18
What if we're less authentic than we think?
What if each time we walk out on the stage of life
We're unaware of when we're acting a role
Or when we're being true to ourselves?
What if we're unaware of taking our cues
From a director, whom we've never met?
What if that director goes by the name of
Sub Conscious?
Once I was made aware
Of how often I'd followed this stranger's lead
It made sense to get to know this character
Who had channeled so much of my mind at every stage of my life
You, too, can let this stranger control you
Or you can work at removing your mask
Meet this stranger, face to face...
And feel whole as never before
As always ...
The choice is up to you ...
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
409 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 17
17
2002
“I learn so much during therapy. Each session feels like a lesson in love or life. Then I go out into the world, and plug my brain into a greater sense of clarity where confusion had been before. For example, one day I learned this: *When one person in a relationship acquires problem-solving skills and the other does not, the relationship actually worsens. How ironic is that! I'd soaked in one tool after another without any clue that, while trying to connect more meaningfully, the communication's gap was widening between Will and me. (More about that, later.) Will and I had also been blind to similarities in our youth, which had contributed to our separation. *On the surface we'd seemed so different from each other that we'd remained unaware of similarities, in terms of fatal flaws, until we'd dug in really deep.
2002
“I learn so much during therapy. Each session feels like a lesson in love or life. Then I go out into the world, and plug my brain into a greater sense of clarity where confusion had been before. For example, one day I learned this: *When one person in a relationship acquires problem-solving skills and the other does not, the relationship actually worsens. How ironic is that! I'd soaked in one tool after another without any clue that, while trying to connect more meaningfully, the communication's gap was widening between Will and me. (More about that, later.) Will and I had also been blind to similarities in our youth, which had contributed to our separation. *On the surface we'd seemed so different from each other that we'd remained unaware of similarities, in terms of fatal flaws, until we'd dug in really deep.
It seems that when most of us consider our problems, we don’t think to dig far enough into our past. Therapy is so expensive that it's not unusual to give up on it before the main root of a problem is identified. I hope our stories inspire couples to look in rather than pointing fingers at each other while rushing into divorce court. So, what do you think about all of this, Mom?"
As we swing pensively, back and forth, my mother, replies, “Who knows anything about anything for certain, Annie? And what do I know about psychology? Every question and answer you’ve offered sounds plausible to me. In fact, I remember one doctor telling me that I could raise a spoiled child with clear skin, or I could raise you in a responsible way and watch you scratch—so your theory about the intensity of your eczema matches his. Back in the 1940’s, talking to young children about death was unheard of, and since you’d begun to scratch before Janet died, I couldn’t understand why you’d begun to ask so many questions about that time in our lives, now.”
“Well, Mom, if 'everything is connected’—and if eczema is physiological and emotional in nature—and if trauma causes emotional shifts, which are difficult to detect when a compliant child smiles and rarely says no, then it's easy to see why I still captain a cheer squad wherever I go. Baggage is more easily identified when children ‘act out’ in negative ways.
Once, while Katie was typing one of the stories I'd recorded, she asked if I did all that scratching because I was itching to get out of my skin. I remember responding—'Wow! That’s a perfect description of what I’d felt!' Needless to say, Katie's insight found it's way into that story. As I look back at 'scratching and smiling' it's easy to see how I'd lived in denial—and living in denial is pretty common, Mom. Denial is one of human nature's subconscious defense mechanisms, which relieves the brain of pain when stress has had reason to heighten, relentlessly. While in the state of denial, we have no clue of the part we may play in causing problems to worsen.”
“Well, Annie, if you’ve learned to speak up and problem solve rather than smile and scratch, then why is all of this so important to you, now.”
"The more I learn about people-pleasing tendencies, the less blind I'll be to other self defeating patterns. I'm hoping to understand subtleties in my patterns, which stop me from reaching illusive goals.”
“Annie, most people would never make that connection.”
“Maybe that's because adults tend think that they've learned all there is to know—about themselves. The expression—self-defeating pattern—is another way of saying: emotional baggage. Shakespeare might say: We can’t identify our own 'fatal flaws’ without help. Unfortunately, it's not uncommon for people who are most in need of help to deny it. Since I hope to live a long life, I question experiences, which may have caused my fatal flaws to develop. The more I learn, the more baggage I unpack and unload. I've come to understand why writing is cathartic. During the writing process, both sides of my brain work together, and every so often a surprising insight pops out of my subconscious. At times, I'll watch a ‘fatal flaw’—appear before me, one word at a time, on my computer screen, and I'll sit there and stare in amazement at whatever it is that had need to emerge. It's like driving past a corner of a busy intersection, every day, until, one day, you're aware of a building that's almost complete. And you hear yourself say, 'Where did that come from? When did that go up?' *Just as we can be unaware of changes that take place before our eyes, we're often unaware of changes, taking place deep within our minds.”
“Most people don’t take time to think about life as deeply as you do, Annie.”
“I've had lots of surgery, Mom. Most people don't spend their time lying in bed, pouring through the books I choose to read while recovering. I've grown more reflective by the year. For many years, people in my classes implored me to write a book. Now that the kids are grown, I have time to tackle that challenge. Just as I've shared stories and insights while speaking before thousands of people, I'm hoping to write in such a way as to encourage many more to pay attention to the ‘little voice’ inside, to speak up more openly and courageously, to listen to each other's needs more respectfully and compassionately than ever before. To recognize mixed messages and assumptions that mess with our minds. If I communicate much of what I feel inside then perhaps many more couples will feel liberated as individuals while connecting more trustfully with each other than ever before. Think about it, Mom, What if fatal flaws are born of—fear—fear of repeating some crushing experience, which had felt so painful and confounding that knots of anxiety hardened into emotional stones. What if emotional stones cause as much constricting pain inside our hearts as passing kidney stones is known to do? What if the primal fear of rejection drowns out the ‘little voice’, longing for intimate connection? What if deep down inside each cheerleader’s heart there lurks the fear that Miss Popularity is really all alone? How sad is it when a child, who feels lonely and confused, grows into an adult who has no clue why he or she feels so lonely, deep inside? As a family communication’s instructor I’ve always felt compelled to share every shred of information that helps me to understand how often attitudes determine success or failure while we're working to achieve personal and professional goals. I want to show people how to sit their defense systems in time out chairs, muzzle their egos, expand their perceptions and venture outside their comfort zones.”
“What? Annie—I have no idea what you're talking about!” When I laugh, Mom smiles and continues with, “But I’m sure you’re going to explain it to me. Right?”
Monday, February 27, 2012
408 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 16
Yes ... It happened, again ... While editing post 406 (which was not very long), a couple of insights, concerning problem-solving with children lit up and slipped out ...
PS Had trouble indenting in post 407. Why? I have no clue ...
J
PS Had trouble indenting in post 407. Why? I have no clue ...
J
Sunday, February 26, 2012
407 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 15
15
2002
A mixed message? Okay. I showed my happy, self confident side to the world—as in ‘let a smile be your umbrella—walk through a storm, hold your head up high—fake it till you make it' ... I said all the 'right' things to myself while my spirit cried silently, night after night..
(We follow this path, blinding ourselves to deeper truth for years until, one day, the mask that we don't know we wear slips off, and the ache to feed personal needs is still there ...)
2002
A mixed message? Okay. I showed my happy, self confident side to the world—as in ‘let a smile be your umbrella—walk through a storm, hold your head up high—fake it till you make it' ... I said all the 'right' things to myself while my spirit cried silently, night after night..
(We follow this path, blinding ourselves to deeper truth for years until, one day, the mask that we don't know we wear slips off, and the ache to feed personal needs is still there ...)
At those times when conflict arose and I had to assert myself, fear of displeasing anyone produced so much stress that my muscles constricted and tension spilled into my response. Why? Pleasers can't tolerate conflict. Inner conflict floods the mind with mental confusion. Mental confusion stimulates anxious static. Anxiety eats into logic like a team of termites, tunneling through the framework of a well tended home.
Actually, I wonder if the main source of inner conflict, causing anxiety, today, comes from absorbing too many mixed messages.
Actually, I wonder if the main source of inner conflict, causing anxiety, today, comes from absorbing too many mixed messages.
This persona, I'd unknowingly adopted, showed the world a funny, light hearted, self-confident leader. As my accomplishments were diverse, my smile was as sturdy as an iron shield, and since I'd believed my persona as much as anyone else, I'd no clue that anxiety is a sign of insecurity ..."
"Annie, no one would have thought of you as insecure ..."
"Annie, no one would have thought of you as insecure ..."
"That's because I'd adopted your widely admired trait of calm congeniality, Mom. In retrospect, I feel grateful to have acquired your honeyed tongue, because one key to balancing one’s inner life and one’s social life is to blend gentleness with shots of honesty that express what we really feel inside."
"You think I have a honeyed tongue?"
"Uh huh." Then with a smile, I added, "And—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree."
"You think I have a honeyed tongue?"
"Uh huh." Then with a smile, I added, "And—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree."
“But Annie, no matter how careful we are, everyone offends other people at one time or another.”
“Of course, Mom. And since words have the power to hurt, it’s important to choose them with care. It's also important to know who we’re talking to, especially during moments fraught with conflict. When conflict ensues with a person we think to know well and we listen to perceptions, which make no sense, at all, it may be time to clean out our ears or question whether our perception of that person has been on the wrong track. When we don't know ourselves or others—in depth—our relationships may not be as balanced as we'd like to think. Anyone who's had reason to build a massive defense system may listen to whatever you say with such an easily-offended-sense-of-readiness to fight or flee that it's wise to keep this old saying in mind: We can’t please all of the people all of the time. And that includes the people we hope to please, most. Everyone experiences conflict, confusion and anxiety, Mom. And it's wise to acknowledge that fact, so we can stop flinging tension, blindly, back and forth. *Once we consciously choose to learn how to tame anxiety, we can think clearly enough to work through confusion, discuss conflicts, and solve problems that keep popping up.
I’m really thankful that Lauren and I had not been raised in an acidic home where children mimic parents, who spew sarcasm back and forth. It’s hard to sense what others feel once their defensive walls shut you out.
Unfortunately, we can't problem solve effectively without identifying our own defensive patterns. And since defensive patterns are self-defeating, we face the same problems, repeatedly."
“Not everyone grows up feeling so conflicted, Annie.”Unfortunately, we can't problem solve effectively without identifying our own defensive patterns. And since defensive patterns are self-defeating, we face the same problems, repeatedly."
“I know that, Mom. Even so, no childhood is idyllic; we all have egos, and for countless reasons, each ego develops a prideful shield to some extent. As a rule, children have no clue how to problem solve, successfully, and problems intensify when we have no clue of what's taking place deep inside of us, behind our masks ..."
At this point, I grow quiet and muse on my own ... *During therapy I learned that the death of a child is one of the most serious traumas a family can weather. It’s not unusual for marriages to break up after suffering such a blow. Children who've enjoyed a comparatively tranquil family life during their first five years may be less conflicted than those who've experienced trauma. Even so, lots of mixed messages filter into our brains during every day life. *Though adults mean well, children are often told the opposite of what they need to hear: Stop being a cry baby. Don't feel that way. Don't be mad. You're a bad boy (or girl). Do what I say because I told you to or else! If you don't come right now, I'll leave you here. Lots of mixed messages, messing with clarity, there. Lots of fear-driven obedience.
At this point, I grow quiet and muse on my own ... *During therapy I learned that the death of a child is one of the most serious traumas a family can weather. It’s not unusual for marriages to break up after suffering such a blow. Children who've enjoyed a comparatively tranquil family life during their first five years may be less conflicted than those who've experienced trauma. Even so, lots of mixed messages filter into our brains during every day life. *Though adults mean well, children are often told the opposite of what they need to hear: Stop being a cry baby. Don't feel that way. Don't be mad. You're a bad boy (or girl). Do what I say because I told you to or else! If you don't come right now, I'll leave you here. Lots of mixed messages, messing with clarity, there. Lots of fear-driven obedience.
In the aftermath of Janet's death, everyone grieved so deeply, I didn’t know who to approach. Over time, I developed the habit of opening the depth of my pain to no one—including myself. As I grew up, that unconscious habit grew into my persona whenever confusion, conflict or problems arose. Though eczema had served as my Achilles heel whenever internal combustion weighed too heavy on my spirit, crying silently at night didn’t blend into the mix until my personal life felt so confusing and distressing, my shell couldn't contain all the tears I'd swallowed back and hidden from myself. Makes sense that this child will grow into a problem-solving adult, whose focus directs itself at easing the pain of others, rather than looking in, unmasking and addressing her own ... *Couldn't remove a mask that I didn't know was there ... a mask that hid the depth of my pain—from me. Though I did participate in therapy, from time to time, when my sense of confusion felt overwhelming, I had no clue what I was searching to find ... at this point, I begin to muse, aloud ...
“... Mom, think of all the photo albums and home movies that show me smiling, dancing, skipping, skating, swimming—bandaged from shoulder to wrist. Smiling, dancing, skipping, skating, swimming, and mugging for the camera showcases an inner spirit honestly glowing with delight—my eyes sparkled just like Dad’s… Even so, once I had reason to collect and connect puzzle pieces from the dark side of my past, it came clear that scratching till I'd bled suggested this fact: My spirit felt just as bummed as it had felt bright—depending upon whatever conflict FATE had in store for me next. Remember how frantic the night scratching got after we’d moved from the apartment into the house?”
“... Mom, think of all the photo albums and home movies that show me smiling, dancing, skipping, skating, swimming—bandaged from shoulder to wrist. Smiling, dancing, skipping, skating, swimming, and mugging for the camera showcases an inner spirit honestly glowing with delight—my eyes sparkled just like Dad’s… Even so, once I had reason to collect and connect puzzle pieces from the dark side of my past, it came clear that scratching till I'd bled suggested this fact: My spirit felt just as bummed as it had felt bright—depending upon whatever conflict FATE had in store for me next. Remember how frantic the night scratching got after we’d moved from the apartment into the house?”
“Of course, I remember. I lay next to you in your bed, night after night, soothing your discomfort by rubbing tar preparations, ointments, and salves into the unbearable nature of your itch.”
"Well, it wasn't our move that exacerbated the itch; it was what happened after the move. And as it had been my habit to keep troubles to myself, no one knew about those bus rides from hell ...
"I wish you'd told me about that, Annie."
"Me, too, Mom ... do you remember how my condition intensified, again, right after I’d entered high school? I’d tossed and turned through so many sleepless nights that we had my classes switched to afternoons. As the salty nature of sweat burned painfully into my open sores, I was placed in modified gym."
"I wish you'd told me about that, Annie."
"Me, too, Mom ... do you remember how my condition intensified, again, right after I’d entered high school? I’d tossed and turned through so many sleepless nights that we had my classes switched to afternoons. As the salty nature of sweat burned painfully into my open sores, I was placed in modified gym."
"So what happened in high school that caused your eczema to flare up, again?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps after my experience with Joseph, I feared dating. Or maybe I'd had to work harder to maintain good grades ... actually, it was probably a combination of both ...
The last time the itch flared to such an intense degree had been during my first semester of college when sexual intimacy raised its head between Will and me (pun intended) . You know that expression ... wear your heart on your sleeve? Well, my sadness, confusion, and fear must have been hidden inside my sleeve, because lots of people have eczema, Mom, but mine spiraled out of control whenever I'd felt unprepared for whatever unpredictable conflict LIFE tossed onto my path, next. Each stage of life develops into an unending series of changes. And as confusion, conflict and unpredictability accompany change, I must have been on edge much more often than I knew.
*At this point, I muse, quietly, again ... It seems that once we leave childhood behind and the persona has developed into an unconscious habit, we have no clue of when our masks slip into place, and while the persona is controlling the thought processing center of the brain, we can't problem-solve objectively, therefore—effectively ...
*At this point, I muse, quietly, again ... It seems that once we leave childhood behind and the persona has developed into an unconscious habit, we have no clue of when our masks slip into place, and while the persona is controlling the thought processing center of the brain, we can't problem-solve objectively, therefore—effectively ...
As soon as conflict enters the family scene, subconscious power struggles filter into discussions. Defensive walls arise. Adults sulk, freeze up or fight like children. All too few of us recognize how often adults unconsciously role model negative attitudes and self defeating reactions for little pitchers with big ears. Children are called little pitchers with big ears, because eventually, what goes into the ear pours out of the mouth. Just as healthy habits shape up over time, the same is true of defensive habits, which we've unknowingly adopted during childhood ... and as all habits are hard to break, we unknowingly pass them forward from one generation to the next. After pondering upon habits I'd absorbed from my mom, my dad, my Grandma Ella, I engage with Mom, again, while reminiscing aloud:
"While raising my kids, I'd read as many books as I could get my hands on while every one else was asleep. I'd thought I'd felt compelled to read countless books, because I didn't want to yell at my kids. It didn't occur to me that no one wants to yell at their kids. Night after night, my mind soaked in insights concerning positive focus, problem-solving skills and working to develop each child's self esteem. A few years after I'd been asked to teach at the college, I began to speak at professional conferences. Soon after that, I remember standing in my kitchen with magazine in hand, looking at my by-line, while expressing my amazement at having been asked to write articles about positive parenting techniques. As my amazement had been expressed openly, one of your grandkids responded with this astute insight: ‘You know what, Mom? I think everything you’ve read to strengthen our self-esteem has begun to rub off onto you, too.’ After listening to this astute observation popping out of the mouth of babes, I recall laughing at the truth ... (RR&R)
*Though I'd no clue as to what had compelled me to read all of those books about guiding and strengthening children by way of positive focus, now I do—I'd needed to strengthen myself! FATE dealt me a winning hand when my neighbor introduced me to The Family Education Association. While attending their twice monthly meetings, I became aware of the writings of Rudolph Dreikurs (CHILDREN THE CHALLENGE). Once I'd absorbed the insights, leaping off page after page of Dr. Driekurs' book, I switched tracks and was off and running toward changing my attitudes, full speed ahead ...
As I began to experience one success after another, my self-help library continued to grow, and my ability to assert my needs during conflict began to develop. With no clue that my mind was engaging in a lengthy state of transition, which taxed and stretched my comfort zones, my heart pounded hard inside my chest and huge lumps of anxiety caused my throat to choke each time I'd confront a conflict and open my mouth to speak. *On the other hand, I was always eager to grow, and while we're in the act of growing, growing pains tag along."
Time to swing and muse quietly, again, while my mind mulled over decades of transition, especially those times when the honeyed aspects of my voice tasted more of lemons. Thank goodness, eventually, everything I'd read continued to help me meet with success, and over time, lemons turned into lemonade. During times of transition, one person's growing pains tend to depose peace of mind—on all sides. Unfortunately, in the absence of clarity, times of transition may stretch out over too many years. *I had not yet read that when one person develops communication skills while another does not, the emotional gulf between the two widens, causing their relationship to worsen. It's always what we don't know—yet—that sets hurdles in the way of achieving our goals.
Time to swing and muse quietly, again, while my mind mulled over decades of transition, especially those times when the honeyed aspects of my voice tasted more of lemons. Thank goodness, eventually, everything I'd read continued to help me meet with success, and over time, lemons turned into lemonade. During times of transition, one person's growing pains tend to depose peace of mind—on all sides. Unfortunately, in the absence of clarity, times of transition may stretch out over too many years. *I had not yet read that when one person develops communication skills while another does not, the emotional gulf between the two widens, causing their relationship to worsen. It's always what we don't know—yet—that sets hurdles in the way of achieving our goals.
*Today, I believe the subconscious portion of my mind, where instinct hangs out, sensed where I'd needed to grow—first intellectually, then emotionally. It's often said that psychologists and psychiatrists are people who are in need of help. I believe inner conflict catalyzed my leap onto the bandwagon of family communications. While standing on my soap box, I'm not tooting my horn. Instead I pay homage to the wisdom of all of the authors whose thoughts inspire me to expand my perceptions and grow into whomever I am—today—knowing that, tomorrow, change, confusion and conflict may compel me to experience growing pains, once again. Though assertive statements had begun to pop out of my mouth, my nervous system continued to flood with anxiety each time I’d felt compelled to make a decision that didn’t satisfy another person’s needs. Why did I flood with anxiety? For this reason: *Each time I’d chosen to satisfy my needs, I’d felt selfish. So no matter which side I'd choose, heads or tails, I’d lose. Today, it’s plain to see that my mind felt squeezed between a rock and a hard place ever since I was three. Why? *By stuffing my problems at such a young age, I'd not learned to respect my needs as much as I'd needed to serve the needs of others. In short: "My need to serve others had stuffed my basic needs behind a defensive wall before I'd known they'd existed, at all. As to removing defensive masks, well—how doth one discard a mask that we've no clue is there? Again, it's what we don't yet know—about ourselves—that trips us up.
After swinging in tandem, Mom broke the silence with, “Well, you don’t scratch any more, Annie. And I don’t remember your scratching when you and Will separated.”
* “By the time Will and I'd separated my mind was so filled with fear, I'd no strength left to hide from the depth of my depression ... when defensive walls crash, masks disappear. Once my unhappiness was out in the open—meaning that my inner life and outer life matched—my need to scratch, disappeared. You know what ‘they’ say: People don’t change until we hurt enough to hit bottom. Picture an egg, dropping to the floor, imagine its shell cracking, shattering, laying in pieces while every fragile vulnerability, 'protected' inside, lays raw and exposed—a stick mess in need of cleaning up. When it comes to family life, some of us are raw while others are as wishy washy as soft boiled eggs; then there's a third group that's become too hard boiled to peel off our shells. My main reason for writing this trilogy about our family (which, over time, will have turned into this blog) is to offer an intimate look at how Will and I slid down into the bottom of a black hole and cracked apart. It's my hope that by airing our misperceptions, misunderstandings, and mistakes—all of which combined to form mixed-messaged madness on both sides—other couples may be influenced to make U-turns before they drive off the edge of a cliff with their children in tow…”
"Aren't you uncomfortable, airing 'dirty laundry' in public, Annie?"
"I attribute much of my teaching success to the honesty of airing my mistakes in every class I lead. Each time I muster the courage to open up in or out of class, many who listen feel safe enough to open up and look inside, as well. As history tends to repeat itself, I hope the same may be true for those who choose to read my trilogy of books. Here's my plan: I see my story as a trilogy for this reason: First, I'll appear as an inexperienced child. Then, as an inexperienced young wife and mother. Finally, I'll develop into a woman 'of a certain age', who's collected swarms of insights in a jar. As these insights are freed, a few at a time, my stories will express why I believe it wise to identify confusion and work through inner conflict, sooner rather than later. When confusion remains unresolved, on both sides, or one side or the other, our heads start to ache. Inner conflict is a huge head ache. Head aches interfere with clarity. Clarity simplifies confusion and strengthens self confidence, which lessens subconscious insecurity. *Decrease insecurity—increase self confident simplicity—life offers up a greater sense of inner peace. More inner peace less heart ache—especially during times of change, confusion, conflict, growth—at least that transition's been true for me."
"How in the world do you plan to express all of this in your stories?"
"Good question, Mom. Hopefully each story will evolve, instinctively, just like my articles did. Word by word. Sentence by sentence. One story leading into the next. When I sit down to write an article, I have a general idea of what I want to say. Same thing with a story. Then while writing, I'm surprised by whatever pours out, and the same is true during the editing process, when I try to simplify thoughts which can be exceptionally complex. Sometimes the story shortens ... but as insights, swarming around in that jar, clamor to be released, so they can flit through the air and light up the dark, here and there—well, shortening my stories proves pretty rare ..."
J
"How in the world do you plan to express all of this in your stories?"
"Good question, Mom. Hopefully each story will evolve, instinctively, just like my articles did. Word by word. Sentence by sentence. One story leading into the next. When I sit down to write an article, I have a general idea of what I want to say. Same thing with a story. Then while writing, I'm surprised by whatever pours out, and the same is true during the editing process, when I try to simplify thoughts which can be exceptionally complex. Sometimes the story shortens ... but as insights, swarming around in that jar, clamor to be released, so they can flit through the air and light up the dark, here and there—well, shortening my stories proves pretty rare ..."
J
Saturday, February 25, 2012
406 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 14
14
2002
After musing for a moment, Mom responds, "You're right, Annie. You and Lauren were very good children. I don't know anyone who went for help during the 1950's unless problems were severe, and we can't know the degree of misery others stuff inside."
"Mom, I'm beginning to realize that we don't know the misery we stuff inside, ourselves...
When I was a young mother, FATE smiled in my direction by introducing me to a neighbor who, in turn, introduced me to The Family Education Association (FEA). While reflecting back, it's clear to see why I attended those by-monthly meetings without fail. Why I devoured countless, self help books, which taught me how to choose my words carefully and listen, patiently, in hopes of encouraging my children to open up to me... but not just to vent...
I know that, Annie. I've learned so much while watching you raise the boys.
Whenever my children expressed emotion freely, I'd acknowledge their feelings, so they'd felt heard, valued, connected. Once we were emotionally connected (not to be confused with enmeshed) we'd engage in discussions that expanded their perspectives, little by little. Then, we'd consider creative problem-solving techniques, which I'd read, absorbed, and eventually, The creative center of my brain conjured up simple plans that 'magically' considered personal needs, all around.
Over time, I'd work at boosting each child's self confidence until they'd mustered the courage to stand up for themselves and go toe to toe with whatever problem arose, whether at home or in school. As each child experienced success, far more often than not, their minds absorbed many of the same problem solving techniques that I'd acquired during FEA workshops.
(Then, while eagerly amassing a self help library, I unknowingly re-raised myself.)
Upon recognizing that we all start out as 'problem solving beginners', I told my sons to consider our plans as experiments, meaning we'd have to pay attention to the reasons why some did not succeed. Since many of our experimental plans met with success, a communal sense of trust developed throughout our family.
As years passed and my mind soaked in knowledge, I felt inspired to create an emotional environment whereby we'd openly ask each other for help. And in this way, our family grew accustomed to offering help by putting our heads together in hopes that whenever a problem arose, we'd brainstorm cooperatively, thus ironing out conflicts before wrinkles transformed into permanent pleats. In short, we learned to welcome the concept family meetings designed with cooperative attitudes in mind.
At this point, after absorbing and teaching respectful methods of assertive communications to people of all ages over most of my adult life, I’ve become aware of this fact: The learning process never ends. Whether we know it or not, each of us gropes to understand identity issues through every stage of life.
Unfortunately ... *We can't see into the depths of our issues unless we seek help, because our defense systems are programmed to run interference with clarity ...
"That's really confusing, Annie."
You bet it is, Mom. In fact, there's nothing more puzzling than pinpointing our own contradictions, which fog up the mental processing centers of our brains. *We have no clue of how often we give ourselves and each other mixed messages ... and mixed messages make life really messy. For example ..."
2002
After musing for a moment, Mom responds, "You're right, Annie. You and Lauren were very good children. I don't know anyone who went for help during the 1950's unless problems were severe, and we can't know the degree of misery others stuff inside."
"Mom, I'm beginning to realize that we don't know the misery we stuff inside, ourselves...
When I was a young mother, FATE smiled in my direction by introducing me to a neighbor who, in turn, introduced me to The Family Education Association (FEA). While reflecting back, it's clear to see why I attended those by-monthly meetings without fail. Why I devoured countless, self help books, which taught me how to choose my words carefully and listen, patiently, in hopes of encouraging my children to open up to me... but not just to vent...
I know that, Annie. I've learned so much while watching you raise the boys.
Whenever my children expressed emotion freely, I'd acknowledge their feelings, so they'd felt heard, valued, connected. Once we were emotionally connected (not to be confused with enmeshed) we'd engage in discussions that expanded their perspectives, little by little. Then, we'd consider creative problem-solving techniques, which I'd read, absorbed, and eventually, The creative center of my brain conjured up simple plans that 'magically' considered personal needs, all around.
Over time, I'd work at boosting each child's self confidence until they'd mustered the courage to stand up for themselves and go toe to toe with whatever problem arose, whether at home or in school. As each child experienced success, far more often than not, their minds absorbed many of the same problem solving techniques that I'd acquired during FEA workshops.
(Then, while eagerly amassing a self help library, I unknowingly re-raised myself.)
Upon recognizing that we all start out as 'problem solving beginners', I told my sons to consider our plans as experiments, meaning we'd have to pay attention to the reasons why some did not succeed. Since many of our experimental plans met with success, a communal sense of trust developed throughout our family.
As years passed and my mind soaked in knowledge, I felt inspired to create an emotional environment whereby we'd openly ask each other for help. And in this way, our family grew accustomed to offering help by putting our heads together in hopes that whenever a problem arose, we'd brainstorm cooperatively, thus ironing out conflicts before wrinkles transformed into permanent pleats. In short, we learned to welcome the concept family meetings designed with cooperative attitudes in mind.
At this point, after absorbing and teaching respectful methods of assertive communications to people of all ages over most of my adult life, I’ve become aware of this fact: The learning process never ends. Whether we know it or not, each of us gropes to understand identity issues through every stage of life.
Unfortunately ... *We can't see into the depths of our issues unless we seek help, because our defense systems are programmed to run interference with clarity ...
"That's really confusing, Annie."
You bet it is, Mom. In fact, there's nothing more puzzling than pinpointing our own contradictions, which fog up the mental processing centers of our brains. *We have no clue of how often we give ourselves and each other mixed messages ... and mixed messages make life really messy. For example ..."
Thursday, February 23, 2012
405 OY! SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY!
Aaarghhh!
Good thing I write about the complexities of the brain ...
Sometimes while trying to make something better, it gets—more complex!
With humility, I admit to having done exactly that while editing post 402 ...
So for the sake of those who've not yet read that post, I went back to the drawing board, again ...
As to those of you who've worked your way through that post, twice, I apologize and hope to have hit a homer, this time ...
You know my mantra ...
NGU
Never give up ... on yourself!
Babe Ruth struck out more times than he'd hit homers
Even so, he never stopped swinging for the fences ...
And it's his record for hitting homers that's revered
Ah! Positive focus!
Always makes me feel better after striking out
No sense ducking from my mistakes
No sense flogging myself, either
Make mistakes?
Catch them
Correct them
Get off the bench
If necessary, apologize, sincerely
And get back into the game...
Life’s not easy Neither is love
Working toward listening, speaking and writing with clarity is often complex
Even so,
Good thing I write about the complexities of the brain ...
Sometimes while trying to make something better, it gets—more complex!
With humility, I admit to having done exactly that while editing post 402 ...
So for the sake of those who've not yet read that post, I went back to the drawing board, again ...
As to those of you who've worked your way through that post, twice, I apologize and hope to have hit a homer, this time ...
You know my mantra ...
NGU
Never give up ... on yourself!
Babe Ruth struck out more times than he'd hit homers
Even so, he never stopped swinging for the fences ...
And it's his record for hitting homers that's revered
Ah! Positive focus!
Always makes me feel better after striking out
No sense ducking from my mistakes
No sense flogging myself, either
Make mistakes?
Catch them
Correct them
Get off the bench
If necessary, apologize, sincerely
And get back into the game...
Life’s not easy Neither is love
Working toward listening, speaking and writing with clarity is often complex
Even so,
All of the above are worth swinging for the fences—again and again
As long as the mind is open to identifying yesterday's mistakes ...
As long as the mind is open to identifying yesterday's mistakes ...
J
404 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 13
“Mom, my pattern of silencing unhappiness had not served me well ... And that was especially true after I’d married Will. As a bride of twenty-two, I didn't connect Will's unexpected, emotional withdrawal with my devastating experience with Joseph in sixth grade. When love between children is dismissed as 'puppy love', we miss the fact that ... Love is love at every age. And I’d certainly not heard the term ‘self defeating pattern’.”
“So, what was your self defeating pattern, Annie?”
“Which one of many, Mom?” I asked with a smile. "Most importantly, this: I’d rarely shared my problems with anyone. Had I thought to bare my humiliation after those dreadful school bus rides, or had I opened up about my experience in the alley with Joseph, a shot of adult insight might have stopped me from biting off huge chunks of my self-esteem.”
“Wait ... I'm confused. Do you think what happened with Joseph and Will relates to Janet?”
“Not to Janet’s death, Mom, but to whatever had caused me to become so closed mouth until Will and I'd separated. Oh my God, Mom, did you hear the words I just said? Closed mouthed??? Me??? No one who knows me would have conceived of that being true—ever! Mom, think about the power behind that insight: I’ve never thought myself shy with words. Never. Yet, whenever confounding problems arose, my pattern had been to retreat into myself. *When we retreat with a problem, we end up stuck in a bad place, where no one can help us solve it. *If it’s a fact that nothing alive stays the same, very long—meaning everything gets better or worse—then a problem is bound to grow like a weed if the main root remains unidentified. In lieu of solutions, weeds undermine the good health of a garden, no matter how carefully the gardener plants seeds, and tends to the fruit of his labor with care."
"Annie, problems aren't alive."
"Problems aren't, but relationships are." "Think about it, Mom, when it comes to the good health of our relationships, problems, which go unchecked, worsen like colds, developing into pneumonia."
Since mothers tend to feel guilty about any mistakes while raising their children, discretion suggested my keeping certain thoughts (which I’ll share with you) to myself. So rather than telling my gentle, white haired, eight-eight year old mother the 'whole' truth, I choose to offer this slice of the truth, instead: “Here’s my point, Mom. It seems that from an early age, pleasing others is what had pleased me most about myself. In fact, it’s still hard for me to distinguish my needs from the needs of others. Any sense of conflict floods my mind with fear. In the split second that it takes to say, ‘No’, my mind floods with inner conflict. This stimulates the production of chemicals that shoot anxiety straight through the nervous system. As anxiety is fear and fear causes lucid thoughts to scatter, my brain pulses with static. Even when I stand my ground, I walk away feeling unfulfilled. Since it’s highly unlikely for selflessness to permeate any person’s psyche to its core, I've been learning what takes place when personal needs are compartmentalized (repressed) behind defensive walls. By the time I’d married Will, I’d grown accustomed to capitulating to the needs of others, while smiling brightly for all the world to see (including me). I imagine myself acting like Jackie Kennedy, soaking her pillow with silent tears, each time she’d climbed into her lonely, White House bed.
“Annie—how could you know how Jackie spent her nights?”
“Mom—I don't. But I'll bet my analogy's not far from the truth. Look, here’s the point I’m trying to make: It’s not as though I’d cried silently on most nights after we’d moved into the house. I’d cried whenever a situation hurt deeply enough to puncture my wall of denial. I'd cried whenever a storehouse of dark, lonely feelings overwelmed my sense of control, allowing pain to break through my dam and pour out of my core."
"Annie, where do you come up with these ideas?"
"I'm always reading, Mom. You know how drawn I am to understanding the complexities of the brain. Each time insight plugs into hindsight, I come to see how universal this self-defeating theme of dam building is to people at every stage of life.”
“And we thought you were such a happy, self confident child.”
“You thought that for good reason, Mom, because in many ways I was. I’ve been successful in so many aspects of life that most of my smiles push my fear of being—invisible—out of sight. In seventh and eighth grades, I’d cried silently at night after invitations to boy and girl birthday parties had been handed out on the playground at school. Then, I’d cry, again, on those weekend evenings when I knew those parties were taking place.”
“How come I never realized you hadn’t been invited to any of those parties?”
“Life’s busy, Mom, and I never brought it up. Did you go to boy and girl parties?”
“Are you kidding? We couldn’t afford parties when we were kids. We were lucky to have dinner.”
“So, you couldn’t have known what I was missing, and from time to time, there were sleep over parties, which I was invited to." After a moment, I think to add this fact: "During the 1950’s, self-help was not the rage. Who discussed self-esteem issues, back then? No one. Families, seeking counseling were dealing with pretty severe problems. Obvious problems. Lauren and I were such good kids that everything seemed fine." Except for that itch ...
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
403. UH OH! IT HAPPENED AGAIN!
As it's my pattern to expand insights during the editing process, please know that, with good reason, I'd like to suggest rereading post 402 ...
:)
:)
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
402 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 12
12
...And so, I'd happily paraded personal accomplishments before my parents' admiring eyes, while unconsciously developing a 'habit' of hiding most of my problems out of sight. We call ourselves creatures of habit, because habits develop into mental patterns, each of which carves its own channel within the thought processing portion of the brain. If we consider each thought processing channel as a toboggan chute, we can picture this:
Picture a frightened, hyper vigilant child clinging to her grieving, raven haired mother after two sudden, unexpected deaths.
Picture mother and child enmeshed within a tobaggon, careening at break neck speed down a chute, but neither knows this to be true, because the sled and chute are invisible to both.
Imagine a time warp where this vigilant child morphs into a protective adult, cradling her grieving, white haired mother on a ... swing, not long after their husband/father's sudden death ...
Imagine subconscious fears, lying, long buried and unresolved ...
Imagine the unconscious effects of ... déjà vu ... emerging ... invisibly ...
Imagine the swing transforming into a toboggan ...
Okay, now that our time machine has zoomed back and forth, let's watch the soothing motion of this swing, secured to the patio ceiling by a visible series of interconnecting links, which form two chains, strong enough to suspend an unsuspecting mother and daughter in space until they choose to unseat themselves and approach whatever surprise fate has in store for each one—individually. Uh ... on second thought, let's pause just long enough to switch tracks and consider this thought, which is itching to coast across your screen:
*When subconscious fears repress basic needs, a person may have no clue that an assertive portion of one's voice has been silenced. This imprisoned portion of assertiveness must be freed if the person hopes to feel whole. When certain traits are squelched at the tender age of three, who's to recognize which part of a child's development has been stalled? The fact that a three year old has begun to develop into a stranger to herself demands close observation on the parts of adults, who know her well—adults whose minds are not reeling from unfathomable tragedies of their own. Once the natural flow of development swerves sharply away from Mother Nature's norm, the mind of a child walks into a maze, from which we each must extricate ourselves (or not), somewhere down the road.
As repression is known to be one of Mother Nature's most common defense mechanisms, little monkeys watch what big monkeys do ... and thus do we say: The fruit doth not fall far from the tree...
*One way to describe repression is pretense of which we're unaware.
We pretend (to ourselves) all is well when nothing is further from the truth.
*Once repressed emotion numbs up, defensive masks are firmly in place, and we believe all is well—we dwell in Denialand, where we remain blind to raw wounds, festering unhealed, deep within. As to those who try to awaken us to realities too painful to bear and thus bare? You know what's coming next ... kill the messenger! (RR&R)
Once we move into Dad's dream house, I'll think to know, full well, the reasons that make me curl up in my bed and silently cry myself to sleep. However, none in my family, including me, will have a clue as to WHY I’ll continue to scratch my arms and legs until layers of skin form angry, red scabs, year after year.
After swinging for several minutes in silent reflection, Mom and I resume processing our thoughts aloud, thus engaging openly , again ...
...And so, I'd happily paraded personal accomplishments before my parents' admiring eyes, while unconsciously developing a 'habit' of hiding most of my problems out of sight. We call ourselves creatures of habit, because habits develop into mental patterns, each of which carves its own channel within the thought processing portion of the brain. If we consider each thought processing channel as a toboggan chute, we can picture this:
Picture a frightened, hyper vigilant child clinging to her grieving, raven haired mother after two sudden, unexpected deaths.
Picture mother and child enmeshed within a tobaggon, careening at break neck speed down a chute, but neither knows this to be true, because the sled and chute are invisible to both.
Imagine a time warp where this vigilant child morphs into a protective adult, cradling her grieving, white haired mother on a ... swing, not long after their husband/father's sudden death ...
Imagine subconscious fears, lying, long buried and unresolved ...
Imagine the unconscious effects of ... déjà vu ... emerging ... invisibly ...
Imagine the swing transforming into a toboggan ...
Okay, now that our time machine has zoomed back and forth, let's watch the soothing motion of this swing, secured to the patio ceiling by a visible series of interconnecting links, which form two chains, strong enough to suspend an unsuspecting mother and daughter in space until they choose to unseat themselves and approach whatever surprise fate has in store for each one—individually. Uh ... on second thought, let's pause just long enough to switch tracks and consider this thought, which is itching to coast across your screen:
*When subconscious fears repress basic needs, a person may have no clue that an assertive portion of one's voice has been silenced. This imprisoned portion of assertiveness must be freed if the person hopes to feel whole. When certain traits are squelched at the tender age of three, who's to recognize which part of a child's development has been stalled? The fact that a three year old has begun to develop into a stranger to herself demands close observation on the parts of adults, who know her well—adults whose minds are not reeling from unfathomable tragedies of their own. Once the natural flow of development swerves sharply away from Mother Nature's norm, the mind of a child walks into a maze, from which we each must extricate ourselves (or not), somewhere down the road.
As repression is known to be one of Mother Nature's most common defense mechanisms, little monkeys watch what big monkeys do ... and thus do we say: The fruit doth not fall far from the tree...
*One way to describe repression is pretense of which we're unaware.
We pretend (to ourselves) all is well when nothing is further from the truth.
*Once repressed emotion numbs up, defensive masks are firmly in place, and we believe all is well—we dwell in Denialand, where we remain blind to raw wounds, festering unhealed, deep within. As to those who try to awaken us to realities too painful to bear and thus bare? You know what's coming next ... kill the messenger! (RR&R)
Once we move into Dad's dream house, I'll think to know, full well, the reasons that make me curl up in my bed and silently cry myself to sleep. However, none in my family, including me, will have a clue as to WHY I’ll continue to scratch my arms and legs until layers of skin form angry, red scabs, year after year.
After swinging for several minutes in silent reflection, Mom and I resume processing our thoughts aloud, thus engaging openly , again ...
Monday, February 20, 2012
401 AH! THAT FEELS BETTER!
Having taken the time to spruce up the flow of raw thoughts in Post 398, I was able to inject a greater sense of clarity into insights, which now make even more sense to me.
If you choose to review it, you'll see what I mean ... J
If you choose to review it, you'll see what I mean ... J
400 PARAGUAY ... NATION 49
Let's bid welcome to Paraguay!
J
J
Sunday, February 19, 2012
399. YES! I KNOW! POST 398 IS IN NEED OF EDITING ...
Happily, our home is filled with loved ones, again. As they were out and about, yesterday, I had time to write. This morning, while everyone's asleep, I'm re-reading what I wrote; however, editing will wait until Monday, when we disperse and return to our separate paths. As for today, we're welcoming newcomers for brunch, and as family life is pulsing with fun, I'll bid you adieu till tomorrow...
J
J
Saturday, February 18, 2012
398 NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! Part 11
Just as my friendship with Dad had deepened when I was small, my relationship with Mom evolved until we enjoyed a friendship based in intimacy, meaning that a mutual sense of trust had developed, which offered us clear channels of safe passage to discuss our deepest thoughts, greatest pleasures, fervent hopes and conscious fears. Thus did we sit, peaceably, side by side, reminiscing over yesteryear, as the soothing sway of the swing cradled us for quite a while:
“We're a family of strong willed women, Mom. *Strong wills find creative ways to express basic needs unless fear redirects instinct to switch tracks. You know, like the fear that caused Grandma Ella to stop arguing with Dad ..." as Mom gets my meaning, I go on from there:
"Picture me in that movie, Mom, where I'm taking on a fighting stance, hands on hips, head bobbing angrily from side to side while my motor mouth indignantly gives ‘what for’ right back to Uncle Jeff after he’d scolded me for something concerning Mara, who was a toddler. At that point, I did not shirk away from openly confronting an adult—even an alpha-male—like Uncle Jeff ...
Both you and Dad had always told me how Grandpa J strode into our apartment, scooped me out of my crib and played with me, even when I’d been fast asleep, because he—who’d displayed little affection—had so openly adored me. So let's imagine me at not-quite-three, a sweet, blue eyed, dark haired, out spoken, little girl who’d basked in the center spotlight of everyone's attention—until Grandpa and Janet died, but as far as I can 'see' ... they've mysteriously disappeared ..."
At this point I get thoughtful, offering my mother’s ears a rest. Even so, silence does not stop wheels from spinning inside our minds. Though I can’t share Mom's inner thoughts with you, let's imagine ourselves getting a comprehensive, bird's eye view of details, lining up inside my head:
Imagine everyone's sense of security, dropping like dominos, without so much as a warning, into the fires of Hell—twice-in a matter of weeks ...
Imagine the sunny smiles of an extended family, nose-diving into an extensive, confounding period of grief.
Imagine an extended family of adults, unawarely, role modeling—depression ...
Imagine an extended family of adults, unawarely, role modeling—depression ...
Imagine clarity shattering, like a mirror, as traumatic events terrify every mind when my Grandpa and baby sister are gone without a trace ...
(What happened, Jack? Where is she? Why did this happen to us?)
Imagine the dizzying whip of sudden emotional swings ...
(Sudden death, shock, confusion, grief, fear, depression, birth, short-lived elation, sudden death, shock, confounding agony, fear of (undeserved) guilt, agonized depression ... little monkey listening to and absorbing everything big monkeys question, feel, say and do as mental torment circles round ...)
(Sudden death, shock, confusion, grief, fear, depression, birth, short-lived elation, sudden death, shock, confounding agony, fear of (undeserved) guilt, agonized depression ... little monkey listening to and absorbing everything big monkeys question, feel, say and do as mental torment circles round ...)
Imagine mental confusion channeling into anxious contradictions as life goes on...
Imagine a strong spirited, well-loved, sweet, little girl, who will do anything to banish this anguish ...
Imagine this little girl ‘ACTING’ too cooperative, too compliant, too good to be true in hopes of recapturing loved one’s smiles, which her defense system will never take for granted, again ...
Imagine this little girl ‘ACTING’ too cooperative, too compliant, too good to be true in hopes of recapturing loved one’s smiles, which her defense system will never take for granted, again ...
Imagine emotional security drowning in a swirl of subconscious fear whenever a frown peers at this child, thus arousing anxiety—as in Uh-oh! What did I do, or what should I do ... now???
Imagine unexpected changes squeezing every drop of emotional security dry. Imagine every smile sliding down a chute, as though riding a toboggan into a bottomless, black hole, where a deluge of grief darkens every spirit, around.
Imagine unexpected changes squeezing every drop of emotional security dry. Imagine every smile sliding down a chute, as though riding a toboggan into a bottomless, black hole, where a deluge of grief darkens every spirit, around.
Imagine self-defeating patterns—such as undeserved guilt—imprinting deeply into a preschooler's mind ...
Imagine this child repressing anger inside that dark well, from that time on ... Imagine displeasure morphing into an internal itch, which, drives this child close to crazy at night ...
Imagine a sensitive preschooler growing into a child, who eventually reaps the rewards of so much success during the day that her smiles are real ...
Imagine a sensitive preschooler growing into a child, who eventually reaps the rewards of so much success during the day that her smiles are real ...
Imagine those smiles vying for space with that itch ...
Imagine the thought processing center of this child's mind developing channels, so complex, that she grows to be a bright, smiling, straight as an arrow, no-bending-rules teen ...
*Imagine an attitude of safety first quenching a teen's thirst to adventure into the unknown ...Imagine the thought processing center of this child's mind developing channels, so complex, that she grows to be a bright, smiling, straight as an arrow, no-bending-rules teen ...
*Imagine a teen, treading lightly, fearing that, at any time, a series of blind-siding blows may deflate her high flying spirit as fast as a well-aimed swatter flattens a fly ...
*Imagine subconscious fear waiting for the other shoe to drop ...
*Imagine how hyper vigilance develops ...
Imagine this good, little girl developing into a teen, who grows into a woman, whose mind is magnetized by solution-seeking data ...
Imagine an adult mind questing toward methodical, thought processes, which sort through layers of confusion until puzzling details fit together; bigger pictures clarify in 3D, and brain storming results in problem-solving and conflict resolution, all around ...
Imagine this dark haired woman (whose blue eyes tend to swing from gaiety to introspection) gazing into the expanse of an azure sky on a balmy, spring day, while the southwestern desert, surrounding her home, bursts gloriously into full bloom ...
Imagine staunch strengths acquired by desert foliage: deep red bottle brush, golden Palo Verde, richly green queen, date, and Romulus palms—fronds swaying gently with the breeze—a riot of orange/purple/gold Lantana, hot pink Oleander, raspberry Bougainvillea, as well as the short-lived, lilac hued blooms, which, covering the jacaranda, serve as a reminder that euphoria exists in short bursts, while the silent ringing of yellow bells, swing gracefully on the branches of the Thevitia tree, suggesting that the delicacy of life is too precious to allow the spirit to deflate, over long...
Here's how I see it: *Tis each adult's responsibility to dive into the mind, to clarify one's complexities, to choose reality over denial, and in this way, gain control of one's life. But don't take my word for it. Take the word of the sage:
KNOW THYSELF Socrates (RR&R)
(Being a guy, he said all of that in two words ... )
(Being a guy, he said all of that in two words ... )
*For adults, safety depends upon developing core strengths. For children, safety depends upon the core strengths of role-modeling adults. Core strengths are not acquired. Core strengths are developed.
Imagine the influx of people from whom the southwest desert acquired this variety of foliage, just as the mind acquires a riotous array of traits ...
Imagine the fact that many acquired traits are not strengths, at all ...
The question at hand is this: How might strengths be put to good use to serve our needs without casting judgments that put others down? As we all harbor a defense system, this proves to be an on-going feat.Imagine the fact that many acquired traits are not strengths, at all ...
*Imagine insights collecting inside an adult mind, like fire flies shining spotlights on a garden's dark corners, where weeds of mental confusion lay in wait to be exposed, examined, clarified and swept away ...
Imagine fertilizing core strengths by raking in answers to questions such as these:
Imagine fertilizing core strengths by raking in answers to questions such as these:
*Can one ‘be true to oneself’ when one has not yet developed a clear understanding of both sides of one's personal traits?
*What may result if basic needs cross wire and mental clarity short circuits?
*What if the conscious mind knows how to make healthy decisions but does not feel free to make those decisions? For example, what if this mind is channeled to feel peaceful—only while meeting the needs of loved ones? How often will inner conflict arise? *If asked to described inner conflict in two words, I'd choose: indecisive anxiety ...
*What if one knows that frowns are not ice picks, but the mind has been channeled in such a fearful way that frowns feel like ice picks, all the same ...
What if the only decisions that feel peaceful are those, which cause smiles to flash in this person's direction?
What results when shocking waves of trauma carve channels of fear into the mind of a child? PTSD
What if channels of fear slice this child's voice into two separate parts, like slicing through a pie?
What if a child's voice, which no longer rock boats at home, retains the role of ringleader with peers in school—until the age of eleven—at which time this child moves from the big, bustling city to her beloved Dad’s dream house in the suburbs, where once again, fate rings her bell—and still being green and unsuspecting of life's sudden twists and turns—this child runs eagerly out the door with her sense of adventure intact and her vulnerability exposed?
What if many aspects of life, which had once felt safe and familiar outside the home, are slugged into a mental stupor? Thrice? Once at three. Then at eleven. Then at twelve. (Thank goodness, she does well in school!)
What if much that this child knows of herself slips into such a dark sense of confusion that the maze inside her mind swallows her waking hours, whole?
Where might this child—hide from truths too painful to bear? Truths too painful to bare? Too painful to share?
*What may result if basic needs cross wire and mental clarity short circuits?
*What if the conscious mind knows how to make healthy decisions but does not feel free to make those decisions? For example, what if this mind is channeled to feel peaceful—only while meeting the needs of loved ones? How often will inner conflict arise? *If asked to described inner conflict in two words, I'd choose: indecisive anxiety ...
*What if one knows that frowns are not ice picks, but the mind has been channeled in such a fearful way that frowns feel like ice picks, all the same ...
What if the only decisions that feel peaceful are those, which cause smiles to flash in this person's direction?
What results when shocking waves of trauma carve channels of fear into the mind of a child? PTSD
What if channels of fear slice this child's voice into two separate parts, like slicing through a pie?
What if a child's voice, which no longer rock boats at home, retains the role of ringleader with peers in school—until the age of eleven—at which time this child moves from the big, bustling city to her beloved Dad’s dream house in the suburbs, where once again, fate rings her bell—and still being green and unsuspecting of life's sudden twists and turns—this child runs eagerly out the door with her sense of adventure intact and her vulnerability exposed?
What if many aspects of life, which had once felt safe and familiar outside the home, are slugged into a mental stupor? Thrice? Once at three. Then at eleven. Then at twelve. (Thank goodness, she does well in school!)
What if much that this child knows of herself slips into such a dark sense of confusion that the maze inside her mind swallows her waking hours, whole?
Where might this child—hide from truths too painful to bear? Truths too painful to bare? Too painful to share?
Perhaps she'll seek refuge in books ...
It's important to note that once clarity shatters and reality splatters, like raw eggs on the ground, the brain's defense system pushes as much fear as possible into the subconscious. In this way does a child, teen or adult believe herself (himself) whole, when in truth, this person's sense of awareness has split into two, separate parts. Once this split occurs, the conscious mind finds it impossible to differentiate between reality and time spent in Denialand—unless courage to puncture the surface is mustered. (Ah ha! So that's why no man is an island. *We can't penetrate defensive walls without astute help!)
For the most part it's easy to see how a mind, working to remain in Denialand, must pretend that eggs are not smashing, here and there. As tip toeing over smashed eggs can get quite messy—especially if you're pretending those smashed eggs are not there—well, anyone who's walked on eggshells understands how comfort zones narrow, over time. You see, unresolved problems lead to many more. Therefore, broken egg shells grow plentiful. And if we feel the need to mask our vulnerabilities (from ourselves!), causing comfort zones to narrow even more, then treading carefully, we hold our breath, deprive ourselves of oxygen and guess what happens, next? A state of light headed anxiety makes us crawl into bed, where we pull the covers over our heads in hopes that the harsh aspects of reality will just go away and leave us alone!
For many years, my conscious mind blew up balloons, filled with futility, while my subconscious hid reality's pins out of view. Try to 'help' a person to exit Denialand before readiness matures and watch hot spots of defensive pins poke through thin skin and stick you! Though one side of the personality looks like flower, fragile petals can turn into thick skinned cactus spines quick as a cute, little pup can bite. *Though we can master biting pups, the only adult we can 'teach' not to bite (even when wounded) is—oneself.
As it becomes plain to see, we have no clue of repressing certain strengths along with portions of our voices when we're young. Thus: *It stands to reason that confusion causes clarity to grow fuzzier by the year.
Once the mind is compartmentalized into conscious and subconscious portions, we can't penetrate defensive walls, which separate fiction of our own making from the truth—without seeking help. On the other hand, slices of truth remain stored within our subconscious along with the silenced part of each voice, which morphs into the 'little voice', that's all too often, ignored, deep inside our core.
As many years will pass before I develop the habit of digging deep in search of repressed emotion, I'll worry that what others say about me may be true. Why? Because: *Insecurity is a highly impressionable critter. *Insecurity is a trait that exacerbates confusion. Why? Because the older we get, the more contrasting opinions we absorb. Ye Gads! Imagine the mess of mixed-messaged madness that lays ahead! (Thank goodness my mind will take me on quests!)
Instead of peering into a mirror with 20/20 vision, my take on life is about to resemble a fun house mirror. I mean it's one thing to sit in a darkened theater, wearing 3D glasses, staring at things, which clarify as they 'seem' to leap off of a fuzzy screen. It's quite another to walk through life with a fuzzy vision of oneself until maturity consciously pieces together bigger pictures, so that crucial aspects of life clarify in 3D ...
I've often heard: How much can one person take?
On the other hand, I've also heard: When it rains it pours.
As life is a two sided coin, I gather insights, which expand my views:
Imagine the trauma of your home crashing down on your head during a tornado. Pretty hard to take, right?
Now, imagine being alone and going into labor while your home is crashing down on your head during a tornado ...
Life becomes much more complicated than children or adults can fathom. And the length of time that a strong adult can handle unresolved conflict may depend upon how many storms are crashing down, all at once. When observers fail to look beneath the surface of the little that can be readily seen, it's common to minimize that which others can no longer bear. Miss the depth of the storms raining down upon a head, laboring to fathom pain, which will not resolve, on all sides, then you dismiss the sincerity of the exhaustion, which is clearly reaching out to a support system for help. Finally, when juggling several umbrellas is no longer an option—watch the strengths, which support the spirit, collapse under the weight of being unheard. It's common for support systems to turn a deaf ear until the body of a seasoned batter, in need of an extended rest, has no choice left other than to bench oneself. When the blindness of others continues to minimize heavy weights that exhaustion can no longer carry, it takes inner strength to say: Enough's enough! It also takes a voice ...
As the conscious mind of a child has no clue of wandering ever more deeply into life's emotional maze, tykes morph into adults, who are often blind to the difference between 'harsh truths' and manipulative 'put downs'. As long as adults remain blindly impressionable to the opinions of those who judge the little that can be seen on the surface—fear will submerge our deepest needs within our core—behind denial's walls.
If we can't see the sum of our parts as a whole then we'll remain unaware of how often the blind lead the blind. *As a result of self imposed blindness, successful people commonly swing from self confidence to insecurity in a flash.
*If you have no clue as to when your conscious mind swings toward defensive pretense, it's tough to distinguish defensive reactions from core strengths. *In short, self esteem suffers painfully when the defense system blocks us from seeing how often denial breathes life into misperception.
It's important to note that once clarity shatters and reality splatters, like raw eggs on the ground, the brain's defense system pushes as much fear as possible into the subconscious. In this way does a child, teen or adult believe herself (himself) whole, when in truth, this person's sense of awareness has split into two, separate parts. Once this split occurs, the conscious mind finds it impossible to differentiate between reality and time spent in Denialand—unless courage to puncture the surface is mustered. (Ah ha! So that's why no man is an island. *We can't penetrate defensive walls without astute help!)
For the most part it's easy to see how a mind, working to remain in Denialand, must pretend that eggs are not smashing, here and there. As tip toeing over smashed eggs can get quite messy—especially if you're pretending those smashed eggs are not there—well, anyone who's walked on eggshells understands how comfort zones narrow, over time. You see, unresolved problems lead to many more. Therefore, broken egg shells grow plentiful. And if we feel the need to mask our vulnerabilities (from ourselves!), causing comfort zones to narrow even more, then treading carefully, we hold our breath, deprive ourselves of oxygen and guess what happens, next? A state of light headed anxiety makes us crawl into bed, where we pull the covers over our heads in hopes that the harsh aspects of reality will just go away and leave us alone!
For many years, my conscious mind blew up balloons, filled with futility, while my subconscious hid reality's pins out of view. Try to 'help' a person to exit Denialand before readiness matures and watch hot spots of defensive pins poke through thin skin and stick you! Though one side of the personality looks like flower, fragile petals can turn into thick skinned cactus spines quick as a cute, little pup can bite. *Though we can master biting pups, the only adult we can 'teach' not to bite (even when wounded) is—oneself.
As it becomes plain to see, we have no clue of repressing certain strengths along with portions of our voices when we're young. Thus: *It stands to reason that confusion causes clarity to grow fuzzier by the year.
Once the mind is compartmentalized into conscious and subconscious portions, we can't penetrate defensive walls, which separate fiction of our own making from the truth—without seeking help. On the other hand, slices of truth remain stored within our subconscious along with the silenced part of each voice, which morphs into the 'little voice', that's all too often, ignored, deep inside our core.
As many years will pass before I develop the habit of digging deep in search of repressed emotion, I'll worry that what others say about me may be true. Why? Because: *Insecurity is a highly impressionable critter. *Insecurity is a trait that exacerbates confusion. Why? Because the older we get, the more contrasting opinions we absorb. Ye Gads! Imagine the mess of mixed-messaged madness that lays ahead! (Thank goodness my mind will take me on quests!)
Instead of peering into a mirror with 20/20 vision, my take on life is about to resemble a fun house mirror. I mean it's one thing to sit in a darkened theater, wearing 3D glasses, staring at things, which clarify as they 'seem' to leap off of a fuzzy screen. It's quite another to walk through life with a fuzzy vision of oneself until maturity consciously pieces together bigger pictures, so that crucial aspects of life clarify in 3D ...
I've often heard: How much can one person take?
On the other hand, I've also heard: When it rains it pours.
As life is a two sided coin, I gather insights, which expand my views:
Imagine the trauma of your home crashing down on your head during a tornado. Pretty hard to take, right?
Now, imagine being alone and going into labor while your home is crashing down on your head during a tornado ...
Life becomes much more complicated than children or adults can fathom. And the length of time that a strong adult can handle unresolved conflict may depend upon how many storms are crashing down, all at once. When observers fail to look beneath the surface of the little that can be readily seen, it's common to minimize that which others can no longer bear. Miss the depth of the storms raining down upon a head, laboring to fathom pain, which will not resolve, on all sides, then you dismiss the sincerity of the exhaustion, which is clearly reaching out to a support system for help. Finally, when juggling several umbrellas is no longer an option—watch the strengths, which support the spirit, collapse under the weight of being unheard. It's common for support systems to turn a deaf ear until the body of a seasoned batter, in need of an extended rest, has no choice left other than to bench oneself. When the blindness of others continues to minimize heavy weights that exhaustion can no longer carry, it takes inner strength to say: Enough's enough! It also takes a voice ...
As the conscious mind of a child has no clue of wandering ever more deeply into life's emotional maze, tykes morph into adults, who are often blind to the difference between 'harsh truths' and manipulative 'put downs'. As long as adults remain blindly impressionable to the opinions of those who judge the little that can be seen on the surface—fear will submerge our deepest needs within our core—behind denial's walls.
If we can't see the sum of our parts as a whole then we'll remain unaware of how often the blind lead the blind. *As a result of self imposed blindness, successful people commonly swing from self confidence to insecurity in a flash.
*If you have no clue as to when your conscious mind swings toward defensive pretense, it's tough to distinguish defensive reactions from core strengths. *In short, self esteem suffers painfully when the defense system blocks us from seeing how often denial breathes life into misperception.
If you'd like see details fleshed in, which had pinched the self esteem of a blue eyed, dark haired child, causing her comfort zones to narrow and catch her voice in her throat—well, this is your lucky day, because those essential details have already been plugged into the bigger picture of this girl's ordinary life within a series of posts entitled:
BULLY FOR ME
FIRST KISS
TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR
FIRST KISS
TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR
To simplify matters, these stories begin with post #6
Written on 2/26/2011 ... starting with:
BULLY FOR ME Part 1 VICTIMS NEED VILLAINS
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