The spring of 1978 saw a shift for me. Having left the job at the UCONN Health Center for the one in Torrington, I had, if not decreased my stress, at least “changed it.”
I was free of commuting with my father. That in itself was a relief. And the environment at the community hospital was much different from the high-paced research environment at UCONN. Even though I worked in the microbiology department at the hospital lab, I had much more contact with staff from all the different lab sections — hematology, chemistry, blood bank, etc. It was like one large unified section – the lab – versus individual isolated “kingdoms.” And the staff interactions were more collaborative and friendly. So there were those improvements.
But there is an old saying – “No matter where you go, there you are.” And the question was – who did I bring with me into that lab? Where had life left me after the last several years of intense driving toward my degree?
“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
Brene Brown
Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead
I have spent the last several days deeply reading my journals from those early years. So many revelations, as well as seeds of answers. So, I will share some journal quotes to show a bit of who I was in my 20s, and then add some insights I gleaned.
What you never see
One of the reasons I never looked back before was the high level of shame I felt at still living in that abusive home until 28, AND thinking it was a generally loving, if imperfect home.
But when you don’t even realize it’s wrong, you don’t know you have to fight back. And the reality was, my home world wasn’t just “imperfect,” it was REALLY wrong. But at that point, I was totally unaware of the truth. Why? What was missing that I could not see the obvious?
In rewinding the yo-yo of my life in the Spring of 1978, I started the new lab job at the hospital in my hometown. It was the beginning of the last phase of being trapped in that house, even as it would take me until 1983 to get out finally.
The questions in my mind as I thought back to those years were:
What was happening over those 5 years?
How did I get out?
Why did it take me so long?
Was I suddenly “a healed, complete” adult when I got out?
From my writing class at the Farmington High School and the journal training from my high school English teacher, Terry Doyle, I figured out two things: 1. Writing had power. And 2. Journaling was the tool.
“That” journal
So for whatever reason, in spite of my depression and lethargy then, I started a journal. This one covered the years of 1979-1983. Not every day, and at one point, there was even a gap of two years. But still, it was an unexpected treasure.
Until these last couple of weeks, I had not read those journal entries since I wrote them all those years ago. Being impatient and wanting to get on with my writing, I started flipping through pages to see if I could get a quick feel for what I needed. But it just as quickly became clear, that approach wouldn’t work.
A lot happened in my life, in me, from 1979-1983. If I were to get useful answers, I needed to relive those years. That meant reading ALL the entries. I will confess it was overwhelming. The amount of depression and pain. The loneliness and despair. The things that went on. The “data” was all there, but what was it telling me?
When we were kids, everyone had a Yo-Yo. For sure, we dreamed of making our toy do all the tricks they showed on TV, though most of us failed.
Yet we were happy just to keep that disc going up and down as long as possible. You could feel the initial energy in the string as you whipped the wooden disc downward, then felt that disc shoot right back up.
But eventually, the “energy” stored in the string would start to wane. The disc would drop down, but only return halfway, then a quarter, until finally, it just stopped and dangled there, inert at the end of its string.
Then you would either take the disc, rewind the string around it, and start over, or give up and put the toy away.
That was a good description of my life.
Cycles
“Surviving under such conditions puts a constant, draining demand on both body and mind. Each day stretches the limits of your endurance, siphoning your energy as if simply making it through is a battle you fight over and over again. The weight of this exhaustion is invisible, but it’s there…a cycle that leaves no room for rest or reflection…the brain, molded by the forces of environment and experience, turns its focus inward. The aperture narrows to the present moment, obscuring potential dreams and possibilities….blur any vision of the future, making it difficult to see beyond the pressing needs of now.”
Daria Burke, pg 72, Of My Own Making
My life was like a Yo-Yo. I’d push forward for a while, then just run out of steam and dangle helplessly. It was the cycle of being pushed to my limits and beyond, then collapsing. Each time, I thought it was the last and my life was over.
Yet, after a period of dormant despair, I’d feel the tug of a tiny spark deep within. I don’t know why it was there, but it was. Just a tiny ember of hope waiting to be fed kindling, then small sticks, until it was nursed into a real fire.
So, after a long period of giving up, just as in the past…and as would be in my future, I would regroup, pull me back together, and try again for a way to make things better.
The previous entry was one of the very hardest to write so far. Every fiber in me just wanted to beg off writing it. I could barely force me to the keyboard, and I felt such a heavy load of pure exhaustion.
My husband asked me, “Was the desire to avoid writing because I was afraid to show my shame publicly to my readers?”
I thought that was a good question, so I wanted to answer it here.
My mentor’s question
In reality, at my current age, I don’t really care if I share my moments of shame publicly anymore. What is the worst anyone can do to me? Think poorly of me?
And do I think I am the only person who has ever failed to live up to their ideals and ethics at some moment of their life? As a mentor once said to me:
“Did you expect to be perfect?”
If anyone thinks that this story is of me being the totally strong, ever pushing hard forward hero, who never slipped and fell or erred in choices, they will be disappointed. There are more shames to come, more poor choices. I was not perfect. I can simply say I did the best I could at any point, even in my mistakes. Sometimes our best is wonderful, and sometimes our best is flat-out poor. But I tried. And when I failed, well, in writing what it was like then, I can now see I was simply human, pushed too far.
By my mid-20s, I watched everyone around me move on into their adult life, relationships, and marriages. They moved in a world that I was denied entry to. I was an outsider who had nothing, no one, no hope of anything. I felt like a freak and an aberration of nature. Hiding my secret part of life left me feeling so dirty and shameful. I was just at my wits’ end.
And he was always leering at me, and after me. Even if I tried to reach for someone in my life, I just felt like no one could or would love me if they knew what I had to do to survive. So I gave up. I avoided him as much as I could until his rage was unbearable, then just let him have his way. I was the walking dead…
Painting by author
Facing “the failures”
Even though, as I do this and find it is necessary and worth it, there’s nothing like writing about the “failure periods” of your life to flood you with shame. The more you dig to heal, the more of those times that come up. Their sting still throbs, and maybe more intensely now, because revisiting them feels like you are freshly slicing open scarred-over wounds. They stand there before you in all their stark reality, with no way to sugar-coat what they were or escape what you felt. The only choice is to run but then never heal, or to face them fully head-on and just hurt as you look closer for what really happened, and wait for the understanding and acceptance that will transform them.
Now the truth is, I was doing the best I could at any point; it’s just that it wasn’t enough to measure up to what life demands of an adult. And maybe “failure period” was an unfair judgment rendered by my critical self. Maybe it wasn’t so much “failure” as the obvious outcome because of what he’d taken from me all those years. But either way, the reality is that I had a golden opportunity with the job at the UCONN Health Center lab, a chance to build a solid career path, and I blew it. There’s no other way to say it – I wasn’t measuring up…I couldn’t…
I was talking with a friend one day who knew of my background, so I felt safe. But her question froze me, then filled me with shame.
“Did you move back home after college?”
She meant nothing by it, just an informational question more than anything. But for me, I hated the answer, and myself for it. I couldn’t even look at her.
Just a heartfelt Happy Thanksgiving to all reading this! I wish each person a peaceful day and much love.
After a lovely 70th birthday celebration and visit with my immediate family, I will resume my writing journey. There will be one last “gift post” tomorrow (Friday) along with a new memoir post.
Thank you for your patience, and again, Happy Thanksgiving!
Today’s Gift Quote:
You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.
Attributed to C.S. Lewis
The explanation for this, from the previous posting:
A celebration of life in the present
I have been sharing many deep and painful things. And it is helpful for me to speak openly and feel “worthy.” But I also do this process while staying grounded in the present and celebrating life’s current gifts.
A current gift is that this month is my 70th birthday. I will be taking the coming week off to share time with my family and savor the joys of each other’s company. AND celebrate that I have my wonderful family.
As important as this writing process is, it needs to be paced well for my health, and it needs to be connected to the joy of my present life, filled with love.
My “gift posts”
While I am away from my desk, I will leave “daily gift posts” for all.
The gift post will include this post’s text (for context to anyone new). But at the top of each new day’s post will also be a quote — one of the many I keep handy to feed my soul as I write. That will be my gift to all while I am celebrating.
The painting is also part of the gift posts. While I worked at the museum, there was a small puffer fish in one of the aquariums. When I needed a moment’s break from things, I would stand by the tank. The puffer fish would always come right up to the window and hover there. I don’t know what it was thinking, but I hope it was happy. He seemed to linger longest whenever there was a group of happy children waving at him. So one day I took his picture and painted him. So, as part of this gift, I leave you with the puffer fish.
When I return, I will resume my memoir posts.
In the meantime, a reminder of the purpose of this blog:
This blog is my way of honoring what I lived through and had to do to reach “today” in as healthy a way as possible.
Start by doing what’s necessary, then do what’s possible, and suddenly you’re doing the impossible.
St. Francis of Assisi
The explanation for this, from the previous posting:
A celebration of life in the present
I have been sharing many deep and painful things. And it is helpful for me to speak openly and feel “worthy.” But I also do this process while staying grounded in the present and celebrating life’s current gifts.
A current gift is that this month is my 70th birthday. I will be taking the coming week off to share time with my family and savor the joys of each other’s company. AND celebrate that I have my wonderful family.
As important as this writing process is, it needs to be paced well for my health, and it needs to be connected to the joy of my present life, filled with love.
My “gift posts”
While I am away from my desk, I will leave “daily gift posts” for all.
The gift post will include this post’s text (for context to anyone new). But at the top of each new day’s post will also be a quote — one of the many I keep handy to feed my soul as I write. That will be my gift to all while I am celebrating.
The painting is also part of the gift posts. While I worked at the museum, there was a small puffer fish in one of the aquariums. When I needed a moment’s break from things, I would stand by the tank. The puffer fish would always come right up to the window and hover there. I don’t know what it was thinking, but I hope it was happy. He seemed to linger longest whenever there was a group of happy children waving at him. So one day I took his picture and painted him. So, as part of this gift, I leave you with the puffer fish.
When I return, I will resume my memoir posts.
In the meantime, a reminder of the purpose of this blog:
This blog is my way of honoring what I lived through and had to do to reach “today” in as healthy a way as possible.
Soul Mosaic 