Luckiest woman alive that I am, I have many superheroes. They wear different costumes than those depicted in comics or by Marvel/DC. These folks have faced devastating losses and picked themselves back up, only to thrive. People who have outlived children, whether their biological offspring or another's that they have loved and deal with that loss. Every. Single. Day. Cancer survivors, too many to name, who got the diagnosis and got treatment knowing how awful it would be, but chose to live for their families and friends. Survivors of domestic abuse, physical and mental, who greet each day with a smile and know that they can do anything because they have survived hell. Survivors of rape, the kind on tv and in the movies as well as the folks who did not want to be touched, or spoken to, or treated with violence in their most vulnerable spots and just did not have a choice. Every single person who is living through this pandemic is a superhero. The uncertainty of each day, the risk involved in each task, the lack of care expressed by some, and the ferocity to protect themselves of others makes a simple trek to the grocery store or a walk around the block dangerous enough to need preparation time to walk out the door. I live with trauma. My therapist has often suggested that I call these people to me because the trauma informed seek out their own kind. How do you treat trauma? Radical acceptance? Meditation? Retraining your amygdala so that someone waving "hi" too close doesn't make you jump or drop to the deck? Drugs? EMDR? Body work? Journal writing? Throwing yourself into hobbies? Desperately needing to perform because applause is the only approval you understand? Promiscuous sex because that gives you the power? Kick boxing? Karate? Kayaking? Cleaning your house until it shines? Making sure that you are so busy you don't have time to think? Eating all of the food so that you have a literal bodysuit of armor? Losing the weight because it isn't healthy? Putting it all back on with extra when the next hit comes? Self deprecating humor so that you beat them all to the punch? Assuming that there will be a punch that you have to beat them to? Always wanting to make it all ok for everyone all of the time and being disappointed that you can't even begin to fix it for anyone else because you can't even fix yourself? You, the trauma informed, who are taking this on like a pro, you are killing it right now. Yeah, I see you. I know you see me, too. We are all just doing the best we can with what we have. We are all superheroes, now.
0 Comments
There comes a point almost every evening when the personalities collide and someone will make an appeal to everyone’s favorite, the step-monster. The response that indicates that there will not be discipline, is, “ Don’t make me stop this couch.” Followed by giggling fits, the response could be more of the bad behavior or a “hands up, you caught me” gesture. I will admit that more often than not, it is because I am doing something that I ought not. It could be a nostril petting, poking an ear, pulling a toe hair. Really the options for my misbehavior are endless, even if they are all in good fun. Often, to my surprise, my offspring try these things out on each other, or worse, on me. This generally sets the larger of the dogs off, causing the the beginnings of the Asshole Olympics, where there are laps around the first floor of the house and often hurdles over the ottoman, cats, dog beds, or other obstacles to the galloping run. More giggling makes the dog more nervous, resulting in more racing around. This often startles a cat or the other dog and makes folks laugh uncontrollably until they turn red, fart, wheeze, or some combination of the three. The uncontrollable laughter and wheezing also make the big dog nervous, so more laps. Farting brings about curiosity, and large dog in the wheezing person's lap with an admonishment of, “Don’t step on my cretch.” This sets off other laughing, dog sprints, cats getting stepped on, and more exclamations. Hopefully, you can see where this is headed, but if you can’t, it is more hysteria from the house’s inhabitants. On slow nights, when the children are working or spending an evening at their father’s, there are other hijinks, but rarely is there a need to stop the couch. I was the youngest of my parents children, and separated by divorce, remarriage, miles and situation. As a result, I was raised as an only child. I got the best and worst of both worlds. It was always my fault, no matter what as I couldn't blame a sibling. I always had my own room. Car rides were quiet.
It has come to my attention recently that we are a funny people. Specifically when my middle son came home after a month in his new life and announced that we are all a good time. He may have meant that we are nuts or that we put on a good show. This is not the place to quibble about such matters. I have often been made the center of attention and had command performances. As a four year old, I was propped up on the corner of the secretary's desk and asked for my life story at my father's work Christmas party. I was not daunted by this, but instead began, " My mother is a fruitcake and you know my dad," all to a roar of laughter. My material has changed, but my timing hasn't. I can be called upon for a story on a moment's notice. I learned early on that it was better to laugh than to cry, as if these were the only acceptable responses to what happens in life. Recently, I have been working on meditating and using radical acceptance ( cue eye roll and heavy sigh). Meditation is great. It does help even in the most unlikely situations. I can feel better just knowing that I have done less harm than I might have by reacting without mindfulness. Radical acceptance, however, is bullshit. Anyone who has lived through things that must be radically accepted knows how much we have already accepted, radically or otherwise. There is a distinct need to stop accepting poor treatment, bad behavior, violence and harm. The idea that I am responsible for the behavior of others was literally beaten into me by my father, reinforced by my grandparents, and practiced by my siblings. I reject that out of hand. I am responsible for my behavior and how the behavior of others affects me. I am in control of whether folks can harm me. I alone give permission for that bad behavior, violence and harm. If you no longer have much connection to me, it is because I have deemed that your presence is no present. |
AuthorI make stuff. Sometimes the stuff is pretty, sometimes not. My wife, 2 dogs, 3 kids and 3 cats keep me busy and on my toes. Archives
January 2022
Categories |