It's as simple as a choice, but any given choice can be monumental, no matter how simple or difficult. We make choices every day sometimes without even thinking about them because they have been so ingrained into our subconscious. They almost seem instinctive, but they're not. They're learned, like deciding which route to take home. What items to order from a take-out menu. Who we're attracted to.
We've all made choices that we question, in hindsight. The "if only I had" is probably one of the most common statements. There are many choices that I've made without knowing that they would turn out to be staggering turning points in my life. I've let opportunities go. I've taken wrong turns. I've chosen questionable paths. But, I can't be too hard on myself because I did the best I could do with the information, the perspective and the maturity I had at the time.
And I chose the wrong men. Almost like clockwork.
It would be easy to become bitter, saying all men are pigs; but that's just ignorant. There are many wonderful, courageous, intelligent, caring, loving, admirable men out there. I just didn't choose them. I fell into a pattern of destructive relationships.
Given that I was emotionally stunted, physically tortured and psychologically impaired early in my childhood, it makes absolute sense. I grew up without the invaluable education of getting to know the opposite sex. So, it's not surprising that mistrust and fear became ingrained in me. Experience became instinct; an instinct that has brought me to where I am today.
At 17, I started with a series of anguished crushes on men who neither had the knowledge nor the capacity to understand someone such as myself. They probably didn't know I existed while I went through into the nightmarish world of unrequited love- the kind of love that not only is the loneliest, but one that leaves the most emotional scars in a person already rife with them.
My first full fledged boyfriend, at the age of 20 seemed to start with promise. I met him at a bar, and fell in love with him because he asked to brush my hair. How was I to know that this unbelievably romantic beginning would end in disaster a year later? It turned out that this sweet gentle man, chosen because he was so unlike the abusive role models I grew up with, would eventually cheat on me, get another woman pregnant and marry her, all while still carrying on a relationship with me.
That was not an auspicious beginning. It was followed by a string of misses until I met the man I was to eventually marry 3 years later. After his divorce at the age of 27, he came to stay with his mom who lived in my apartment building. I noticed him because he would start coming out to the terrace where I hung out with my coffee and crossword puzzles. He was a gentle, funny and loving guy. How was I to know that he also was a dead beat dad with a drug problem? I found that out after we got married.
In the four years we were together, our relationship became a project for me. In the beginning, I got him to pay his ex-wife child support, to go back to school and get a better paying job. I cleaned up his look. I reinvented the man. I was so proud of him, until I noticed he spent hours in the bathroom, could not sustain an erection and was acting very erratically. Three years into our marriage, I stopped sharing his bed, stopped being his partner, and became his therapist. By the fourth year, I gave up trying and got out to save myself.
I was 27, bruised by two shatteringly disappointing relationships, and clueless as to what went wrong. I needed to rally myself and find a way to navigate life and romance. That's when I discovered the treacherous world of online and embarked into an even more destructive set of relationships.
But that's a story for another day.
Today, I'm wiser. I understand what went wrong, but I'm still struggling with the aftereffects. If I'm ever to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship with a man, I need to navigate into safer emotional waters. I need to identify the trigger within myself, all the barriers I have put up, and finally be free.
2011-03-28
2011-03-24
The Factor of Zero
The journey toward change and understanding has two legs: reflection and action. These two must go hand in hand in order to achieve anything successfully. One without the other would cause an imbalance that would topple the blocks and make us start all over again. Without reflection, there's impulsive action; without action, there's endless reflection. As I reflect here, I act out there. My thoughts have become the blueprint of my decision to change my life into something more meaningful, productive and fun.
To that end, I need to make the following disclaimer. This is really a communication with myself, a communication I'm making public in the hopes that it might help anyone else in some small way. It's also a way of keeping myself honest - when I hit "publish", I'm committing to my words. In order to reach this point in my process, I have had to overcome the fear of being scorned, or judged, or pitied because of what I am publishing here. It's of vital importance I do not censor the feelings, thoughts and words that need to come out for fear of public scrutiny. I know it comes with the territory and I'm good with it.
I have noticed what I like to call the factor of zero come into play in my life quite often. It's the nadir to the zenith, the low to the high, the exhale to the inhale. My life all but empties out of people. It's as if it's multiplied by zero; and we know anything that's multiplied by zero equals zero. For whatever reason, whether by decision or circumstance, I lose people. They never call again; they move on with their lives, without me.
I tried to stay in touch often realizing that I'm the only one putting in the effort. One sided relationships never work, so I gave up, doing what I have been trained to do - blame and berate myself. I would ponder, some say obsess, about the reasons why this happened, what I did wrong, why I am so cursed, or boring or unlovable. I felt like a deflated tire tossed in the landfill of life.
How freaking dramatic, right?
On the opposite side of the coin, I have had to make the difficult decision of cutting off some people out of my life. This is no judgement on them; sometimes in relationships there's a chemical imbalance, the explosion of vinegar and baking soda. We're just not good for each other. These decisions have been difficult indeed because they often happen during the zero factor phases in my life. This is made doubly difficult by the looming threat of aloneness. I don't say loneliness because I am comfortable in my own company; and I can amuse myself; but I would be lying if I said I don't need people. Quite the opposite is true. I need a consistent tribe in my life.
The question remains, what factors need to come into play so that I can achieve this? How can I eliminate the factor of zero once and for all? This is where action will come into play.
To that end, I need to make the following disclaimer. This is really a communication with myself, a communication I'm making public in the hopes that it might help anyone else in some small way. It's also a way of keeping myself honest - when I hit "publish", I'm committing to my words. In order to reach this point in my process, I have had to overcome the fear of being scorned, or judged, or pitied because of what I am publishing here. It's of vital importance I do not censor the feelings, thoughts and words that need to come out for fear of public scrutiny. I know it comes with the territory and I'm good with it.
I have noticed what I like to call the factor of zero come into play in my life quite often. It's the nadir to the zenith, the low to the high, the exhale to the inhale. My life all but empties out of people. It's as if it's multiplied by zero; and we know anything that's multiplied by zero equals zero. For whatever reason, whether by decision or circumstance, I lose people. They never call again; they move on with their lives, without me.
I tried to stay in touch often realizing that I'm the only one putting in the effort. One sided relationships never work, so I gave up, doing what I have been trained to do - blame and berate myself. I would ponder, some say obsess, about the reasons why this happened, what I did wrong, why I am so cursed, or boring or unlovable. I felt like a deflated tire tossed in the landfill of life.
How freaking dramatic, right?
On the opposite side of the coin, I have had to make the difficult decision of cutting off some people out of my life. This is no judgement on them; sometimes in relationships there's a chemical imbalance, the explosion of vinegar and baking soda. We're just not good for each other. These decisions have been difficult indeed because they often happen during the zero factor phases in my life. This is made doubly difficult by the looming threat of aloneness. I don't say loneliness because I am comfortable in my own company; and I can amuse myself; but I would be lying if I said I don't need people. Quite the opposite is true. I need a consistent tribe in my life.
The question remains, what factors need to come into play so that I can achieve this? How can I eliminate the factor of zero once and for all? This is where action will come into play.
2011-03-22
Tsunami of Mindless Entertainment
I'm pissed off. I have been torturing myself over the past few days, not wanting to post on my blog about my petty issues and problems because whole nations are under siege by war and poverty and natural disaster. Who am I, to sit here whining about a past I can do nothing about or a few extra pounds that I can't seem to shed? How shallow and self-absorbed am I?
And then I turn on the TV or the computer. Apparently not as much as I thought.
We live in a world where a genuine tragedy is lost in the mania of spotlighting the trivial, the fake celebrity, the latest meltdown. People who are overpaid, pampered and idolized just because someone has decided that they should be promoted into the limelight, lose their shit and we lap. it. up. Maybe they have talent, or charisma, but do they really count more than unknown people who are suffering simply because nature is fighting us back for our moronic notions and self-aggrandizement? Does someone's grief or tragedy only prove worthy if some celebrity in designer jeans and an equally designer dog decides to get on the public relations bandwagon of giving a fuck about the real issues that have torn the very fiber of our existence to promote it?
Do we want to be known by future generations, if there will be any left, as the ones who are fascinated with a bunch of illiterate, morally degenerate, tasteless and classless idiots getting laid, doing laundry and fist pumping? We churn out the minute men and women, boys and girls of celebrity. We line them up in our single-minded obsession with entertainment. Entertainment at someone else's expense.
At work, today, they were gleefully watching the latest YouTube child stars brought to the public by production companies paid by parents to spotlight their kids in sugar-coated meaningless music videos. Students know all the lyrics and happily sing them causing a mind torture like no other to those within earshot. Those same students who cannot read or follow instructions properly or remember how to footnote their sources, or how to put together a cohesive sentence, know. all. the. lyrics.
I don't know where to even begin. My brain hurts.
And then I turn on the TV or the computer. Apparently not as much as I thought.
We live in a world where a genuine tragedy is lost in the mania of spotlighting the trivial, the fake celebrity, the latest meltdown. People who are overpaid, pampered and idolized just because someone has decided that they should be promoted into the limelight, lose their shit and we lap. it. up. Maybe they have talent, or charisma, but do they really count more than unknown people who are suffering simply because nature is fighting us back for our moronic notions and self-aggrandizement? Does someone's grief or tragedy only prove worthy if some celebrity in designer jeans and an equally designer dog decides to get on the public relations bandwagon of giving a fuck about the real issues that have torn the very fiber of our existence to promote it?
Do we want to be known by future generations, if there will be any left, as the ones who are fascinated with a bunch of illiterate, morally degenerate, tasteless and classless idiots getting laid, doing laundry and fist pumping? We churn out the minute men and women, boys and girls of celebrity. We line them up in our single-minded obsession with entertainment. Entertainment at someone else's expense.
At work, today, they were gleefully watching the latest YouTube child stars brought to the public by production companies paid by parents to spotlight their kids in sugar-coated meaningless music videos. Students know all the lyrics and happily sing them causing a mind torture like no other to those within earshot. Those same students who cannot read or follow instructions properly or remember how to footnote their sources, or how to put together a cohesive sentence, know. all. the. lyrics.
I don't know where to even begin. My brain hurts.
2011-03-17
Cave Girl
This morning I woke up looking like a Kiss extra. I really should remember to wash my eye make-up off before bed, but sometimes shit happens. Besides, it was good for a morning laugh. It's funny brushing Tommy Thayer's teeth in the mirror.
Now back as myself, gulping morning coffee and pondering on my plans, I am stuck with how many times I have had to reinvent myself. When I went to Greece at age 16, my life had changed drastically. I left the cloistered environment of my restricted adolescence to enter a world filled with fascinating people from all over the world, rife with ideas and enthusiasm, filled with the pit falls of social interactions.
You would think that I would have fallen flat on my face, given the sorry state of my social prowess, and my zero understanding of the male species, other than men who can take the form of a benevolent dictators or preying abusers. Quite the reverse is true. I thrived. For the first time, I had the freedom to be, even though I did not have the slightest clue as to who I was. The truth is I was 16 frozen at 10. Stuck somewhere between the age I was a relatively normal girl to when the darkness swallowed me.
They call it sunny Greece for a reason. I went from a very proper, slightly robotic life to one bursting with the sticky, sweet juice of living. There was noise everywhere. Everyone talked at the same time, with the the same gusto that they laughed, ate, argued and loved. I felt like the cave girl discovered under layers of ice, perfectly preserved and frozen in time. I thawed a little bit more each day, as I became conscious of the world around me once again. I also became painfully aware of myself and the fact that somehow I was very different from everyone else.
Yet, I was deliriously happy and empowered for the first time in 6 years. This set a pattern for me, a pattern I only just recently realized: I am most happy around creative, thinking individuals. I love the chaos of discovery much more than the stability of knowing. I dive into new ideas as if my soul is parched for them. I swim in pools of color and textures. I don't like to lounge in the sun of complacency. I need movement.
Over the years, I have often felt the need to change things up. to experience a different perspective. If I stay stagnant too long, I start to wither. And this is precisely why I have decided it's time to make another step in my life. I need to be around creative people in environments that breed discussion and ideas not conformity and routine. In other words, it's time to stop living a life I think I should be living while yearning for a life I love, and start living the life I love.
Now back as myself, gulping morning coffee and pondering on my plans, I am stuck with how many times I have had to reinvent myself. When I went to Greece at age 16, my life had changed drastically. I left the cloistered environment of my restricted adolescence to enter a world filled with fascinating people from all over the world, rife with ideas and enthusiasm, filled with the pit falls of social interactions.
You would think that I would have fallen flat on my face, given the sorry state of my social prowess, and my zero understanding of the male species, other than men who can take the form of a benevolent dictators or preying abusers. Quite the reverse is true. I thrived. For the first time, I had the freedom to be, even though I did not have the slightest clue as to who I was. The truth is I was 16 frozen at 10. Stuck somewhere between the age I was a relatively normal girl to when the darkness swallowed me.
They call it sunny Greece for a reason. I went from a very proper, slightly robotic life to one bursting with the sticky, sweet juice of living. There was noise everywhere. Everyone talked at the same time, with the the same gusto that they laughed, ate, argued and loved. I felt like the cave girl discovered under layers of ice, perfectly preserved and frozen in time. I thawed a little bit more each day, as I became conscious of the world around me once again. I also became painfully aware of myself and the fact that somehow I was very different from everyone else.
Yet, I was deliriously happy and empowered for the first time in 6 years. This set a pattern for me, a pattern I only just recently realized: I am most happy around creative, thinking individuals. I love the chaos of discovery much more than the stability of knowing. I dive into new ideas as if my soul is parched for them. I swim in pools of color and textures. I don't like to lounge in the sun of complacency. I need movement.
Over the years, I have often felt the need to change things up. to experience a different perspective. If I stay stagnant too long, I start to wither. And this is precisely why I have decided it's time to make another step in my life. I need to be around creative people in environments that breed discussion and ideas not conformity and routine. In other words, it's time to stop living a life I think I should be living while yearning for a life I love, and start living the life I love.
2011-03-15
Emergence
To the outside observer, my process of healing probably seems like a bipolar ride in a dysfunctional theme park. It ain't no piece of cake being on it either. There are days when I'm coasting high, scattering rose buds on the road toward a brighter future, and others where I feel like I've been fitted with the cement shoes of my past. And I'm sinking in futility.
This is made doubly hard by my propensity to sabotage myself, an activity ingrained in me by years of being constantly and relentlessly criticized. Somewhere inside me, there's a girl cowering in her room praying that her exacting father will finally realize that she isn't perfect. She is fiercely, and often, obnoxiously defended by the warrior woman I've created to shield her from the seemingly endless barrage of fate's stumbling blocks.
Am I just another case of a bipolar in a dissociative state? Or am I just trying to survive the challenges this life has posed me?
As I sit in my fun room, listening to a bird sing through my open window, seeing the first awakening from the thaw, sipping my morning coffee, I make plans in my head. Maybe it's time to stop wishing that things were different, that my life hadn't been hijacked onto this collapsing trajectory, and actually take steps to change things. There's no magic formula to happiness. Happiness is or it isn't.
I have been making visualization sketches about the things that I have the ability to change, like where and how I live my life. Then as my pencil poised for another sketch of my optimal loft space, I started to create this...
I called this sketch "emergence". It wants to evolve into a painting that will serve not only as an inspiration but as a driving force for me to get off the bipolar express, and begin becoming functional again.
2011-03-10
The Food Closet
"Experts" often ask what our relationship with food is. My answer? I don't have a relationship with food. I have relationships with people, some healthy and others not so much. I'm not in love with food. Food is not my comfort. Food is not my joy. I don't live to eat. I'm not using food as a surrogate for love.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
Those are the preconceptions that the media filters into our subconscious. It's only sensible that ugly people be lonely, and inconceivable that a hot babe experience loneliness. Being fat is equated with lack of success and poverty. Only skinny people are successful and financially stable. On the plus side (pardon the pun), it's remotely possible for someone to be marginally attractive if they're overweight.
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
2011-03-05
You Live How You Grow
I have a theory. It's not based on hard evidence or anything like that; and I'm no expert; but over the years I have observed that how one grows up predetermines how they will live life. If someone grows up in a loving, supportive, nurturing environment, they have greater chances of personal fulfillment. Happy, well-balanced childhoods almost invariably lead to happy, well-adjusted adulthoods. No one is really balanced during adolescence, but even in those cases, the teen experience is healthier when childhood is untainted by trauma.
Nobody is perfect. It's rare for people to have had an idyllic childhood; but there are those who have come very close, even taking into account the "outside looking in" factor; if asked, they themselves would agree that their childhoods were mostly wonderful. The one and only factor that can make or break a childhood is physical, emotional and or mental trauma. Poverty, abuse in any of its nasty forms, emotional warfare or blackmail, poor mental health, dangerous or sun-standard living conditions all cause damage to a person, one that lasts beyond childhood even if those conditions are no longer present.
These will impact the way a person perceives and lives life, his relationship with others, how she reacts to situations and how they feel about themselves. There's a reason most therapists and psychological theorists delve into childhood for the source of any problem in adult life. Childhood is the source.
On the spectrum of horror, I suppose my childhood was moderately traumatic. As I stumbled through life trying to find a niche, a place where I didn't feel like a total Losersarus, trying to decode the human language of emotions and reactions, it became clear to me that I was missing valuable skills and tools that others had.
The first and most important tool is unconditional love. When children grow up without strings, without the knowledge that they would have to do something damaging to their psyche to "earn" love, they grow with wings. They grow with confidence not only in the world around them, but in themselves as well. This is bestowed upon them like a fairy godmother's wish; they don't have to fight and claw and suffer to gain it. They know they are loved just because they are; and that feeling is more priceless than a Trump trust fund.
The second crucial tool for life success that a child can be granted is a support system, not only parents and siblings, but an extended family, friends and neighbors that become a source of comfort. Giving a child a large pool of people from which to draw is another most invaluable gift she can be given. That way, when the parents are no longer there to give him unconditional support, there are others who share a history, who share common experiences, who share love, to step in a fill the void.
The third and probably most significant tool is training. Not potty training. Most people get that whether their parents are amazing or horrific. Human training. That's where you learn how to interact with people, what your reactions are, how to compromise, how to grow. This happens in the playground, at school, in the backyard, at the family table, during the first kiss, on the first date, at the first heartbreak, during the first victory, after the first loss. These are all timely experiences that are integral to one's growth emotionally, socially and psychologically. If a person does not experience them or they happen outside the realm of common experience, then it's as if a wrench is thrown into the mechanism. The person malfunctions.
These are some of the reasons I malfunctioned.
I never learned to ride a bike because my father would not let me go outside to play. My mother was not as strict so she would allow me to go to the back courtyard to play with my friends, as long as I got home before my father got home from work. I vividly remember one day my father came home earlier than expected. My mother rushed to the balcony and hissed for me to come upstairs. I was 8 at the time. I think that's when I learned to think on my feet and lie. I ran up the fire escape to the balcony where I grabbed one of the undies my mom had drying on the line. I told my dad who fumingly asked me where I was that one of them fell on the ground and I went downstairs to retrieve it. My friends probably thought I was a freak.
I was not only not allowed to date, but I didn't so much as speak to a boy for most of my adolescence. I didn't go to my own Prom because I was not allowed, but even if I were I wouldn't have gone because I would have gone dateless. I had my first crush at 17 on a boy who died that year from an aneurysm he had while skiing. I was convinced that I was damned. I didn't kiss until I was 19, and didn't have sex until shortly after 20.
I sucked my thumb, or more euphemistically "self-soothed", until I was 16. As soon as I landed in Greece to begin my life of freedom, I stopped sucking my thumb. Instantly. Unfortunately,a few years later when the feeling of promise was in danger, I started to smoke - the unhealthier version of self-soothing.
Childhood is where I learned to punish myself, where shame was grafted unto me, where I learned that the only person I could truly depend on was myself. That's also where I learned strength, creativity and honesty as an antidote to the poison that infused my young life.
I sometimes tease my expecting friends when they go to town on the baby books, reading up on everything child related; and certainly there is such a thing as being over-informed, a condition that might lead to paranoia and hypochondria; but I have to give them props. They are being vigilant, responsible and caring parents. None of them would just watch their kids balloon to triple their size, or totally change personalities within a year, or suck their thumbs until they're 16 without investigating why. They are good parents who will no doubt give their kids all the tools they need for a happy life. The kind of life I have not had.
Nobody is perfect. It's rare for people to have had an idyllic childhood; but there are those who have come very close, even taking into account the "outside looking in" factor; if asked, they themselves would agree that their childhoods were mostly wonderful. The one and only factor that can make or break a childhood is physical, emotional and or mental trauma. Poverty, abuse in any of its nasty forms, emotional warfare or blackmail, poor mental health, dangerous or sun-standard living conditions all cause damage to a person, one that lasts beyond childhood even if those conditions are no longer present.
These will impact the way a person perceives and lives life, his relationship with others, how she reacts to situations and how they feel about themselves. There's a reason most therapists and psychological theorists delve into childhood for the source of any problem in adult life. Childhood is the source.
On the spectrum of horror, I suppose my childhood was moderately traumatic. As I stumbled through life trying to find a niche, a place where I didn't feel like a total Losersarus, trying to decode the human language of emotions and reactions, it became clear to me that I was missing valuable skills and tools that others had.
The first and most important tool is unconditional love. When children grow up without strings, without the knowledge that they would have to do something damaging to their psyche to "earn" love, they grow with wings. They grow with confidence not only in the world around them, but in themselves as well. This is bestowed upon them like a fairy godmother's wish; they don't have to fight and claw and suffer to gain it. They know they are loved just because they are; and that feeling is more priceless than a Trump trust fund.
The second crucial tool for life success that a child can be granted is a support system, not only parents and siblings, but an extended family, friends and neighbors that become a source of comfort. Giving a child a large pool of people from which to draw is another most invaluable gift she can be given. That way, when the parents are no longer there to give him unconditional support, there are others who share a history, who share common experiences, who share love, to step in a fill the void.
The third and probably most significant tool is training. Not potty training. Most people get that whether their parents are amazing or horrific. Human training. That's where you learn how to interact with people, what your reactions are, how to compromise, how to grow. This happens in the playground, at school, in the backyard, at the family table, during the first kiss, on the first date, at the first heartbreak, during the first victory, after the first loss. These are all timely experiences that are integral to one's growth emotionally, socially and psychologically. If a person does not experience them or they happen outside the realm of common experience, then it's as if a wrench is thrown into the mechanism. The person malfunctions.
These are some of the reasons I malfunctioned.
I never learned to ride a bike because my father would not let me go outside to play. My mother was not as strict so she would allow me to go to the back courtyard to play with my friends, as long as I got home before my father got home from work. I vividly remember one day my father came home earlier than expected. My mother rushed to the balcony and hissed for me to come upstairs. I was 8 at the time. I think that's when I learned to think on my feet and lie. I ran up the fire escape to the balcony where I grabbed one of the undies my mom had drying on the line. I told my dad who fumingly asked me where I was that one of them fell on the ground and I went downstairs to retrieve it. My friends probably thought I was a freak.
I was not only not allowed to date, but I didn't so much as speak to a boy for most of my adolescence. I didn't go to my own Prom because I was not allowed, but even if I were I wouldn't have gone because I would have gone dateless. I had my first crush at 17 on a boy who died that year from an aneurysm he had while skiing. I was convinced that I was damned. I didn't kiss until I was 19, and didn't have sex until shortly after 20.
I sucked my thumb, or more euphemistically "self-soothed", until I was 16. As soon as I landed in Greece to begin my life of freedom, I stopped sucking my thumb. Instantly. Unfortunately,a few years later when the feeling of promise was in danger, I started to smoke - the unhealthier version of self-soothing.
Childhood is where I learned to punish myself, where shame was grafted unto me, where I learned that the only person I could truly depend on was myself. That's also where I learned strength, creativity and honesty as an antidote to the poison that infused my young life.
I sometimes tease my expecting friends when they go to town on the baby books, reading up on everything child related; and certainly there is such a thing as being over-informed, a condition that might lead to paranoia and hypochondria; but I have to give them props. They are being vigilant, responsible and caring parents. None of them would just watch their kids balloon to triple their size, or totally change personalities within a year, or suck their thumbs until they're 16 without investigating why. They are good parents who will no doubt give their kids all the tools they need for a happy life. The kind of life I have not had.
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