The ability to hold two conflicting emotions without trying to stop the discomfort, or, to be still in acknowledgement, according to mental health experts, is "emotional maturity." For example, I feel so unnerved, vulnerable, and naked in my skin for exposing my blemished upbringing, and for sharing the difficulties of my life choices. The opposing emotions push me forward by my desire to be understood, and by the part of me that feels like my life depends on it. So here I see-saw between two distinctly different emotions-related to how I feel about writing. I guess the good news is, I can tell myself I am emotionally maturing-if anything else.
This past week, (after my last post), was hard on me emotionally. I became extremely sensitive, scared, and childlike in my behaviors. For starters, I became defensive when a good friend, (someone who loves me-who wants only good things for me) handed out a little constructive criticism about my writing. Additionally, I became so jealous, and hurt (like a crushing gut pain) when my love tucked a piece of another woman's hair behind her (the woman's) ear at a party. (That was like pouring citric acid in my already gushing wound. I had just written about my mother never making that same loving gesture towards.) I felt defeated, raw and afraid of everything hurting. I became paranoid (Im still coming off that one), I started projecting my own story as to what people thought about me. I believed people were avoiding me, maybe some were, but I also felt proud of my work and my ability to affect people, so onward I trudge.
I suppose if you are reading this you are right there with me, or else you are reading this to judge me, either way, I am forced to be OK with it, I don't really have a choice. One of the hardest parts about putting myself "out there" is the silence. It's as if the more I share intimate details, the quieter my readers become. Have you all just stopped reading? Well, even if you have, I made the decision to write regardless, regardless of how I feel, and whether or not I have an audience.
I am going to continue on with my story because I enjoy the process, it's liberating and I like the rush.
In the apartment:
The first time I started writing about the apartment I was still on the plane back from Park City. I made my way back to seat 35C after braving the bathroom. I passed a dozen or so people engrossed in their own thoughts, dreams etc. There were some with their mouths open, others eyeing me down-looking for a connection, and some avoided my eyes. I peaked inside the pit of a memory. I caught myself in the soap splattered mirror and immediately saw all the sadness. In a brief moment, I asked myself out-loud in the narrow stall, "What happened to you and why?" I answered back, speaking to my dead grandmother. "Maw Maw, please tell me that did not happen to me!" I knew Maw Maw couldn't answer me, but she was/is my savior. I am not really sure what I was asking myself or what I thought happened, but my gut tells me someone may have crossed my boundaries. In saying so, I am not necessarily saying someone physically harmed me, but my mother definitely subjected me to things not suitable for a child.
She once told me a story about an event that took place in the old apartment. Supposedly, my grandmother pulled me from my mothers arms out of a closet. My mother locked us in during one of her downhill trips on Angel Dust Lane. She was holding me while screaming and crying, knocking around in the darkness. My mother went to drug rehabilitation after that incident-guess it wasn't a very good program. Thankfully, I have no recollection of that event.
Those nights in the apartment when my mother was away I did a lot of thinking for a four years old little girl. I have this one memory of being in my bed with my knobby, little knees curled up tight to my chest. I had a conversation with myself, wondering if I was dreaming. I thought I might wake up to find one or two scenarios. The first: I hadn't born yet, and the second, I am already an adult. It's almost as if I was looking for a way out, or realized at a young age that things weren't right-start over, or skip childhood all together.
I recall that being the first time I actually felt distinctly separate from my body. I allowed my mind and emotions drift off somewhere else, I learned how to disassociate and completely protect myself emotionally from my mother. I managed to lose, although out of necessity, the sacred innocence of a little girl that night. I discovered early on how to detach from people, and how to manipulate in order to have my needs met. Unfortunately, those characteristics followed me into adulthood-where I no longer need them to survive.
I am searching for my inner sweet girl-the one who transcended her situation the best way she knew how. For me, I must move through her (my) experiences by writing about them, hopefully finding forgiveness, and understanding. If you support me, please let me know! If not, don't pretend to be my friend. If it all just makes you too uncomfortable but you want to be my friend, just tell me. If you only read this to mock or judge me, well then, that ones on you.
I am reading! Keep writing!!
ReplyDeleteI look forward to your posts and think you possess
a great talent. You are healing yourself and others
that read your story and that is a great gift.
You kept your innocence by learning how to shut off, does that make any sense? And you are right, you dont need them anymore, but they stick with us dont they? Realizing that is why you will be able to let them go eventually, without even realizing it!
ReplyDeleteAnother great post. The raw emotion grips the reader. I find the unresolved issues you write about in real time to be very engaging, if heart-wrenching.
ReplyDeleteFascinating that you wrote "hopefully finding forgiveness" in the last paragraph. Was that forgiveness granted by you for the harm done by others? Or do you think you need to be forgiven?
As you write - and share your intimate story with gripping details - we read ... And will continue to read! We take 10 minutes each week to reflect on your words, personal thoughts and life stories - and then take at least 10 minutes to reflect on our own stories. Thank you for 20 minutes a week of mindful thinking!
ReplyDeleteKeep up the excellent work Shannon, you have a gift!
Keep writing Shannon! This morning I remembered I hadn't read your post (spent yesterday making over 200 mini cheese empanadas...) and felt like I had a gift waiting that I hadn't opened. Robyn is right. Don't discount the effect your writing has on the ones who read it and the history it awakens from our own lives. There's no judgement here, only excitement over what you're creating.
ReplyDeleteMy heart aches for the little girl that had to experience what you did, and every other child who endures something similar. Such brutal residue gets left behind. I am glad that you are writing and getting in touch with such tough things because it is helping you to come to terms with your upbringing and the fact that you, like any normal human being, just desperately wanted to be loved by those who were supposed to have been able to give that to you. Keep writing.
ReplyDeleteNot only is your writing a gift to us all, but your friendship is the even greater gift. It is extremely emotional to 'put yourself out there' and as a fellow creative person, you will realize that everyone is very supportive, just sometimes 'life' gets in the way and they forget to take a moment to acknowledge their support. You KNOW in your heart who is truly supportive and without judgment and that is what matters. And beleive me, once your book comes out, you will have more friends than you need!!! Each of our creative gifts are not for everyone but if you touch one person, that is what makes it all worth while. And do not forget the gift that you are giving yourself by writing!!! You are what is most important during this emotional roller coaster ride of creativity. Do NOT be scared, once the ride is over, you will want more, it is who we are.
ReplyDeleteTrouble+Talent = Human
ReplyDeleteI think people will read this and feel many things-many conflicting emotions as you say-all of them a strand of truth but the thing they will probably feel the most is jealous of your fabulous book deal to be.