A Dream: “The Event”

I had a dream earlier this week.  I had been invited to an event of some sort.  It sounded like fun.  I knew where it was being held.  I’d been there before.  I went in the back door.  I was the only person at the event to come in that way.  I was familiar with the venue, but not the group.  The group was familiar with each other, but not that particular venue.

As the event progressed, I realized something wasn’t right about it.  There wasn’t enough food…or there was the possibility that there wasn’t enough food to go around.  Part of the “agenda” for the event was the rush for food.  I was thinking to myself, there is no way I am partaking in this, especially since it’s orchestrated.  It’s bleeped up.

That’s when I decided to leave the day-long event.  It was mid-morning, but I didn’t feel badly about leaving, although it was a little awkward since I was the only one leaving.  As I tried to slip out, one of the organizers made a reference to “when” I come back.  I thought to myself, I am definitely not coming back, but I just smiled and left.

I happily went on my way with a feeling of relief.  I still had most of the day ahead of me to do something that I enjoyed.  I felt really good.  The day was full of promise.

DREAM ANALYSIS

I had this dream the night after I found out about some drama with Harley’s family.  My feelings were hurt because I was felt I was being pulled into their family drama…and I cannot stand drama.

What it all boils down to is this.  I’ve been there before.  I’ve dealt with all of the drama.  I am not going back.  The drama is unnecessary.  The perceived competition for a lack of resources (parental attention?) is a family construction.  The kids are anxious.  They want attention.  They want reassurance.  And they have no idea how to get it.  It’s like throwing a piece of meat to a pack of hungry dogs…they are willing to fight for it.  This seems to be what is going on unconsciously in the family.  This is a pattern years in the making.

I choose not to partake in the dysfunction.  Every time this kind of thing happens, I will step back.  I will somehow remove myself from the situation.  Over time, they will learn that when they are calm and relaxed and pleasant to each other, I will be there for them.  This is a process and it will take time.

The Price of Guilt

I had a good conversation with my mom when she was in town recently.  I knew she would be visiting and I was hoping to have the opportunity to ask her about my sister, but I wasn’t sure if she was going to be receptive to talking about it.  Not that she has ever refused to talk about things, but I just didn’t want to upset her.  I also wasn’t sure how she was feeling about things as a retired person with more time to reflect and think about things.

Thankfully, she brought up the subject – not specifically of my sister, but of our family while I was growing up.  I shared with her my recent speculation about my sister being a sociopath.  I don’t think I used the word, but I talked about how I have become convinced she has no real remorse for how she treated me when I was a child.  My mom assured me that she does feel badly…and that she is still struggling to come to terms with her own childhood.  My sister is in her early 40’s, has four children, and is still struggling with her issues.

I think part of that is the fact that she got married when she was young (somewhere around 20).  Even though they waited a few years to have their first child, she went from her parents’ house to living with her husband.  Except for a drunken semester at college, she never lived on her own.  My mom did the same thing…and Harley’s wife did the same thing…the whole pregnant and married at 18 thing.  The problem with that is that it’s almost a 100% guarantee that you will pass on your dysfunction to the next generation.

My mom confirmed that she and my dad were, in fact, terrible parents to her.  Neither one was ready to be a parent.  Neither one had the skills it took to be effective parents.  And, as fate would have it, their first child, my sister, was a handful.  My mom told me she was a difficult and demanding child.  My mom said they hated her and she knew it.

From my perspective, the interesting takeaway from that conversation was that sometimes it’s better to be at the bottom of the hill when the shit is rolling down it.  That’s where I stood in my family.  All of the shit got passed down to me.  I was finally able to explain to my mom that that was the reason I flipped out when I was 19.  She never understood where that came from.  I told her it was a lifetime of frustration, hurt, and anger that built up and exploded within me.

My mom still struggles with the guilt of her parenting mistakes.  My sister is still struggling with the effects of her childhood.  Maybe my mom is right and she is not a sociopath.  Maybe, somewhere in her heart, she cares.  I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live with the knowledge that you abused another person.  My mom has apologized and expressed her regret many times over the years.  My sister is still too entrenched in her own pain to be able to fully take responsibility for how she treated me.

At times, I have suspected my sister is an alcoholic.  I suspect she uses alcohol to drown out her pain.  I think one of the main reasons alcoholics have a hard time recovering is because every time they sober up, they are confronted with their own pain as well as another, twisted kind of pain.  This must a shameful pain, the pain of recognizing how badly you have treated the people closest to you. 

As I told my mom how strange it is that in the end, I am the one who is free.  It took me a long time to get where I am, but I am just now realizing how incredibly lucky I am to only have to deal with the pain of being hurt.  I cannot imagine what its like to live with the knowledge that you have abused another person.

Another Fence Down

I have been having some interesting conversations with AttainingMe and Cremello across our blogs.  The conversations have begun to transcend any given post…that’s why I describe the conversations as taking place across blogs.  An example of this is a dialog that took place in the comments of AttainingMe’s post, What I want in a man.  As we have gotten to know each other better, we refer to things we have learned about in each others blogs.

Somehow, I ended up writing about why I tend to discount my own experiences.  AttainingMe reminded me that I need to hold my experiences, dreams, and values in higher regard.  I thought about what she said and made a connection.  My mother and my sister often played the “I had a worse childhood than you did” card.  Apparently, my sister learned this “trick” from my mother, who genuinely had a terrible childhood. 

I have only recently realized how sick my sister was (and presumably still is).  Here I am, 36 years old, finally beginning to realize the extent of her lies growing up.  What I have literally realized as I am writing this post is that my sister probably made up (or greatly exaggerated) how bad her childhood was.  It never even occurred to me until a few minutes ago to question the legitimacy of her statement…the statement that excused her behavior and minimized my experiences while I was growing up, all in one fell swoop. 

“I had it worse than you.”

I’ll go into more detail another time.  Suffice it to say that I have always been reluctant to “claim” I had a “worse” experience than anyone else.  I never wanted to play into that dynamic because it robbed me of any validation of my own experience.  I would NEVER want to invalidate someone else’s experience.  Unfortunately, I’ve gone too far in the other direction.  Now I am realizing the extent to which I have become “programmed” to invalidate my own experiences.

Another fence down. 

(The fence explanation is in my response to Cremello’s comment in the My First Breakdown post).

How Did I Get By Before the Internet?

I’ve never thought to tell anyone this because it’s really odd and only happens to me when I’m alone.  My attention span is REALLY short, so by the time I get where I’m going, I’ve already forgotten about it.

For as many years as I can remember, street lights turn off just before I approach or pass them.  Not every single street light, but one here and there.  I could chalk it up to an odd coincidence, but it happens pretty regularly.  Being a mathematically-minded person, I’ve thought about it and it seems unlikely that light bulbs would randomly go off in my presence as often as they do.  Weirder yet, it has been happening even more frequently over the last few months. 

A few days ago, I was riding my bike along my street and “poof,” out goes another street light.  I just rolled my eyes.  It happens often enough where it seems ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Cremello commented a few posts ago about how another strange “coincidence” may be a sign that I should be paying attention to…something.  So, since then, I’ve been paying more attention to things.  I speculated about what might need my attention and so far, it seems like I’m paying attention to the right things…at just the right time.

As I rode my bike home last night, a street light turned ON just before I approached it.  I said out loud (there was no one around, don’t worry), “You think that’s funny?!!”  A few streetlights up, the light flickered off…and then ON just before I approached it.  I suspiciously passed it, keeping a good eye on it.  I passed it and kept looking back, but it stayed on.

Just before I wrote this post, I typed “is it normal to see street lights burn out all the time” into Google not expecting to find ANY hits.  Instead I clicked on a number of links to find that this is a common occurrence among a subgroup of people.  Apparently, it’s normal for street lights to flicker off until the bulb cools down, then come back on.  That explains why it’s not uncommon to see lights burn out.  But, I do think it’s strange that there are so many people who have noticed the same thing.

Regardless, I’m taking that as a sign (especially since they turned ON) that I’m heading in the right direction.

Pay Attention to…Something

Last night, I thought about what CremelloQuarterPony said in response to my last post.  She thinks I should pay attention to…something.  I guess that’s something only I might know…or figure out.  I’ve been thinking lately about the meaning of things.  I know that certain things mean something.  But does everything mean something?

What could I be paying more attention to?

Perhaps I should be paying more attention to my intuition.  I think that much is true.  I’ve lost track of how many times I have had great ideas, but did not have the confidence to follow through with them…and then I find out later that someone else thought of it and implemented it.  That’s been happening a lot with me – the part where my confidence wavers.  I usually just push myself through, but not always.

There is this one book I have been fixated on for months.  I used to have a copy of it.  It’s one of my favorite books.  There is now an updated version.  It’s a bit expensive, so I keep putting off purchasing it.  Then, every so often I hear something that makes me realize I was right in the beginning…this book contains some powerful knowledge that would benefit me at this point in time.  I hear experts touching on the theories in the book.  I don’t have the “extra” money to buy it, but the thought keeps nagging me.

Anyway, what I’m getting to is that I have NOT been paying enough attention to the opportunities in front of me…in my paid job.  I really like my job, but I have been seeking additional fulfillment outside of it.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  In fact, it’s been a great experience.  However, I need to focus on the reality of my current “venue” to fulfill my life’s purpose(s).  Part of me keeps slipping back to previous experiences where I am not “allowed” to grow.  At my last job, I was pretty much always penalized for taking initiative.  And I worked harder than I’ve ever worked to be told I wasn’t doing a good job.

I need to remember that I am in a different place.  I cannot allow negativity from the past to sabotage my current opportunities.

My Life as (Less of an) Introvert

 

As I wrote in a previous post, I am an introvert.  There are few people with whom I have felt comfortable enough to be honest about what I am really thinking, let alone what I am really feeling.  Two years of therapy a few years back helped get me on the track of being more honest with the people in my life about what was REALLY going on with me.  I learned to share difficult and “negative” things and learned that people still loved me.  They didn’t think anything less of me.  They wanted to help me.

Since beginning my blogs back in August (about 2 months ago), I’ve noticed some really wonderful things happen.  First, it is a lot more fun than I expected.  Even on my blogs that don’t have much readership, I still enjoy writing.  Second, I am making meaningful connections with other bloggers.  That’s something I hadn’t expected.  I didn’t really know how the blog world worked.  I was pleasantly surprised to find how interactive it is and how supportive folks are of each other.  Third, there have been several moments where, as I am typing something, I make a connection…kind of like an “aha” moment, normally the kind I would have in therapy.  The process of writing and sorting through my history is allowing me to make seemingly obvious connections that I have not had the objectivity to make for myself…until now.

Fourth, but not last, is that I noticed I am being more honest with more people.  I was having lunch with coworkers last Friday and we were talking about family dynamics and family secrets.  I had a story to share.  In the past, I would have sat there without saying a word.  Instead, I stepped out of my comfort zone and shared a story.  It was more serious than the other stories shared, but it was the story I thought of when I heard my co-worker’s stories.  I’m realizing it’s okay to say things, even if they aren’t as “positive” as what others have to say. 

I made sure to end the story on the most positive note possible.  I shared the story very matter-of-factly, partly because I have been writing about my family history and am feeling more comfortable with it.  It’s my family history, for better or worse.  I have been in situations like this at least a hundred times in the past, where people are telling stories and I don’t feel like it’s okay to tell mine.  It looks like those days are coming to an end.

Hungover From (Middle School) Speed Dating

Last night was “back to school night” at my son’s middle school.  There was another meeting beforehand that we attended, so we ended up spending more than 3 hours at the school.  I’ve been feeling unusually out of it all day today and it finally occurred to me that my brain is fried…because of last night!

After sitting through an hour-long meeting about an upcoming experiential learning program, we proceeded to go through our kid’s schedules, literally.  I’ve never tried speed dating, but that’s what I imagine it feels like, but 100 times worse.  At least with speed dating, there is mood lighting and alcohol involved.  To the contrary, back to school night didn’t so much as feature a single refreshment…of any kind.  Also, I needed to, um, use the bathroom, but didn’t know where they were, nor did I want to re-experience a middle school bathroom (do they still smell like cigarette smoke and hairspray…or was that high school?).  Plus, the night was so action-filled, there was no down time go to the bathroom.  I guess that’s why they didn’t offer us refreshments.

Anyway, we went through his 8 classes, spending just enough time in each class to relive the hellish experience we call the “US public school system.”  Except for two or three classes, the fluorescent lights were freaking blinding.  How many fluorescent light bulbs does one ceiling need?  Add sunglasses to the outstanding list of school supplies he needs.  Then there was “passing time,” where they gave us 4 minutes to get from one class to another.

It was a bloody obstacle course.  I wonder whose idea it was to stick various large “informational” tables in the hallways?  Each transition was stressful…it was like being caught on the Capitol Beltway during rush hour, except the traffic was stopping because of the tables that were in the way as well as people stopping to take in the scenery.  I had to laugh at one point when the people ahead of us stopped to greet someone they knew.  I’m not sure what country they were from, but it was a three-kiss culture.  Kiss one side of the cheek, then the other, then the first one again.  If they didn’t look so happy to see each other, I would have been irritated with them. 

I don’t know how kids make it through the day.  So much noise…time is going by too quickly…or worse, too slowly.  Trying to weave through unpredictable traffic in the hallways under time constraints.  And the worst part was the lights.  I am absolutely exhausted.  I feel kind of guilty for sending my son to school in that kind of environment.  I am lucky that I have an office…I never turn on the overhead fluorescent lights.  Instead, I have two lamps with fluorescent bulbs (at least they have shades so I don’t have to wear them) and a series of about 7 small halogen lights.  My office is very relaxing…and quiet!