Having named many fears that haunt my social conscience sees me standing on the first rung of a virtual step stool that my sense of courage must climb if I hope to peer beyond this current layer of my defense system's wall of denial in order to get a clear view of a negatively focused character trait that I've not yet consciously acknowledged as my own. And if you ask why my power of intuition has suddenly compelled my conscious awareness to tune into parent tapes, I'd reply: Whenever my peace of mind succumbs to a confounding rise in my stress level, my survival instinct floods my mind with adrenaline-driven anxiety, offering my smarts sound reason to rebalance my present perspective of personal vulnerabilities and strengths by directing insight's spotlight to focus my conscious awareness upon a specific train of thought that will identify my subconscious resistance to maximizing my contentment at this late stage of my life ... after all, if longevity is in my genes then it's highly possible that a fourth of my life is yet to be enjoyed!
As is true of most posts, I began to write post 1467C without a conscious clue as to how my intuitive powers might coax my conscious awareness to identify a mysterious train of thought, which has been tunneling through my subconscious, disrupting my peace of mind until a string of insights shone its spotlight upon that step stool, mentioned above, and once the presence of this step stool shaped up inside my mind, curiosity aroused the imaginative portion of my brain to muster the gumption to climb up to the first rung in hopes of discovering another negatively focused character trait or unnamed fear that's been haunting my self image with bouts of undeserved guilt ever since childhood when the undeveloped nature of my thought processor had misinterpreted the complex nature of explosive emotional reactions emanating impatiently from authority figures to whom I'd offered my love so unconditionally as to have patterned my mind to believe that any demonstration of over-reactiveness on their parts must have, somehow, been all my fault ... so if, consequential of my youthful inability to comprehend emotional complexity, I'd committed an on-going series of age-appropriate misdemeanors only to find myself falling victim to overwhelming and deeply confounding internal sensations of parental pressure to toe the impossible mark of perfection, most especially in the wake of Janet's tragic death when tension, grief and tortured exclamations of blame ran so high as to annihilate any reaction resembling patience with a deeply confounded, panic stricken, three year old tyke then we can understand what caused my think tank to split into warring camps, one side of which would consciously and courageously stamp my foot, declaring myself innocent of committing murder while subconsciously my three year old mind would have unwittingly absorbed absolute authority's lack of objectivity, suggestive of my inexperienced intelligence succumbing to condemning myself guilty as charged of wrongdoing so heinous as to misjudge myself unworthy of love, and knowing that the subconscious self-worth of a pleaser with perfectionistic tendencies depends upon the sliding scale of outside validation, my connection to self love would subconsciously sever from my personal sense of safety each time a loved one or authority figure so much as frowned in my direction, and now that my intuition has empowered today's mysterious train of thought to tunnel through my subconscious, coupling insights together until deeper truth has guided our conscious minds to see the light of a brand new dawning, we come to see why over achievers feel compelled to do more than our fair share whenever help may be needed so as to block an eruptive episode of PTSD from sitting a good child in the hot seat, where she or he, feeling deeply wounded and utterly confounded, replays parent tapes, which serve to disconnect intelligent thought from self respect as soon as subconscious flashbacks, which stimulate anxiety to strike, open sink holes within our think tanks of such mega proportions as to suck the energy right out of our spirits' sense of personal safety, leaving our thought processors feeling blindsided by mental confusion, which signals an attitude of defensiveness to usurp control over the human brain's ability to think smart on the spot, and once defensiveness displaces objectivity, my sudden lack of self respect threatens my peace of mind with resurrecting the same degree of emotional pain, fear and grief as had been true during my youth when, having disappointed a loved one, all I'd wanted to do was to curl up in the fetal position and pull a paper bag over my head so as to hide my shameful imperfections from prying eyes until my spirit, feeling somewhat re-energized, inspires my intuitive intelligence to grow ever more attentive to my need to muster the courage to remove the paper bag and open my eyes to confront and absorb yet another insight-laden, deeper truth, concerning a vulnerability that has been in need of clarifying, naming and strengthening ever since the role I'd assumed as The Fixer in the aftermath of my birth family's tragedy led three-year old me to carve out a path where a hefty portion of my fledgling sense of self-respect had failed to develop the wingspan necessary to expand my horizons beyond serving the needs of those I love so as to free my smarts to choose when to fly on my own, above the incessant demands of the maddening crowd most especially at those times when conflicting needs crash into each other's heads so painfully as to force me to fly separate from the flock in order to hear my voice declaring that my think tank heed my inner need to empower my personal strengths to lift my sense of self respect over parent tapes, which had focused my perfectionistic-good girl-tendencies toward toeing the mark by clipping my own wings, repeatedly ...
Whew!
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