out at the little mirrors, unmindful of the shards we leave for them to sweep up later.
Yes, I understand you perfectly. Your hair is gorgeous, by the way, but I have seen you do the same thing I do. Hair makes a wonderful veil, as does a hat brim! ;)
Ah... there's so much I could say here. Maybe I'll just shoot it to you in an e-mail. Love you!
I think that's generally VERY TRUE, Jesse, and I think that my father saw himself in me. He spent a lifetime trying not to be sensitive, trying not to let himself get hurt. I was nothing if not sensitive and easily hurt - for myself and others. I used to cry when I saw dead animals by the side of the road and my dad would get SO MAD. He would tell me that I better get used to the real world where things get sick and die and life isn't fair, and I'd better toughen up.
He did a good job of making me toughen up.
But it was far more than that... far more. Some of it I understand and some of it I never will.
I wrote a very similar, in some ways, post a while ago - you can see it here if you like: http://confessionsofadizzyblonde.wordpress.com/2010/04/27/sailing-solo-stark-naked/
I have read a lot of your posts today and they are absolutely brilliant - maybe because I recognize myself in so many of them, maybe because of your style of writing or love of the countryside... I don't know, but well done and thanks a million for sharing!!! =) They have given me a lot to think about, and blog about!
Thank you for coming to read and for letting me know you were here. :) I will happily follow the link to your blog.
It hurts me to see people in emotional pain. As one who has suffered, I cannot abide suffering. My instinct is to cherish hurt things whether they're critters or people. And yet I am most drawn to people who have known suffering. I find so much more compassion and depth there. I think the best of us is often formed in the midst of the hardest things, albeit I am fully aware that some never survive it and that simply breaks my heart.
Anyway, thank you for your kind words! I look forward to reading you. :)
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