Locks
Reading Pema Chodron, about fear, and the facing of fear. And pondering my actions with my family, and how long it took me to leave the ex. Sometimes it's hard to know when I am courting pain rather than facing fear. When I am letting someone punch me, or if I am avoiding a hard decision.
I remember my brothers locking me in the garage. For a long time, I pushed on the door and begged to get out, and they stood outside giggling. Eventually, I gave up, and sat on a bit of wood and watched the dust motes in the sun coming through the smeared windows. After a long time, I heard them - far away from the door, so I went to check it, and it wasn't locked. They'd just been holding it until they got bored of me as the game. This happened more than once, and I am probably remembering a series of these events, like a dream that replays with different endings. Because sometimes my mother comes looking for me, sometimes they come back and mock me for not just coming out because the door was open all the time, sometimes I don't even bother to try and open it until I figure they are elsewhere.
Coming to terms with my hatred of my father took a long, painful time. That the rest of my kith cared no more for me is relatively recent knowledge. I knew I needed to distance myself from them, and I did, fearful that I would get a call, would have to deal with all that poison and negativity and judgement again. So I locked the door. My mother rattled it and cried at it the longest. So, when I decided after my father's death to face them, I feared their intrusion, but I felt the need to handle it. They were worse than I remembered, still I stuck it out for a while.
No need to hurt myself so long, though. I closed the door, told them it was shut. Thing is, I never locked it. This space, my email, are still in their hands, and they could find the address and phone number with any slight effort. And they have not. I think that is the aspect I hadn't realized I feared as well. That, given an unlocked door, they couldn't be arsed to try and open it.
I'm glad I didn't examine this all too closely at the time, but acted according to that quiet voice that can't explain itself clearly, but whispers truth. I was terrified of calling them, I wasn't acting out of fear then. Maybe I should call my mother, and approach her with curiosity and compassion, and not rationalize my irritation and dislike away as wisdom. But it feels too much like plunging my hand into the fire just to see if it will hurt.
Now, I will leave all to settle, wait and watch and listen.
Too grim today? Sorry, please go here. Made me spit tea on the keyboard.
I remember my brothers locking me in the garage. For a long time, I pushed on the door and begged to get out, and they stood outside giggling. Eventually, I gave up, and sat on a bit of wood and watched the dust motes in the sun coming through the smeared windows. After a long time, I heard them - far away from the door, so I went to check it, and it wasn't locked. They'd just been holding it until they got bored of me as the game. This happened more than once, and I am probably remembering a series of these events, like a dream that replays with different endings. Because sometimes my mother comes looking for me, sometimes they come back and mock me for not just coming out because the door was open all the time, sometimes I don't even bother to try and open it until I figure they are elsewhere.
Coming to terms with my hatred of my father took a long, painful time. That the rest of my kith cared no more for me is relatively recent knowledge. I knew I needed to distance myself from them, and I did, fearful that I would get a call, would have to deal with all that poison and negativity and judgement again. So I locked the door. My mother rattled it and cried at it the longest. So, when I decided after my father's death to face them, I feared their intrusion, but I felt the need to handle it. They were worse than I remembered, still I stuck it out for a while.
No need to hurt myself so long, though. I closed the door, told them it was shut. Thing is, I never locked it. This space, my email, are still in their hands, and they could find the address and phone number with any slight effort. And they have not. I think that is the aspect I hadn't realized I feared as well. That, given an unlocked door, they couldn't be arsed to try and open it.
I'm glad I didn't examine this all too closely at the time, but acted according to that quiet voice that can't explain itself clearly, but whispers truth. I was terrified of calling them, I wasn't acting out of fear then. Maybe I should call my mother, and approach her with curiosity and compassion, and not rationalize my irritation and dislike away as wisdom. But it feels too much like plunging my hand into the fire just to see if it will hurt.
Now, I will leave all to settle, wait and watch and listen.
Too grim today? Sorry, please go here. Made me spit tea on the keyboard.
Posted by Zhoen on Wednesday, October 17, 2012
3 comments:
(o)
Not too grim at all, self aware and heart-wrenching without self-pity.
That link is brilliant though.
yes, I understand you
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