By Jove! I think I've got it!
I'm relieved to tell you that an Aha! moment awakened me at 5AM.
As you know, I've been struggling to quell the humiliation that branded me 'outcast' during this MOST embarrassing moment of my youth.
It's not as though I'd never told the end of this story before. I've opened that dungeon, many times. However, I'd told the story dispassionately—as though the main character had been anyone but me.
For the longest time I could not understand why baring the end of this story felt safe while leading seminars, whereas exposing this moment to you felt like sitting myself in the hot seat where an expressionless jury might decree the depth of Miss Piggy's humiliation as 'no biggy'.
Need I add that:
Experiences during preteen development influence future relationships with the opposite sex ...
If you were to ask: Well, Annie, why could you sit in the hot seat 'in person' but not in your blog? I'd answer in all humility: I'm practiced at public speaking. I can feel when my listeners are rallying round with safety nets, befriending and supporting me on wave lengths, pulsing with positive energy. When the heart of my audience beats in time with mine, I feel free to leap toward trust orny of mutual respect.
On the other hand, while writing this blog, I need to pump up that rising crest of self trust by myself, within myself. For days I focused on strengthening this positively-charged mental wave. That's not to say I sat down, closed my eyes and did mental yoga for hours. It means that while going about my day, I consciously, patiently steadied my mind until a sense of self confident readiness permeated my spirit. Upon awakening today, I felt ready to expel that horrendous memory from my mind—without inflaming embers of residual pain, which had seared my self esteem when bullying had clamored so cruelly that the bus driver couldn't stand those mean-minded kids branding me outcast anymore than I could—So here it comes—that detail, which felt too excruciating to post, catalyzing my decision to never sit on that bus, spirit squished between two sweaty, pre-teenaged, insensitive males, ever again ...
In utter outrage the bus driver slams his fist against the steering wheel and busting through the harangue with a hugely shocking—GODDAMNIT!—that steering wheel spins so sharply that every brain aboard is unnerved ...
As the bus swerves dangerously against the curb, the driver slams on the brakes, switches off the ignition, leaps out of his seat, and spins around to face a busload of children, gripthey their bench seats for dear life.
At first, the raucous mob is stunned to see the face of authority, splotched purple with fury, looming overhead. Then, the piercing nature of authority's steely glare—shooting bullets, straight into their slicked down, Brill Creamed, pre-teen heads - holds every mind rapt.
MY GOD! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, KIDS? FOR GOD SAKE—LEAVE HER ALONE! SOME DAY, EVERY ONE OF YOU JERKS IS GOING TO BEG THIS GIRL FOR A DATE!
Upon looking back, it's obvious that my friend meant well.
Unfortunately, this scene does not end well.
In fact, as shock subsides and comprehension hits—all hell breaks loose, and as the voice of authority is drowned out by a busload of hysteria, bedlam reigns supreme ...
I'm relieved to tell you that an Aha! moment awakened me at 5AM.
As you know, I've been struggling to quell the humiliation that branded me 'outcast' during this MOST embarrassing moment of my youth.
It's not as though I'd never told the end of this story before. I've opened that dungeon, many times. However, I'd told the story dispassionately—as though the main character had been anyone but me.
For the longest time I could not understand why baring the end of this story felt safe while leading seminars, whereas exposing this moment to you felt like sitting myself in the hot seat where an expressionless jury might decree the depth of Miss Piggy's humiliation as 'no biggy'.
Need I add that:
Experiences during preteen development influence future relationships with the opposite sex ...
If you were to ask: Well, Annie, why could you sit in the hot seat 'in person' but not in your blog? I'd answer in all humility: I'm practiced at public speaking. I can feel when my listeners are rallying round with safety nets, befriending and supporting me on wave lengths, pulsing with positive energy. When the heart of my audience beats in time with mine, I feel free to leap toward trust orny of mutual respect.
On the other hand, while writing this blog, I need to pump up that rising crest of self trust by myself, within myself. For days I focused on strengthening this positively-charged mental wave. That's not to say I sat down, closed my eyes and did mental yoga for hours. It means that while going about my day, I consciously, patiently steadied my mind until a sense of self confident readiness permeated my spirit. Upon awakening today, I felt ready to expel that horrendous memory from my mind—without inflaming embers of residual pain, which had seared my self esteem when bullying had clamored so cruelly that the bus driver couldn't stand those mean-minded kids branding me outcast anymore than I could—So here it comes—that detail, which felt too excruciating to post, catalyzing my decision to never sit on that bus, spirit squished between two sweaty, pre-teenaged, insensitive males, ever again ...
In utter outrage the bus driver slams his fist against the steering wheel and busting through the harangue with a hugely shocking—GODDAMNIT!—that steering wheel spins so sharply that every brain aboard is unnerved ...
As the bus swerves dangerously against the curb, the driver slams on the brakes, switches off the ignition, leaps out of his seat, and spins around to face a busload of children, gripthey their bench seats for dear life.
At first, the raucous mob is stunned to see the face of authority, splotched purple with fury, looming overhead. Then, the piercing nature of authority's steely glare—shooting bullets, straight into their slicked down, Brill Creamed, pre-teen heads - holds every mind rapt.
During this electrifying stare down, tension is taut, as every brain snaps to attention, like troops trapped behind enemy lines, awaiting orders to retreat in defeat or defend themselves to a man. Though this solid state of suspended apprehension lasts mere seconds, the memory of what shatters this pregnant pause sends chills down my spine to this day.
Empowered by righteous indignation, these words roar out of authority's furious throat—
MY GOD! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, KIDS? FOR GOD SAKE—LEAVE HER ALONE! SOME DAY, EVERY ONE OF YOU JERKS IS GOING TO BEG THIS GIRL FOR A DATE!
Upon looking back, it's obvious that my friend meant well.
Unfortunately, this scene does not end well.
In fact, as shock subsides and comprehension hits—all hell breaks loose, and as the voice of authority is drowned out by a busload of hysteria, bedlam reigns supreme ...
Annie, your blog is insightful and inspiring ... I am so glad you are working through your past trauma and helping the rest of us along with you. Great job.
ReplyDeleteYour comment is appreciated! It's not unusual for a traumatic experience to wreck havoc with inner peace in covert ways, down the road. When we're not in the habit of tunneling, it's easy to miss how one experience causes another. In truth, I'd not even considered this experience as being 'traumatic' until I came to understand its negative effect for decades to come.
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