Alas, here again I come face-to-face with my past.
I fear writing out confessions like this because one-upon-a-time I debated (frothing at the mouth) against those who would dare read, veiw, or consider (reading or indulging in) the Harry Potter books and movie series.
I remember two such occasions very clearly, but undoubtedly there were more.
Honestly, now, the most radical change in my outlook has come from a lack of fear.
To a great degree the reasons we were discouraged from ever showing interest in HP was because of the fear-mongering. "Let your child read HP and before you know it they will become wiccans!"
"HP teaches children the basic lower levels of spells. Soon they will have evil spirits they can command."
"J.K. Rowling is a secret witch. These books are an effort to make more witches and spread demon possession to the rest of the world....." etc, etc
(and no, I dont think any of these are extreme. I have heard all of these in various ways and more)
A second reason, I believe, is due to a lot more faith in myself.
I dont think I am stupid enough to believe that I can replicate spells and try them and turn into a witch.
I dont think I will be 'taken in' by this evil message. I am smarter than that and I am not afraid of it.
What is wrong with reading a novel? Is it 'sin'?
In short, no. There is NOTHING wrong with reading, or with reading books that the world likes a lot, or with reading books that may portray actions and behaviors that you might not indulge in. Like a murder mystery. Reading an Agatha Christie novel wont turn you into a killer any more than reading Harry Potter will turn you into a witch, wizard, or wiccan.
Use your mind. It is your greatest asset and your best organ. Take all advice with a grain of salt. Think through things carefully and make up your own mind.
And live!! Live fully and with joy.
What more can we desire for a good life?
July 31, 2011
July 26, 2011
Troll God vs. ?
Right on the heels of reading a link that my sister sent me about the personality/character of God as opposed to what the common perception of Him is; I got into this comment-discussion on a person-I-know's facebook:
(My comments are #2, 4, and 5. Someone else is comment #3. The original author wrote the first comment and the end responses.)
(If you click on the picture you can zoom in on it and read better)
The people my dad (in his own loving way) called "pew warmers" would probably benefit from these thoughts and reminder.
For me, it was like a flashback to all the terror of my childhood.
I was being over-reactive, but for so much of my life I DID see god as just that: a troll, a control-freak, a selfish self-seeker.
He takes stuff away, just because I like it.
He doesnt want me to be happy or to enjoy things.
I would hide my love and delight because I thought that maybe if God saw he would take it away from me, or kill it, like he killed my bunny when I was young. (the rabbit died from other causes, but I loved that thing like I had loved nothing else).
Whenever something good happened in my life I would fear to enjoy and live it to the fullest because I was possibly elevating it above God. And then where would I be? Back in the grey-colored world of serving Him first and putting aside everything else I might possibly like so that He wouldnt re-call it.
At this point, I cant say for sure what I have decided 'god' is or isnt. I dont know much about him for sure from the tangle of "what-ive-been-taught" that chokes out the sunlight.
The problem with teaching your children that everything you (their parent) believes is correct, is that when one of your beliefs begins to shake, everything comes crashing down.
I was NOT allowed to question my father's theology. He had gone to a prestigious college and had a pastor's degree and a doctorate. He had preached and saved souls on the mission field for 18 years.
When I was (extra-biblically, which does NOT happen, mind you) 'spoken' to by God, my father spent a couple days debating me into silence on the issue.
When a friend I email-debated with for a year or so finally brought me around to a balanced view of Sovereignty vs. Free Will my father cut me off from communicating. (he said I wasnt allowed to email boys because I would give my heart away/fall in love/taint my purity or something like that)
When I dared to look him in the eye and postulate that God would speak to me if He had any special plans for my life and NOT through daddy; my father told me I would need to find a different place to live.
But through this year, I have had faithful friends who have not preached at me or forced me to believe or attend or toe the line. The have encouraged me to believe that God wants me to be happy. And that he gives us good things, and takes his people to a land flowing with milk and honey so that they can delight in it and WITH him.
The frugal, do things the old way, puritanical "suffer to prove your faith and dedication" is much to engrained in me. I was told by many (including a grandmother and brother) that I was running away from trials at home and by leaving I was saying that God's strength wasnt enough for me, or that I didnt have enough faith to endure these little trials. I mean, after all, what is grounding and removal of all communication with the outside world compared to being burned at the stake or torn apart by lions?
I still struggle to believe that God would want me to be happy. To enjoy life.
To have people who love me in my life. I fear always that they will leave or be taken away.
I hide my true feelings hoping that the heavenly troll wont see and brutally destroy.
I want to understand God like Mrs. G does. She came up to me last night, her face glowing, talking about her God who loved her.
Why does this hurt so much? Make me cry?
(My comments are #2, 4, and 5. Someone else is comment #3. The original author wrote the first comment and the end responses.)
(If you click on the picture you can zoom in on it and read better)
The people my dad (in his own loving way) called "pew warmers" would probably benefit from these thoughts and reminder.
For me, it was like a flashback to all the terror of my childhood.
I was being over-reactive, but for so much of my life I DID see god as just that: a troll, a control-freak, a selfish self-seeker.
He takes stuff away, just because I like it.
He doesnt want me to be happy or to enjoy things.
I would hide my love and delight because I thought that maybe if God saw he would take it away from me, or kill it, like he killed my bunny when I was young. (the rabbit died from other causes, but I loved that thing like I had loved nothing else).
Whenever something good happened in my life I would fear to enjoy and live it to the fullest because I was possibly elevating it above God. And then where would I be? Back in the grey-colored world of serving Him first and putting aside everything else I might possibly like so that He wouldnt re-call it.
At this point, I cant say for sure what I have decided 'god' is or isnt. I dont know much about him for sure from the tangle of "what-ive-been-taught" that chokes out the sunlight.
The problem with teaching your children that everything you (their parent) believes is correct, is that when one of your beliefs begins to shake, everything comes crashing down.
I was NOT allowed to question my father's theology. He had gone to a prestigious college and had a pastor's degree and a doctorate. He had preached and saved souls on the mission field for 18 years.
When I was (extra-biblically, which does NOT happen, mind you) 'spoken' to by God, my father spent a couple days debating me into silence on the issue.
When a friend I email-debated with for a year or so finally brought me around to a balanced view of Sovereignty vs. Free Will my father cut me off from communicating. (he said I wasnt allowed to email boys because I would give my heart away/fall in love/taint my purity or something like that)
When I dared to look him in the eye and postulate that God would speak to me if He had any special plans for my life and NOT through daddy; my father told me I would need to find a different place to live.
But through this year, I have had faithful friends who have not preached at me or forced me to believe or attend or toe the line. The have encouraged me to believe that God wants me to be happy. And that he gives us good things, and takes his people to a land flowing with milk and honey so that they can delight in it and WITH him.
The frugal, do things the old way, puritanical "suffer to prove your faith and dedication" is much to engrained in me. I was told by many (including a grandmother and brother) that I was running away from trials at home and by leaving I was saying that God's strength wasnt enough for me, or that I didnt have enough faith to endure these little trials. I mean, after all, what is grounding and removal of all communication with the outside world compared to being burned at the stake or torn apart by lions?
I still struggle to believe that God would want me to be happy. To enjoy life.
To have people who love me in my life. I fear always that they will leave or be taken away.
I hide my true feelings hoping that the heavenly troll wont see and brutally destroy.
I want to understand God like Mrs. G does. She came up to me last night, her face glowing, talking about her God who loved her.
Why does this hurt so much? Make me cry?
July 7, 2011
One Year
I worked Thursday straight through to Tuesday this week.
Every day, nose to the grindstone.
Friday evening I was having serious health concerns, so I went home and slept as much as possible.
I was really glad to see June go. I guess I blocked everything, or work was so busy (it was very busy this weekend) that I didnt have time to remember the events of last year.
Last year, readers, my parents found out about the blog.
Last year, at the beginning of June they confiscated my phone and all access to outside communication.
Last year, they began closing in.
I endured a couple long weeks of this until my respite.
The last week of June we sell fireworks at a roadside tent. We had done it for 3 years previous and last year was our 4th year. They offered me 40% off the net they were going to make if I did the majority of the work. I was excited by the offer, because previously they had paid me only a very small amount.
So I threw myself into it heart and soul. I was there almost every moment of that two weeks (with the exception of going home a couple hours to shower and change and one afternoon I went to a friend's graduation party). I took in the inventory in the mornings, arranged products, greeted customers, sold, checked them out, worked with bad signal on the credit card machine, worked around inclement weather and tried not getting any products wet (gunpowder and all that), and slept there to ensure the product safety.
We stayed open an extra day because the sales were less than hoped/estimated by the company we contracted for. He only let a couple stands do that, and we were one of the better ones. *pats self on the back
We made another couple thousand dollars and that evening we began the arduous process of packing everything up, final inventory, taking down tables, cleaning (if it is left messy we are penalized), and then counting up the sheets and totaling everything.
Having begun the day around 8am, we finished and I drove a full car home at 1am.
Once home, we unpacked everything that wasnt to be taken back to the warehouse the next day, and put away food, did dishes, and put the sleepy kids who helped through showers and to bed. At 2:30 or so I told my mother I wanted to go to bed. I was covered in gunpowder residue from packing and dust from sweeping. I had accounted for all the products and done all the math. The finished sheets were in order and ready to be taken in at 8AM (just 6 hours away).
She said to wait because Daddy had wanted to run the numbers and 'total' everything. (ie. see how much we made, sales vs return inventory, gross vs net with sales tax, and etc.) I said that I didnt want to (I was too tired), and that we would be doing it in just a couple hours with the company people.
But no, he insisted we do it and he insisted that I be present and assist him.
I was too tired to care. I did not accommodate him with something he was confused about (it was so stupidly easy). He insisted that I spell it out for him and hand it to him piece by piece even though he could have done it himself. Even mother tried to help him and he refused to listen to her/take her help. He wanted to make me do it.
He threatened every trick in the book and I laughed in his face. Literally. When I am overtired I giggle and get very silly. I laughed. I refused to help him and I repeated over and over how tired I was and how I needed to go to bed.
He finally got everything counted up and it resulted in a $500 overage. I looked at my worried mother and told her firmly not to believe it. He got even madder at this, but she helped him recalculate and found a charge he missed. When the second round was finished we came up $1,000 short. Even more upset mother. I, again, told her to not believe the findings.
I finally got downstairs to take my shower long past 3am. And I fell into bed exhausted and set my alarm for 8 so I could be up and dressed in time to go. The next morning, just as I was dressed, I received a text from my father (upstairs) telling me that I was not going and I should not get up.
After running the tent and signing my name on all the forms, it was a childish move on his part. I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed. The rest of the day I went about doing my housework duties and cleaning up from a week of chaotic going and selling. When Daddy got home he ignored me with a frosty cone of silence. I ignored him because I felt that although I may have laughed in his face, I had warned him before we started that I was over tired and needed to get to bed.
We came out only $200 down, and it was our best year in that respect. The next day, (the 7th) I got up later and everyone was doing their own thing in various rooms of the house. On the table I found a sheet of paper with my name on it and a stack of $20s. It calculated the total commission we made, then the net, then my 40% minus a couple hundred for 'being disrespectful' (one of the things he threatened me with the night of the 5th/morning of the 6th). My cut came to about the same amount that I had hoped to make in the first place.
Also, they were going to 'allow' me to still go on the family outing later that month.
When (around lunch time) they looked on the table and noticed the money gone they were distraught and questioned me sternly about it. I told them honestly what time I had come up and taken it. They were angry and wanted me to go get the money and bring it back to them because I had 'stolen' it off the table. I asked how I could steal my own wages and they said that unless it was GIVEN to me, it was not yet mine and I had stolen it.
I never brought the money back upstairs, but they were quite miffed at me for taking it without an official 'giving'(/shaming) ceremony.
It was my birthday, I didnt care. I had the money safely hidden and I had an exit date.
Through helpful friends and a hideaway spot I had been able to receive mail.
Someone had helped me to a pay-as-you-go phone and I had been able to call late at night when no one could hear me or come in and find me with an illegal contacting-the-outside-world device.
My sister had talked with Mrs. G some on the phone after her offer of housing and we decided to take the chance and drive that far in hopes that I would not be chased/followed/found.
The rest of the day was my second best birthday ever.
I had only a couple more weeks to wait out, a big family outing, and then I was leaving.
Every day, nose to the grindstone.
Friday evening I was having serious health concerns, so I went home and slept as much as possible.
I was really glad to see June go. I guess I blocked everything, or work was so busy (it was very busy this weekend) that I didnt have time to remember the events of last year.
Last year, readers, my parents found out about the blog.
Last year, at the beginning of June they confiscated my phone and all access to outside communication.
Last year, they began closing in.
I endured a couple long weeks of this until my respite.
The last week of June we sell fireworks at a roadside tent. We had done it for 3 years previous and last year was our 4th year. They offered me 40% off the net they were going to make if I did the majority of the work. I was excited by the offer, because previously they had paid me only a very small amount.
So I threw myself into it heart and soul. I was there almost every moment of that two weeks (with the exception of going home a couple hours to shower and change and one afternoon I went to a friend's graduation party). I took in the inventory in the mornings, arranged products, greeted customers, sold, checked them out, worked with bad signal on the credit card machine, worked around inclement weather and tried not getting any products wet (gunpowder and all that), and slept there to ensure the product safety.
We stayed open an extra day because the sales were less than hoped/estimated by the company we contracted for. He only let a couple stands do that, and we were one of the better ones. *pats self on the back
We made another couple thousand dollars and that evening we began the arduous process of packing everything up, final inventory, taking down tables, cleaning (if it is left messy we are penalized), and then counting up the sheets and totaling everything.
Having begun the day around 8am, we finished and I drove a full car home at 1am.
Once home, we unpacked everything that wasnt to be taken back to the warehouse the next day, and put away food, did dishes, and put the sleepy kids who helped through showers and to bed. At 2:30 or so I told my mother I wanted to go to bed. I was covered in gunpowder residue from packing and dust from sweeping. I had accounted for all the products and done all the math. The finished sheets were in order and ready to be taken in at 8AM (just 6 hours away).
She said to wait because Daddy had wanted to run the numbers and 'total' everything. (ie. see how much we made, sales vs return inventory, gross vs net with sales tax, and etc.) I said that I didnt want to (I was too tired), and that we would be doing it in just a couple hours with the company people.
But no, he insisted we do it and he insisted that I be present and assist him.
I was too tired to care. I did not accommodate him with something he was confused about (it was so stupidly easy). He insisted that I spell it out for him and hand it to him piece by piece even though he could have done it himself. Even mother tried to help him and he refused to listen to her/take her help. He wanted to make me do it.
He threatened every trick in the book and I laughed in his face. Literally. When I am overtired I giggle and get very silly. I laughed. I refused to help him and I repeated over and over how tired I was and how I needed to go to bed.
He finally got everything counted up and it resulted in a $500 overage. I looked at my worried mother and told her firmly not to believe it. He got even madder at this, but she helped him recalculate and found a charge he missed. When the second round was finished we came up $1,000 short. Even more upset mother. I, again, told her to not believe the findings.
I finally got downstairs to take my shower long past 3am. And I fell into bed exhausted and set my alarm for 8 so I could be up and dressed in time to go. The next morning, just as I was dressed, I received a text from my father (upstairs) telling me that I was not going and I should not get up.
After running the tent and signing my name on all the forms, it was a childish move on his part. I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed. The rest of the day I went about doing my housework duties and cleaning up from a week of chaotic going and selling. When Daddy got home he ignored me with a frosty cone of silence. I ignored him because I felt that although I may have laughed in his face, I had warned him before we started that I was over tired and needed to get to bed.
We came out only $200 down, and it was our best year in that respect. The next day, (the 7th) I got up later and everyone was doing their own thing in various rooms of the house. On the table I found a sheet of paper with my name on it and a stack of $20s. It calculated the total commission we made, then the net, then my 40% minus a couple hundred for 'being disrespectful' (one of the things he threatened me with the night of the 5th/morning of the 6th). My cut came to about the same amount that I had hoped to make in the first place.
Also, they were going to 'allow' me to still go on the family outing later that month.
When (around lunch time) they looked on the table and noticed the money gone they were distraught and questioned me sternly about it. I told them honestly what time I had come up and taken it. They were angry and wanted me to go get the money and bring it back to them because I had 'stolen' it off the table. I asked how I could steal my own wages and they said that unless it was GIVEN to me, it was not yet mine and I had stolen it.
I never brought the money back upstairs, but they were quite miffed at me for taking it without an official 'giving'(/shaming) ceremony.
It was my birthday, I didnt care. I had the money safely hidden and I had an exit date.
Through helpful friends and a hideaway spot I had been able to receive mail.
Someone had helped me to a pay-as-you-go phone and I had been able to call late at night when no one could hear me or come in and find me with an illegal contacting-the-outside-world device.
My sister had talked with Mrs. G some on the phone after her offer of housing and we decided to take the chance and drive that far in hopes that I would not be chased/followed/found.
The rest of the day was my second best birthday ever.
I had only a couple more weeks to wait out, a big family outing, and then I was leaving.
July 4, 2011
I will NOT be passed over!
I dont usually start with the clips/movies, and definitely not one of this length.
However, if you will simply skip to 5:38 where Eliza proudly exclaims (in part): ".....but I WONT be passed over"
My Fair Lady is one of my all-time favorite movies. Now that I watch it I find the passive-aggressive male authority and the maturing female lead even more intriguing for all the depth of character and their relation to real life.
George Bernard Shaw was a genius.
Anyway, moving on.
I have been feeling 'passed over' all week.
Frequent readers may remember that I was really trying for the bookkeeping position at the grocery store that I work at back in February. Another girl (e.) got the position. Mid-May she told a couple people that she was leaving and going to school the middle/end of August. I waited a bit after the news broke to approach the front-end manager, not wanting to appear over-eager or reckless to job-shop when the position was not even 'cold' as it could be colloquially put.
I came in 30 minutes early the middle of June and spoke to (personnel/front end manager[FEM]) about how I was (still) interested in moving up and asked what I could do to prove my readiness/capability. She said she would need to look through my files and would get back to me later that day. That evening after the store closed she told me that she had not had time and she would get to it later in the week.
I waited a week, and then it was an incredibly busy weekend, so I waited for that to be over. Monday after I was done with work, I asked her if she had had time to look things over and she told me 'regretfully' that the store manager had already approved a transfer from another store as a part-time replacement (e. is full-time). She continued by saying that a part-time bookkeeping slot may come open 'later in the fall', but until a 'posting' (public announcement that the slot was needing to be filled) was approved by the manager, I could not apply/que for the position.
I hate to say bad things about my job. I love it and I get along perfectly with all the employees, and I enjoy talking with customers and helping people and doing all the various and sundry things I do. I have been giving 100% to them for over 9 months now. I have never turned down a call-in/extra day of work or any shift-switch with a fellow employee.
I have come in late only twice in all that time, and I have done my utmost to be the best I could be for them. Again: I love my job.
However: for FEM to tell me that it was the manager who had the last say is a bold-faced lie. I know that and I am probably the least knowledgeable of anyone how workplaces operate. FEM knew that this transfer had applied to work here, and I am sure the manager discussed it with her because the FEM does payroll and schedules and such.
For her to refuse me the job and to refuse me to even 'que' for it is totally mean on her part. She knows darn well what the employment needs on front end are and what jobs are vacated/going to be vacated/need to be filled/are not being filled. it is HER JOB.
But I have learned from all this. I am going to the manager next time, not the FEM. I am going to lay it all out for him plainly.
1) I am dedicated
2) I want this job, and have wanted it for a long time
3) When I was hired, they told me this was my spot
4) I have been your most dedicated employee for 11 months.
5) You yourself have called me in at 7 in the morning (and woke me up) and I came.
6) Last time I asked about this position I was told that it was all in your hands
7) I am very competent and would fill this position perfectly.
8) ...blah blah about my good qualities and the things front end could get from me
I plan on talking to him the week before (e.) leaves. I am NOT letting this get past me again.
Until then I have cut my availability. I have been completely flexible to the point of bending over backwards. Not any more.
I found a job that pays more than cutthroatwage and is managed by someone who was actively recruiting me and mentioned (in the interview) that I was 'supervisor' material and that he wanted me to begin asap. I will begin that in August, hopefully, and work only at the store in the evenings. I might be able to save money and stop living paycheck to paycheck.
I am NOT going to settle for being passed over.
I am NOT going to wait and keep hoping naively that dedicated service and devoted work-ethic will advance me.
I am NOT going to starve and not be able to put gas in my car because I am allowing them to push me aside and barely give me enough hours to call myself 'full time.'
I am NOT going to allow FEM to give me any more stress about money or work or my future.
I will NOT be passed over.
and I dont think I am blaming her too much. I have made endless excuses as to her conduct and I have the gut-feeling that she does not advance me because she does not want me advanced. Either she sees me as a 'good worker bee' or she doesnt want me to be one of her lackeys (ie. bookkeepers).
dont know. I DO know however, that the guy who originally hired me believed in me and in 90 days had me doing everything and trained in everything I could be. The day before they fired him for 'suspicions' he was telling me about how I could start training for bookkeeping the first of the new year.
6 months later I am fighting for just enough hours to pay rent and gas.
I am not whining "poor me, my life is so hard." I am going to change things and I am going to make my life better.
I am not giving them any more than they gave me.
I am sorry, Store. You have ruined your best employee.
June 24, 2011
All I know is....
So the big news of today is that Hillary's Book was reviewed on Christianity Today.
Also, the 'Internet Monk' noted it and sparked a loooong discussion on a semi-related topic: the definition/parameters of the word 'abuse' as it relates to QDs and the Partiarchy movement.
The basic premise of the complainers is that the word 'abuse' is thrown around altogether too much and that its misuse detracts from the people who have really been abused and who are legitimately using it. Only those who have been 'really' abused should use it and applying it to misuse of authority, overbearing fathers, watching younger siblings, etc lowers it's value and is an abuse. (*coughpunlol)
OK: so what DOES qualify as abuse, people-who-think-they-have-the-right-to-tell-other-people-how-to-talk-and-use-words?
I jump whenever there are sudden noises.
I get scared whenever my managers call my name (even if it is just to ask me to make them a frappe)
I worry when Mrs. G get emotional that I am going to get kicked out or that she hates me.
I dont sleep until I exhaust myself because of the nightmares I encounter.
I bury and block feelings and emotion and fight getting close to any person.
All of that qualifies as PTSD.
I have trouble with religion and church attendance, always hearing my dad through the bible or the preacher or the message.
I havent read my bible or 'prayed' for months because I am afraid and angry and upset.
Can that qualify as Spiritual PTSD? Some sort of millstone-worthy ailment?
I fight voices in my head almost every moment of every day: from watching television, to what I wear or dont wear, to how I spend my time, to how I talk, to the things I think and the first thing that pops into my head.
Shame, guilt, accusation of constant sin, fear, depression, anxiety....
What else do I have to 'have' or go through to count to you people?
All I know is the pain and hurt I have gone through.
All I know is my 'normal' is what some people called abuse.
All I know is that they cared enough to speak to my wounds and to help me out of where I was.
All I know is that I am freed from that outwardly.
All I know is that the bonds around my spirit are for me to fight
All I know is that they tell me there is hope and someday I will be whole and healed and free.
All I know is that your quick once-over and dismissal of me hurts.
Also, the 'Internet Monk' noted it and sparked a loooong discussion on a semi-related topic: the definition/parameters of the word 'abuse' as it relates to QDs and the Partiarchy movement.
The basic premise of the complainers is that the word 'abuse' is thrown around altogether too much and that its misuse detracts from the people who have really been abused and who are legitimately using it. Only those who have been 'really' abused should use it and applying it to misuse of authority, overbearing fathers, watching younger siblings, etc lowers it's value and is an abuse. (*coughpunlol)
OK: so what DOES qualify as abuse, people-who-think-they-have-the-right-to-tell-other-people-how-to-talk-and-use-words?
I jump whenever there are sudden noises.
I get scared whenever my managers call my name (even if it is just to ask me to make them a frappe)
I worry when Mrs. G get emotional that I am going to get kicked out or that she hates me.
I dont sleep until I exhaust myself because of the nightmares I encounter.
I bury and block feelings and emotion and fight getting close to any person.
All of that qualifies as PTSD.
I have trouble with religion and church attendance, always hearing my dad through the bible or the preacher or the message.
I havent read my bible or 'prayed' for months because I am afraid and angry and upset.
Can that qualify as Spiritual PTSD? Some sort of millstone-worthy ailment?
I fight voices in my head almost every moment of every day: from watching television, to what I wear or dont wear, to how I spend my time, to how I talk, to the things I think and the first thing that pops into my head.
Shame, guilt, accusation of constant sin, fear, depression, anxiety....
What else do I have to 'have' or go through to count to you people?
All I know is the pain and hurt I have gone through.
All I know is my 'normal' is what some people called abuse.
All I know is that they cared enough to speak to my wounds and to help me out of where I was.
All I know is that I am freed from that outwardly.
All I know is that the bonds around my spirit are for me to fight
All I know is that they tell me there is hope and someday I will be whole and healed and free.
All I know is that your quick once-over and dismissal of me hurts.
June 21, 2011
Fathers and Self-Esteem
(To Feel part 3)
I have been thinking a lot about self-esteem and self-image lately and one thing that came to mind was something my father used to say. In the middle of a periodic talk about courtship/dating/relationship-with-the-opposite-sex/etc he would say something like: "Girls date because they are looking for an ego boost and affection. They want to feel special and they want to think that they matter to someone. The place that they should be getting this is from their fathers...."
Similar inferences may be gotten from courtship/Patriarchy books like: "So Much More"
The general knowledge on this subject is that most women have self-esteem problems and that other people can help solve, or at least be a balm to these wounds.
The problem is how people try to fix in, and especially how in Patriarchal/QF circles these issues are passed off/ignored/called something else/or dealt with wrongly.
I asked Mrs. G about whether she had heard or read anywhere the "daughters should get their emotional cups filled by their fathers" line and she said she had.
All the helpmeet-daughters and that big bad box of emotional incest and whatnot aside; one of the biggest disconnects I find between this lip-service and reality is that for all their talk about being there for their families and ruling and loving their children: fathers do a lot to tear down their daughters self-esteem instead of building it.
Just in the last two weeks that I have been working on this series, I found a half-dozen daughters siting examples of their fathers being negative about their person, or intelligence, or experience.
Anne from the Quicksilver Queen:
Labels like this stick for so much longer than they should. My father also wanted me to 'watch my weight' and would come into my room some afternoons and tell me it was "exercise time". (ie: get up now and get out into the yard and run around because I dont think you have burned enough calories today)
Except, the funny thing was that he wasnt at home during the day and never knew what exercise I did or didnt get. He just saw me as fat.
He would tell me at birthday parties (when I got served a larger slice of cake then maybe someone else got) "A minute on your lips, forever on your hips" and once even said outright that guys would never marry a larger girl if they could get a skinnier one.
He also wanted me to have nicer skin. He offered a couple times to have me be a guinea pig for an acne product they were testing at a college (heard it advertised on the local radio station). He offered to buy a sample of proactive and while he didnt comment on it, I know that he wished I wasnt as be-pimpled as our family genes and my skin-type had me be.
Is it any wonder I still feel fat to this day? Whenever I look in the mirror the first thing I notice are my hips and the second is the profuse red dots all over my face. Even my mother (now into her late 40s) has acne regularly. I just feel like I cant be pretty while I have hips and my family's face.
Honesty, instead of making their daughter secure and emotionally stable at home, I think a lot of Patriarchs end up so crippling their girls self-worth that instead of looking for it elsewhere they are assured in their hearts that it cannot be found in them and they dont think anyone else could find it even if they looked.
Now that I am a rebellious, wicked daughter and left his home, I have the freedom (if I choose) to go out and date. Surely someone out there might find me attractive and/or marriageable material....right?
Yeah..... no. I dont have the self-esteem to sell myself to other people, be it for a job or for a relationship.
I dont see myself as beautiful or possessing the qualities necessary to be or do things.
By default.
I am trying to overcome it, but you never realize how deep a sapling has its roots sunk into the ground until you attempt to pull it up. Like a dandelion, it grows back from the smallest pieces of leftover and when you turn around is in full bloom.
Maybe we are always looking for attention and an ego boost. But crushing (or attempting to crush) the part of me that feels and wants and needs that is not going to help the 'problem', much less fix it and give you the perfect daughter who doesnt date and doesnt 'give her heart away' to a strange guy in return for affection and time spent together.
I have been thinking a lot about self-esteem and self-image lately and one thing that came to mind was something my father used to say. In the middle of a periodic talk about courtship/dating/relationship-with-the-opposite-sex/etc he would say something like: "Girls date because they are looking for an ego boost and affection. They want to feel special and they want to think that they matter to someone. The place that they should be getting this is from their fathers...."
Similar inferences may be gotten from courtship/Patriarchy books like: "So Much More"
The general knowledge on this subject is that most women have self-esteem problems and that other people can help solve, or at least be a balm to these wounds.
The problem is how people try to fix in, and especially how in Patriarchal/QF circles these issues are passed off/ignored/called something else/or dealt with wrongly.
I asked Mrs. G about whether she had heard or read anywhere the "daughters should get their emotional cups filled by their fathers" line and she said she had.
All the helpmeet-daughters and that big bad box of emotional incest and whatnot aside; one of the biggest disconnects I find between this lip-service and reality is that for all their talk about being there for their families and ruling and loving their children: fathers do a lot to tear down their daughters self-esteem instead of building it.
Just in the last two weeks that I have been working on this series, I found a half-dozen daughters siting examples of their fathers being negative about their person, or intelligence, or experience.
Anne from the Quicksilver Queen:
"He rarely ever complimented his daughters. He destroyed my self image by making comments like ‘you should watch your weight’ and ‘you probably don’t need a second helping, right?’ and ‘you better be careful when you’re pregnant…some women take the opportunity as an excuse to eat whatever they want and pig out and get really fat’. It hurts when all you wanted was his approval…for him to be proud of you…and he’s always critical of you, your opinions, thoughts, feelings, emotions, appearance, and everything else you can think of..."And from Permission to Live:
"My parents still acted as though this was up to me, but it had never truly been an option. My Dad told me I would be allowed to take online courses IF I managed to complete my two years of Latin and Greek, plus Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus, and Biology. He explained that the only way I would be smart enough to keep up with college level courses was if I completed all of my home school and 'applied myself for once'...
College was not going to happen, I just wasn’t smart enough."
Labels like this stick for so much longer than they should. My father also wanted me to 'watch my weight' and would come into my room some afternoons and tell me it was "exercise time". (ie: get up now and get out into the yard and run around because I dont think you have burned enough calories today)
Except, the funny thing was that he wasnt at home during the day and never knew what exercise I did or didnt get. He just saw me as fat.
He would tell me at birthday parties (when I got served a larger slice of cake then maybe someone else got) "A minute on your lips, forever on your hips" and once even said outright that guys would never marry a larger girl if they could get a skinnier one.
He also wanted me to have nicer skin. He offered a couple times to have me be a guinea pig for an acne product they were testing at a college (heard it advertised on the local radio station). He offered to buy a sample of proactive and while he didnt comment on it, I know that he wished I wasnt as be-pimpled as our family genes and my skin-type had me be.
Is it any wonder I still feel fat to this day? Whenever I look in the mirror the first thing I notice are my hips and the second is the profuse red dots all over my face. Even my mother (now into her late 40s) has acne regularly. I just feel like I cant be pretty while I have hips and my family's face.
Honesty, instead of making their daughter secure and emotionally stable at home, I think a lot of Patriarchs end up so crippling their girls self-worth that instead of looking for it elsewhere they are assured in their hearts that it cannot be found in them and they dont think anyone else could find it even if they looked.
Now that I am a rebellious, wicked daughter and left his home, I have the freedom (if I choose) to go out and date. Surely someone out there might find me attractive and/or marriageable material....right?
Yeah..... no. I dont have the self-esteem to sell myself to other people, be it for a job or for a relationship.
I dont see myself as beautiful or possessing the qualities necessary to be or do things.
By default.
I am trying to overcome it, but you never realize how deep a sapling has its roots sunk into the ground until you attempt to pull it up. Like a dandelion, it grows back from the smallest pieces of leftover and when you turn around is in full bloom.
Maybe we are always looking for attention and an ego boost. But crushing (or attempting to crush) the part of me that feels and wants and needs that is not going to help the 'problem', much less fix it and give you the perfect daughter who doesnt date and doesnt 'give her heart away' to a strange guy in return for affection and time spent together.
June 17, 2011
Feelings and Self-Esteem
To Feel (Part 2)
Every time I see her I think: "no one is ugly by choice."
She is dubbed "the ugly stepsister #2" by those of us who dont know her real name.
(and I so wish I did. I really want to get to know these girls and find out if I can help any of them in any way)
She and her sister come in together usually, with the group. Everyone at work calls them "The Mennonites" but that is because they dont have any other name. There is one 'family' of a grandmother/mother/3daughters and one who everyone guesses is a daughter-in-law.
And then there are the look-alike 'stepsisters' who are obviously from a different family. They are about 100lbs smaller and have oval faces and frizzy hair. I finally saw their mother (the resemblance is undeniable) and was shocked. The mother is your everyday QF mom and she looks about 50 (give or take a couple years). Yet, her daughters look just as old as she does (lacking only the grey hair).
I hesitate to use the word, but sister #2 is less than plan and bordering on ugly. Her face is unusually pale, with the washed-out and overly large shirts she wears. Her denim skirts are about a size and a half too large and usually wrinkled. She wears sneakers and socks like the rest of them. The mother/grandmother/daughters group smiles and wears flower-patterned skirts and the daughter-in-law knows what colors to wear for her complexion and how to do her hair. She is the most put together of all of them. The Stepsisters never smile (that I have seen) and hang in the background most of the time. Always in denim and never a deviation of style, sag, or wrinkle.
If I had 10 minutes a day I could make that frizzy hair into a classy updo. Another 5 minutes and some blush and her face would light up. A slim pencil skirt, a pair of flats (she is a great height) and a deep magenta colored blouse and this 'ugly stepsister' would be someone ravishingly attractive......
If I were allowed.
If she were allowed.
IF beauty were allowed.
But beauty is dangerous. Beauty is empowering. Beauty is like a wildfire.
Beauty is something that is kept far away from girls because of its terrible influence and how it changes everyone.
Like every other Daughter of Eve, I struggle with self-esteem and hating myself. Ask any girl and if she is honest she could rattle off a list of no less than 10 things she hates about herself and a lot more she would change if she could.
I remember the first time I FELT truly beautiful. The first time I scared myself by calling myself something I had never called myself before: attractive.
I put on this outfit my sister bought for me. It was my size and it was in my favorite color. I was hesitant to wear it because it was lower cut than anything I dared wear before. However, I had been out for almost 6 months and lost some weight and was going to try it if it killed me. I looked in the mirror and had to look away almost immediately.
I was PRETTY!!!! I liked how I looked.
I went out of my room and found Mrs. G.
I asked her (I was scared to death and literally shivering) if it was "OK to feel this pretty." If it was ok to be so beautiful to myself. If it was okay to feel attractive and to like looking this way.
It was scary. I literally was waiting for lightening to fall out of the sky and rapists to storm the house.
I looked beautiful.
"Femininity" is encouraged in patriarchy. Being a dependent, weaker-vessel woman is fine.
Dressing in skirts and not climbing trees or using a chainsaw, but riding horses and making scones.
A meek and quiet spirit: Sure!
Beautiful? No way!!!
You would do better playing with barbie dolls than liking who you are.
Because confident, attractive, and self-assured people arent easily manipulated. They dont take orders from people they dont respect. They dont have to do dirty work to get by, because they can succeed on their own terms. And the power-hungry control-freaks cant take that away from them.
So they squash it in fancy words and biblical terminology and keep girls ugly. Girls who wear clothing two sizes too large so they dont defraud anyone with chest or legs, glancing furtively at the strapless wedding dress on display thinking how much she would love to be a princess for one day. Girls who look dully at the mirror; forbidden to add color to their mouths, cheeks, or eyes which remain (respectively) downturned, sallow, and sad. Girls who look at couples out of the corner of their eye as they walk with their myriad siblings wondering if they could every as pretty as the girl is so a guy might want to put his arm around her as well.
Dying to be seen as attractive by someone else, even if they cant feel it for themselves.
Dying to be needed for more than the food they cook, the dishes they wash, and the square feet they can clean per hour.
Dying to have someone to listen to them.
Dying to know that what they have been through can be validated
Dying to have someone assure them that their pain matters, and that their heart's cries are heard.
Dying to feel wanted.
Dying to be beautiful.
Feeling nothing and hating themselves.
Is it any wonder we are depressed and suicidal?
Every time I see her I think: "no one is ugly by choice."
She is dubbed "the ugly stepsister #2" by those of us who dont know her real name.
(and I so wish I did. I really want to get to know these girls and find out if I can help any of them in any way)
She and her sister come in together usually, with the group. Everyone at work calls them "The Mennonites" but that is because they dont have any other name. There is one 'family' of a grandmother/mother/3daughters and one who everyone guesses is a daughter-in-law.
And then there are the look-alike 'stepsisters' who are obviously from a different family. They are about 100lbs smaller and have oval faces and frizzy hair. I finally saw their mother (the resemblance is undeniable) and was shocked. The mother is your everyday QF mom and she looks about 50 (give or take a couple years). Yet, her daughters look just as old as she does (lacking only the grey hair).
I hesitate to use the word, but sister #2 is less than plan and bordering on ugly. Her face is unusually pale, with the washed-out and overly large shirts she wears. Her denim skirts are about a size and a half too large and usually wrinkled. She wears sneakers and socks like the rest of them. The mother/grandmother/daughters group smiles and wears flower-patterned skirts and the daughter-in-law knows what colors to wear for her complexion and how to do her hair. She is the most put together of all of them. The Stepsisters never smile (that I have seen) and hang in the background most of the time. Always in denim and never a deviation of style, sag, or wrinkle.
If I had 10 minutes a day I could make that frizzy hair into a classy updo. Another 5 minutes and some blush and her face would light up. A slim pencil skirt, a pair of flats (she is a great height) and a deep magenta colored blouse and this 'ugly stepsister' would be someone ravishingly attractive......
If I were allowed.
If she were allowed.
IF beauty were allowed.
But beauty is dangerous. Beauty is empowering. Beauty is like a wildfire.
Beauty is something that is kept far away from girls because of its terrible influence and how it changes everyone.
Like every other Daughter of Eve, I struggle with self-esteem and hating myself. Ask any girl and if she is honest she could rattle off a list of no less than 10 things she hates about herself and a lot more she would change if she could.
I remember the first time I FELT truly beautiful. The first time I scared myself by calling myself something I had never called myself before: attractive.
I put on this outfit my sister bought for me. It was my size and it was in my favorite color. I was hesitant to wear it because it was lower cut than anything I dared wear before. However, I had been out for almost 6 months and lost some weight and was going to try it if it killed me. I looked in the mirror and had to look away almost immediately.
I was PRETTY!!!! I liked how I looked.
I went out of my room and found Mrs. G.
I asked her (I was scared to death and literally shivering) if it was "OK to feel this pretty." If it was ok to be so beautiful to myself. If it was okay to feel attractive and to like looking this way.
It was scary. I literally was waiting for lightening to fall out of the sky and rapists to storm the house.
I looked beautiful.
"Femininity" is encouraged in patriarchy. Being a dependent, weaker-vessel woman is fine.
Dressing in skirts and not climbing trees or using a chainsaw, but riding horses and making scones.
A meek and quiet spirit: Sure!
Beautiful? No way!!!
You would do better playing with barbie dolls than liking who you are.
Because confident, attractive, and self-assured people arent easily manipulated. They dont take orders from people they dont respect. They dont have to do dirty work to get by, because they can succeed on their own terms. And the power-hungry control-freaks cant take that away from them.
So they squash it in fancy words and biblical terminology and keep girls ugly. Girls who wear clothing two sizes too large so they dont defraud anyone with chest or legs, glancing furtively at the strapless wedding dress on display thinking how much she would love to be a princess for one day. Girls who look dully at the mirror; forbidden to add color to their mouths, cheeks, or eyes which remain (respectively) downturned, sallow, and sad. Girls who look at couples out of the corner of their eye as they walk with their myriad siblings wondering if they could every as pretty as the girl is so a guy might want to put his arm around her as well.
Dying to be seen as attractive by someone else, even if they cant feel it for themselves.
Dying to be needed for more than the food they cook, the dishes they wash, and the square feet they can clean per hour.
Dying to have someone to listen to them.
Dying to know that what they have been through can be validated
Dying to have someone assure them that their pain matters, and that their heart's cries are heard.
Dying to feel wanted.
Dying to be beautiful.
Feeling nothing and hating themselves.
Is it any wonder we are depressed and suicidal?
June 14, 2011
To Feel
I have told some people at the place where I work about my past. Largely because of the group of ladies who come in regularly.
One of the middle-aged ladies was very interested and asked me a couple questions about things. She was a people-watcher and had some real questions. It was fun hearing her interest because it helped me think over some things as well.
On question she asked me was:
How do you feel?
The surprising thing about this question was that it took me a day or two to think out a real answer.
Honestly, my first thought was: You Don't.
Feelings are from the deceitful heart and should be ignored at all times and for all situations.
But I knew that wasnt really the case, so I had to think it out. And the truth is that you do feel. You feel the eyes of people taking in your denim ankle skirts and baggy shirts and looking away in disgust. You feel the wear and tear of waking up in the middle of the night to rock a fussy, sick baby to sleep. You feel the multiple burns on your arms, still sensitive every time you open the oven to bake and the heat pours out.
You feel shame for thinking bad thoughts. You feel fear when going out to run errands alone, always watching the people around you warily, ready to scream and run if anyone approaches you. You feel pride when you look at girls with skin showing and tops popping out of their clothing and fat knees under mini shorts. You feel accomplished when you have done all that was required of you and still found time to read your Bible before the day is over. You feel joy when you read a book to a little sibling and get silly and end up tickling them on the floor. You feel safe in your house where no evil can get to you because of your lifestyle and choices.
But in most cases, feelings on the positive (or seemingly positive) scale are emphasized and talked about and the negative (or perceived negative) ones are censured.
Feelings like depression, anger, resentment, grief, pain, and loneliness were hidden. It is not befitting a young woman of God to be angry, or to give way to depression, or bitterness. Unless, perhaps, it be towards lost souls or those dying in foreign lands without the word of Christ. Then one can be as sad and angry as one wishes.
Righteous anger could be exercised by heads or fathers when something unapproved or even forbidden broke into the sanitized realm they ruled over. But such occasions are rare and definitely excuse the outbreak of emotion.
Feelings like joy, peace, contentment, praise, and kindness were always encouraged. Female bloggers (often daughters of QF/P 'royalty') write about the things in their lives which attempt daily to rob them of these virtues. Girls are encouraged to read their posts and books and attempt to model these "modern-day-heroines-of-the-faith".
But even with all the emotional vamping and sincere efforts to model others; there is a weariness that many good works and no assurance of eternal security produces. You can only run a car with gas in the tank and only so many gallons can fit. When you run on fumes, you end up running out.
And the problem with these feelings is they dont have names.
Depression is a bad word. It is not a feeling or a description. When my readers first began telling me I was depressed (back when I began writing in April '10) I was sincerely shocked. "Is this what depression feels like?" I asked myself. I began putting names on the emotions that raged in the locked closet of 'bad things' that kept popping up in the life I tried so hard to keep clean. And thus began my journey out of the life I had always known.
But it only began the journey of "feeling". I am still putting names on feelings and trying to separate the differences. I am still trying to connect the puzzle pieces I have to work with to find a picture of who I am. It is an interesting approach allowing a feeling to roam free while you name it and place it instead of stuffing it and pretending it doesnt exist.
One of the middle-aged ladies was very interested and asked me a couple questions about things. She was a people-watcher and had some real questions. It was fun hearing her interest because it helped me think over some things as well.
On question she asked me was:
How do you feel?
The surprising thing about this question was that it took me a day or two to think out a real answer.
Honestly, my first thought was: You Don't.
Feelings are from the deceitful heart and should be ignored at all times and for all situations.
But I knew that wasnt really the case, so I had to think it out. And the truth is that you do feel. You feel the eyes of people taking in your denim ankle skirts and baggy shirts and looking away in disgust. You feel the wear and tear of waking up in the middle of the night to rock a fussy, sick baby to sleep. You feel the multiple burns on your arms, still sensitive every time you open the oven to bake and the heat pours out.
You feel shame for thinking bad thoughts. You feel fear when going out to run errands alone, always watching the people around you warily, ready to scream and run if anyone approaches you. You feel pride when you look at girls with skin showing and tops popping out of their clothing and fat knees under mini shorts. You feel accomplished when you have done all that was required of you and still found time to read your Bible before the day is over. You feel joy when you read a book to a little sibling and get silly and end up tickling them on the floor. You feel safe in your house where no evil can get to you because of your lifestyle and choices.
But in most cases, feelings on the positive (or seemingly positive) scale are emphasized and talked about and the negative (or perceived negative) ones are censured.
Feelings like depression, anger, resentment, grief, pain, and loneliness were hidden. It is not befitting a young woman of God to be angry, or to give way to depression, or bitterness. Unless, perhaps, it be towards lost souls or those dying in foreign lands without the word of Christ. Then one can be as sad and angry as one wishes.
Righteous anger could be exercised by heads or fathers when something unapproved or even forbidden broke into the sanitized realm they ruled over. But such occasions are rare and definitely excuse the outbreak of emotion.
Feelings like joy, peace, contentment, praise, and kindness were always encouraged. Female bloggers (often daughters of QF/P 'royalty') write about the things in their lives which attempt daily to rob them of these virtues. Girls are encouraged to read their posts and books and attempt to model these "modern-day-heroines-of-the-faith".
But even with all the emotional vamping and sincere efforts to model others; there is a weariness that many good works and no assurance of eternal security produces. You can only run a car with gas in the tank and only so many gallons can fit. When you run on fumes, you end up running out.
And the problem with these feelings is they dont have names.
Depression is a bad word. It is not a feeling or a description. When my readers first began telling me I was depressed (back when I began writing in April '10) I was sincerely shocked. "Is this what depression feels like?" I asked myself. I began putting names on the emotions that raged in the locked closet of 'bad things' that kept popping up in the life I tried so hard to keep clean. And thus began my journey out of the life I had always known.
But it only began the journey of "feeling". I am still putting names on feelings and trying to separate the differences. I am still trying to connect the puzzle pieces I have to work with to find a picture of who I am. It is an interesting approach allowing a feeling to roam free while you name it and place it instead of stuffing it and pretending it doesnt exist.
June 10, 2011
I am FREE!
Maybe I should write this late at night.
Maybe I shouldnt blab when I am tired and angry and emotional.
Maybe I should go to bed.
But I am FREE to make that choice for myself.
I am FREE to wear jeans to work today.
I am FREE to get a job or change jobs or quit.
I am FREE to move to a different city.
I am FREE to make plans and then change them.
I am FREE to spend my money when I am hungry at work.
I am FREE to clean the kitchen or leave it as is.
I am FREE stay up late.
I am FREE to cry and be emotional and upset about things.
I am FREE to go dancing.
I am FREE to de-stress myself by walking or swimming, or listening to angry music, or soothing music, or talking, or dancing, or writing on my blog.
I am FREE to call people, even at this hour of the night and talk.
I am FREE!!!!!!
I cant really explain how it blows my mind being able to have this and to not be afraid of repercussions.
To not have to get up early tomorrow and pretend I slept.
To not have to sneak away because I am trying not to fall apart.
To not have to hide my computer and phone and friends and facebook wall.
To not be afraid of some dance moves, or shaking my hips, or having men look at me.
To not have the Bible (or quasi-relevant passages) thrown at me.
To NOT go to church or 'fellowship' or any gathering of cult peoples.
I do not have to sacrifice my freedom or choice for the sake of any person's pride, or a group's 'testimony', or as a personal favor, or as a duty to a family or 'god', or for my future, or for my eternal destiny.
I guess 'normal' people find these to be strange lists.
And perhaps they are. But I have lead a strange life. And I know the fruits.
Maybe I shouldnt blab when I am tired and angry and emotional.
Maybe I should go to bed.
But I am FREE to make that choice for myself.
I am FREE to wear jeans to work today.
I am FREE to get a job or change jobs or quit.
I am FREE to move to a different city.
I am FREE to make plans and then change them.
I am FREE to spend my money when I am hungry at work.
I am FREE to clean the kitchen or leave it as is.
I am FREE stay up late.
I am FREE to cry and be emotional and upset about things.
I am FREE to go dancing.
I am FREE to de-stress myself by walking or swimming, or listening to angry music, or soothing music, or talking, or dancing, or writing on my blog.
I am FREE to call people, even at this hour of the night and talk.
I am FREE!!!!!!
I cant really explain how it blows my mind being able to have this and to not be afraid of repercussions.
To not have to get up early tomorrow and pretend I slept.
To not have to sneak away because I am trying not to fall apart.
To not have to hide my computer and phone and friends and facebook wall.
To not be afraid of some dance moves, or shaking my hips, or having men look at me.
To not have the Bible (or quasi-relevant passages) thrown at me.
To NOT go to church or 'fellowship' or any gathering of cult peoples.
I do not have to sacrifice my freedom or choice for the sake of any person's pride, or a group's 'testimony', or as a personal favor, or as a duty to a family or 'god', or for my future, or for my eternal destiny.
I guess 'normal' people find these to be strange lists.
And perhaps they are. But I have lead a strange life. And I know the fruits.
June 8, 2011
3rd Worst
So, class, who can tell me what the third worst month/holiday season is for people with bad families/family situations?
No, Christmas is second.
No, thanksgiving is the first.
**Ding, ding!!!
Good job, person over there! It is JUNE!!! Father's Day, and picnics, and family barbecues, and reunions, and smiling happy families..... everywhere but around you.
I feel like posting something negative and cynical on friend's facebook statii when they gush or coo about having "the best (parent) ever, luv you ______"; or "My (parent) is so awesome...etc"
And then, other people will comment something to the effect of "No, you dont!! I do! My (parent) is better"
And a third person will try to one-up the first two with something else said parent did/said/was to them.
As happy as I am that they had a safe, happy childhood (and honestly, I am happy for them. Growing up hurting sucks and I wouldnt wish it on my enemies) I get so upset inside seeing comments and updates like this. I want to say something like: "Wow, I am so glad you have a parent who actually loved you. I sure wish I did. Tell me again how it feels so I can envy you properly." Or "I am jealous. My dad stuffed religion down my throat and encouraged me to be a snotty, proud bitch. Now people hate my sarcastic and cynical attitude."
And not because my life was all bad. I have heard terrible stories from dear friends. My life was a lot easier than theirs in a lot of ways, and I got out sooner. I am making good progress while they struggle to even make it on their feet.
And I loved a lot of things about my life. I loved the garden and my herbs and plants. I loved theology and Greek and studying the in's and out's of other religions and being on the mission field and witnessing to people. I loved baking and seeing people devour my creations. I loved singing babies to sleep and rocking them as they relaxed softly in my arms; a solid, warm, weight.
I liked the bustle of people and tons of people. I liked hearing my dad debate and teach. My mother taught me how to clean every corner. I read voraciously and they provided me with an endless library and encouraged my depth and interest there.
Its just that I have been feeling a decline all month (yes, all 7 days of it) and knowing that as the month progresses I will have to keep away from most (if not all) TV commercials, cards, store-advertising, people, etc. if I am going to keep from having to think about the bad.
My knee has been hurting when I lay down. Sleep is hard when it is telling me I am stressed. Its like my body is upset ahead of time knowing what I am in for.
Thanksgiving was really busy, but by the time Christmas came around I was ready to collapse and I DID internally. Gee, I remember that debacle.
This time, I dont know what will happen.
All I know is I hate June.
No, Christmas is second.
No, thanksgiving is the first.
**Ding, ding!!!
Good job, person over there! It is JUNE!!! Father's Day, and picnics, and family barbecues, and reunions, and smiling happy families..... everywhere but around you.
I feel like posting something negative and cynical on friend's facebook statii when they gush or coo about having "the best (parent) ever, luv you ______"; or "My (parent) is so awesome...etc"
And then, other people will comment something to the effect of "No, you dont!! I do! My (parent) is better"
And a third person will try to one-up the first two with something else said parent did/said/was to them.
As happy as I am that they had a safe, happy childhood (and honestly, I am happy for them. Growing up hurting sucks and I wouldnt wish it on my enemies) I get so upset inside seeing comments and updates like this. I want to say something like: "Wow, I am so glad you have a parent who actually loved you. I sure wish I did. Tell me again how it feels so I can envy you properly." Or "I am jealous. My dad stuffed religion down my throat and encouraged me to be a snotty, proud bitch. Now people hate my sarcastic and cynical attitude."
And not because my life was all bad. I have heard terrible stories from dear friends. My life was a lot easier than theirs in a lot of ways, and I got out sooner. I am making good progress while they struggle to even make it on their feet.
And I loved a lot of things about my life. I loved the garden and my herbs and plants. I loved theology and Greek and studying the in's and out's of other religions and being on the mission field and witnessing to people. I loved baking and seeing people devour my creations. I loved singing babies to sleep and rocking them as they relaxed softly in my arms; a solid, warm, weight.
I liked the bustle of people and tons of people. I liked hearing my dad debate and teach. My mother taught me how to clean every corner. I read voraciously and they provided me with an endless library and encouraged my depth and interest there.
Its just that I have been feeling a decline all month (yes, all 7 days of it) and knowing that as the month progresses I will have to keep away from most (if not all) TV commercials, cards, store-advertising, people, etc. if I am going to keep from having to think about the bad.
My knee has been hurting when I lay down. Sleep is hard when it is telling me I am stressed. Its like my body is upset ahead of time knowing what I am in for.
Thanksgiving was really busy, but by the time Christmas came around I was ready to collapse and I DID internally. Gee, I remember that debacle.
This time, I dont know what will happen.
All I know is I hate June.
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