All of us have those pieces of advice we tell ourselves we will always follow... util we don't. Last night was one of those times I should have listened to my own advice about reliving the past, especially memories that aren't so good.
Here's the thing, when I was a kid, if someone said something demeaning to me, I would try to soldier past it. The problem was even though I knew I was under no obligation to care what anyone thought of me, their words, sometimes the memories of their words and actions cause an avalanche of memories of other times when I felt nothing I did could overcome my face. If I can put the brakes on, it might stop at the guy I encountered last year who asked the nurse standing with me at one of the walkways at VUMC if she was "walking the dog." Maybe I can skid to a stop at working on my invisibility skills when I was a credentialed reporter at Bridgestone. If I don't get on top of it, there are the boys who used to follow me down the hall at Antioch High School screaming "Kill the monster!" and sometimes all the way back to fifth grade when I was told I couldn't sit at the girls' art table because I was too ugly and had to go sit by myself. I know all of this is stupid.
As petty as any of this may sound, the result is I feel sick and tense and my response is to try to distract myself with mental noise and deep breathing. Right now, I am reading Christian mystics (The Cloud of Unknowing by Anonymous and Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich) and teaching myself music theory, German, and Cherokee. I used to think this was an attempt to escape what other people say and do. I realized last night when I felt all of those incidents and more come tumbling out of my anxiety closet,* that it was a way to escape the ugly little girl grown into the ugly woman I see in the mirror.
My agent is on to me. She has asked me to get a professional head shot. So far, I have been able to put her off for six years. She is very patient. This may be because I'm funny. Being a good writer and artist can aid in the forgiveness of sins up to a point. I have offered to take a picture of my cat or hire a model to pretend to be me. She's not having it.
I just had to do a few minutes of deep breathing. I'm better now.
In the grand scheme of things, struggling with being that ugly person you ridicule to make your friends laugh seems like a first world problem. Nobody has an obligation to carry the weight of how their words and actions make me feel. That's on me. It can serve as a reminder to use my powers for good and ask people to be kind. Still, there's the fact that beyond my bubble of life, it seems like we've gotten meaner. Maybe if we can learn to be kind about the little stuff, solutions to some of our bigger problems would come into view.
It's Monday. Time to leather up and deal. Everybody have a good one!
Squeak!
Churchmouse
*Stick taps to Berke Breathed and Milo for that one.
one.
Here's the thing, when I was a kid, if someone said something demeaning to me, I would try to soldier past it. The problem was even though I knew I was under no obligation to care what anyone thought of me, their words, sometimes the memories of their words and actions cause an avalanche of memories of other times when I felt nothing I did could overcome my face. If I can put the brakes on, it might stop at the guy I encountered last year who asked the nurse standing with me at one of the walkways at VUMC if she was "walking the dog." Maybe I can skid to a stop at working on my invisibility skills when I was a credentialed reporter at Bridgestone. If I don't get on top of it, there are the boys who used to follow me down the hall at Antioch High School screaming "Kill the monster!" and sometimes all the way back to fifth grade when I was told I couldn't sit at the girls' art table because I was too ugly and had to go sit by myself. I know all of this is stupid.
As petty as any of this may sound, the result is I feel sick and tense and my response is to try to distract myself with mental noise and deep breathing. Right now, I am reading Christian mystics (The Cloud of Unknowing by Anonymous and Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich) and teaching myself music theory, German, and Cherokee. I used to think this was an attempt to escape what other people say and do. I realized last night when I felt all of those incidents and more come tumbling out of my anxiety closet,* that it was a way to escape the ugly little girl grown into the ugly woman I see in the mirror.
My agent is on to me. She has asked me to get a professional head shot. So far, I have been able to put her off for six years. She is very patient. This may be because I'm funny. Being a good writer and artist can aid in the forgiveness of sins up to a point. I have offered to take a picture of my cat or hire a model to pretend to be me. She's not having it.
I just had to do a few minutes of deep breathing. I'm better now.
In the grand scheme of things, struggling with being that ugly person you ridicule to make your friends laugh seems like a first world problem. Nobody has an obligation to carry the weight of how their words and actions make me feel. That's on me. It can serve as a reminder to use my powers for good and ask people to be kind. Still, there's the fact that beyond my bubble of life, it seems like we've gotten meaner. Maybe if we can learn to be kind about the little stuff, solutions to some of our bigger problems would come into view.
It's Monday. Time to leather up and deal. Everybody have a good one!
Squeak!
Churchmouse
*Stick taps to Berke Breathed and Milo for that one.
one.
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