Thursday, April 27, 2006
I'm warning you, there's no funny here.
I’ve been avoiding writing about my last therapy session only because I know it’s not going to be in the least bit funny. But, I need to expunge some of what’s been traversing my brain since Tuesday night.
So, consider yourselves forewarned. There is no funny here. Funny is on mini-break. We will return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.
< /disclaimer>
Ms. Britain had warned me during our first session that this process was not going to be an easy one. In order to be successful at improving my self worth, I would need to unearth painful memories; bring them to the forefront of my consciousness. Come to terms with them and move forward.
You mean I can’t just continue my self-proclaimed ostrich-like behavior and avoid this at all costs?
As it turns out… Ms. Britain is not so much with the letting me do that.
The core of our discussion Tuesday was regarding my fear of ending up alone. The apprehension I feel because I believe I might be attempting to restore my marriage for this very reason. My belief, if I don’t get back together with B, I am destined to spend my life alone.
“Why?”
“I have two kids. I’ve dated enough to know that most men consider them baggage. I obviously don’t, but they do.”
“You couldn’t see yourself with someone who already has children as well?”
“It’s been four years, if that was going to happen, don’t you think it would’ve already?”
“Let’s talk about your childhood. Tell me what it was like growing up in your house. Specifically, your relationship with your mother.”
I think I gave one of those sarcastic, thru your nose, laughs at that point. Because, in retrospect, it is just laughable how bad some of these memories are. Though they are not in the slightest bit funny.
“Well, my mom always managed to not be speaking to me during major events in my life. Her form of punishment was the silent treatment. It could go on for weeks at a time. I think the longest period of time was a month straight. She wasn’t speaking to me at my prom, high school graduation, college graduation… she even stormed out of my wedding and didn’t speak to me at brunch the next day or for a month after we returned from the honeymoon.”
“What do you mean by silent treatment? How far did that go?”
“I wasn’t allowed to participate in any family activities, including meals. I had to wait until everyone was finished, dinner was cleaned up, and she was in her room before I could make myself something. If I walked into a room she was in, she would leave. If I tried to speak to her, she’d turn her back on me.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Invisible. Like I didn’t exist. That I wasn’t important.”
“Was there any physical abuse?”
“No. My mother preferred alternative methods of discipline. I always knew I was in trouble if my bedroom door was closed when I got home from school. If she was mad at me, or my room was not perfect, she would empty out every drawer, every article of clothing from the closet and dump it into the middle of the room. I had a certain amount of time to clean it up, and if it wasn’t finished, or wasn’t to her standards, we’d start again.”
“So, how did you deal with your mom growing up?”
“I hid a lot. I’d go to “sleep” before they got home from work. I spent an inordinate amount of time in my room reading. I was always grounded anyway; it wasn’t like I could go anywhere.”
“What did you feel towards your mom? Was it fear?”
“That. Hatred. I wanted to escape. And I never understood what was wrong with me for her to treat me like that. Why couldn’t I live up to her expectations?”
“Did you ever tell anyone? Did you think this was normal?”
“It was my mom. You were supposed to sit down, shut up and do what she said. If not, there were consequences. You didn’t question. And if you fought back, you got punished. End of story.”
There was more, but if anyone is still reading, I’ll spare you the details.
Bottom line is that I really believe that my fear of being alone is derived from the fact that I spent so much of my childhood alone. It didn’t make me happy; it made me very sad.
And now, many times when I’m alone, (the boysies are with B, I’m alone in my house) I am overwhelmed by the sadness, the emptiness that I feel.
I just want that feeling to go away. I want to finally feel comfortable in my own skin, being by myself.
Is that too much to ask?
NO IT’S NOT!
Right?
i said... what? at 3:58 PM /
7
had to say... what? /
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