Few first-born children in their right minds enjoy being dethroned by the next heir in line. Common sense suggests that number one secretly, or not so secretly, wishes that number two would disappear. This is where beware of what you wish for proves true: When the first born’s wish actually comes true, who can measure the subconscious guilt that drowns a young child’s spirit beneath tidal waves of grief, which imprison every heart within the extended family upon which this merry little girl depends upon for sustenance and love.
Many years later my white haired mother and I will gaze at my mountain while swaying side by side on my sky blue, softly cushioned patio swing. And while swinging peaceably, Mom will disclose that one day, months after my sister Janet's death, she emerged from her fog of pain just enough to recognize the depth of my misery, as she watched me wandering wanly around our apartment, eyes dull and down cast, thumb woefully in mouth. At this, Mom’s conscious awareness of my unmet needs drew her back to life. “I remembered,” she said, “that before Janet’s birth, you’d been the sun, the earth, the moon, and all the stars in the sky to Dad and me, Annie. So, I forced myself to smile and laugh and play and dance and sing with you in hopes of inspiring your spirit to thrive, again, too.”
The power of love is quite the phenomenon, because in the aftermath of family tragedy, it’s not uncommon to resuscitate our spirits for the sake of those we love rather than for the well being of one’s own mental health. However, here is a serious problem that commonly arises when one must remain ‘selfless’for too long: When one forces the spirit to stretch too far to save a loved one from drowning in sorrow—and ifone’s best attempts are unsuccessful—then he or she doing the saving may be theone who, emptying of energy, goes down for the count.
Throughout my life, I’ve often heard my mother say, “Annie, you were always anexceptionally good child. You kept yourself busy and rarely said,‘No!’ You were always my eager little helper. Since you’d oftenwalk away, scratching while fulfilling my requests, I discussed that concernwith your doctor, who said: ‘Jennie, you can raise a spoiled child with perfect skin, or a littlegirl who scratches but behaves well.’ ” And thus did scratch and smile develop into my M.O.
Years later, after I’ll have had time to put two and two together, here’s whatdawned on me: Having lost Mom’sattentiveness for a considerable length of time and fearing any response on mypart that might add to her unhappiness, I’d internalized my negative emotions whilecomplying with her requests. Withtime, I couldn’t fathom feeling angry, so my defense system tried to get me totune into the fact that I’d scratched my skin like crazy instead of ‘actingout’ or throwing tantrums. During this crucial time of developmental whentykes are known to assert their independence in trying ways, my spirit split inhalf, and the eczema that I’d inherited genetically before Janet’s birth became my Achilles heel after herdeath.
In recent years, I’ve come to realize that a family tragedy can split a child’s sense of awarenessright down the middle in the same way that a streak of lightening splits thelayered strengths of a healthy tree. So, in addition to developing a highspirited, self directed smile, I’ll have grown to be an extremely watchful,overly cautious child, whose subconscious made self protective decisions tocomply with the needs of loved ones over asserting my needs. In this waydid I acquire a compassionate, care-giving role, which in truth stemmed morefrom a fearful sense of watchful self-preservation thancasual observers might conceive.
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