Shadow Work: Not the answer I wanted

I started some shadow work this fall but between the election, the insurrection, the pandemic, and life, I fell off course. I was brought back to this effort today when I came to the realization of something I do to myself all the time that hurts me. I see I frequently pose questions to people expecting a specific answer and then I get wounded when they don't answer in the way I want. This is ugly. Embarrassing even; as why would I do that?

Upon further thought I see it's a round about way to ask for a compliment, or at the least an affirmation. Yet when I don't receive it the moment becomes more than a let down of expectations and in my mind turns into a put down. The brain spiral begins...well if they didn't say what I wanted them to say, what I expected them to say, what I needed them to say, then it absolutely must mean they feel differently. The reality of people having their own lives to deal with, stressors, obligations, and they really can't be expected to read my mind and affirm me every time I need a lift simply escapes me. The logic and the feeling don't align.

At the core this seems to really be about my not being able to ask for what I need. Other than placing a food order, or being picky about my favorite wine, I don't ever ask anyone for what I need. Basic needs not being met from childhood are obvious. I made attempts in my marriage with disastrous results to both the relationship and my self worth. Even in trusting and secure friendships where I know I have safety I can't do it. Having unmet needs is a calmer place for me than to ask and have it not happen. 

Not long ago I got vulnerable far past my comfort zone and asked someone for something I felt I needed. Accidentally, or at least that's what was said, they clicked a laugh emoticon at my statement. I replied that I wasn't being funny and they said they knew that until I pointed out the laughing, where I was told that was a mistake. They didn't mean to laugh but by then my emotions were blowing up and my brain was wailing that I was definitely being made fun of. I was riddled with shame. I told a friend about the interaction and she said, "Why are you feeling ashamed? What you were asking for is normal? Do you feel you can't ask?" I couldn't speak at that moment as I couldn't breathe and was choking back tears to not shame myself further. 

I have things I need help with in my home right now. I've tried to do it on my own and I simply can't. I have a friend who knows someone I can pay to help and she's even asked me if she should call him. Yet I don't want to ask for help. It's not the money, it's my perception of being weak and needing help, especially because these basic household tasks are the stuff that I feel most people know and I don't. This is the 5th place I've owned, and other than cleaning, I don't know anything. I attempted to do stuff a few times when I was with my ex husband, and I of course screwed it up, and his exasperation with me made me fearful to even try. Unless it was an emergency I didn't even ask him for help, I just let things go, because asking felt like too much. 

On the flip side, I consider myself a helper. If anything I like to get ahead of people asking, figure out their needs, and do it so they don't have to ask. I really do treat people as I want to be treated. This is who I am but there is a darker side where I feel if I meet everyone's needs then I won't be abandoned. If I do everything right then I'll be accepted. If I give them the answer they want then I'll be liked. 

Prayer is asking God for what you want. My biggest and most pleading prayers were never answered. I tithed more, I prayed more, I fasted, I begged, and the silence was deafening. Maybe this is actually where I first learned to stop asking for what I needed.

I don't know that asking for what I need is coming anytime soon but I can at least stop setting people up to inadvertently let me down.

How do they make you feel?

I was recently challenged to ask myself, without judgment, how people make me feel. How do I feel when I'm with this person? How do I feel after leaving this person? How do I feel about myself after an interaction? These appear to be the kind of questions you'd naturally think about and then make decisions accordingly. Yet historically I really haven't considered these things all that much. I've remained friends with people that have cut me down to my face. I've stayed in relationships where I felt demeaned and belittled for begging for their crumbs of attention. I've continued communicating with people who clearly didn't think all that much of me. 

So the core question then becomes why don't I walk away when someone makes me feel like shit? An easy answer is I fear confrontation, and though this is true, it's still only a surface answer. The painful truth is I believed them. I didn't question if they were wrong, if their opinion mattered, or if it was even damaging me. Now if a stranger walked up to me and said, "I can tell by looking at you that you have no talent." I could likely blow it off. Sort of. Eventually. I believed these people because I thought they cared about me, loved me and wanted the best for me. So a side jab, a rude comment, or worse yet laughing at me, would send me into a tailspin. 

I think of all the cute little quotes out there telling us what to do. "Believe in yourself!" "Love yourself!" "Accept who you are!". Adorable. I wish with everything in me that I had some unshakeable belief in myself that no words could touch me. Words mean a lot to me, they are important, and I tend to remember them all. My mother used to say, "You remember every bad word ever said to you!". This wasn't being said as an understanding but more as annoyance since I can recite back anything that hurt me down to the time of day, what I was wearing, and all the subtle nuances of a moment. Words don't roll off my back. 

Do I remember the good things that are said? Barely. Sometimes but not without a lot of critique before I can believe they are true. I do have one statement that I've held tightly to since I was 17. I was in a creative writing class my senior year of high school. It was the only class I enjoyed at all. I'd written many pieces, and though the grades were good, my teacher didn't say much at all. Then one day we had to take a word and use it repeatedly to be funny. I used the word "mediocre" and wrote a long piece about how I loved the sound of the word and that I didn't think it's definition was appropriate for such a cool sounding word. It went on for awhile and when I finished I was reasonably pleased. When I got the paper back it had an A+ and a note "This is Letterman material". (For the young ones reading, David Letterman was a long time TV host and comedian.) I can still tear up when I think of those words.

So I'm truly looking at every person in my life; friends, family, coworkers, and all those in between, and asking "How does this person make me feel?". It's a painful process, but necessary as it seems I missed the boat on doing this from the start. It's about no longer pleading for acceptance. It's putting my thoughts and opinions above others. 

My mind screams, "But what if they are right!?". Fuck them. Maybe they are right, but my feelings still count.

Hiding

What are you hiding? What do you think will happen if you were to reveal these things?

We all hide things whether it's our insecurities, true feelings, our fears or our dreams. I do feel there is some safety in hiding portions of ourselves, as I've too often over-shared only to be hurt by reactions, comments or loss of trust. Yet all relationships of any worth are built on being vulnerable and sharing of our experiences. It's a fine line and I struggle with where the appropriate boundary should be drawn.

I've read that oversharing is a trauma response. When I tell too much information I can look back and see that what I'm doing is testing the person. I want to get ahead of them hurting me so I share something that may seem like a big secret but in truth I don't care about it, just to see their response to it. In some ways it's blowing things up before they begin, which admittedly I do frequently. Looking for how to live my life unashamed, out loud and without care of opinions. Though is that even realistic for anyone, much less me?

I've also read to share your stories first otherwise the other person will share their perception of it and not actually your reality. This resonates as I always try to stay a step ahead to avoid hurt. I let my guard down in the past few years and allowed enough vulnerability to be wounded deeply. I replay what I've said and look to figure out every way my trust might be broken and myself humiliated. It's an emotionally exhausting process as this repeats in my head while I try to live day to day. 

To answer the questions I started with: I'm hiding experiences that I feel I will be judged, mocked or laughed at in some way. There is a haunting fear that the shame would overtake me. My life coach suggested I just start writing but not posting. She said once written it may not hold the power I think it has and I may feel differently. I see I'm working myself up into a frenzy by alluding to secrets but not saying them. I'm truly boring myself as I see I'm saying the same thing over and over.

One of my favorite quotes that calms down my fears of telling my secrets is, "You are a ghost driving a meat coated skeleton made from stardust riding a rock through space. Fear nothing." My days alive are limited. All of ours are. We're all attempting to survive as this planet seems to be spinning out of control. I've never wanted what others want anyway. Be born, marriage, kids, retirement: this does not interest me. A bigger life will require more fearlessness. 

The Picture

Before my father's funeral we were putting photos together and I was looking for a specific picture of him holding me as a toddler. I liked to go around the yard pointing at things and he liked carrying me around to do this. Even though I don't actually remember, it's one of the few good memories of him accepting me and being nice. I prayed, hands and knees, for 'God' to please help me find that picture. I said I'd believe again. I'd be good again. I'd do anything. Silence as usual. 

A year and a half later by a huge chance I dug into an old box and found that picture. My heart started racing and all the fears came back: Hell, Rapture, Punishment, etc... But why? My reaction was off and I couldn't figure out why. The panic quickly turned to anger. If there was a 'God' and his "good and faithful servant" has just joined him at the pearly gates, then why in fuck couldn't he do this one thing for me? The 'God' I no longer believed in had left me alone as always. 

I'm sad for that little girl in the picture. She's about to be abandoned by every male figure in her life. She'll never feel safety and love in daddy's arms. She will stand at the card section of Target on Father's day and call her youngest brother to talk her through the purchase as none of the cards fit this troubled relationship. She will be told which child was his favorite and that it sure wasn't her. She will have him tell her at 16 that he doesn't like to look at her because she looks like her mother. She will later say to him, "I love you, dad, but I don't like you." and this moment of honesty will forever be held against her. When he almost dies many years before his actual death, she will stand in the ICU with her crying brothers on one side of the bed, her lock jawed on the other side, and hear him say, "I want you to know I love you all" and think "Die now. Die before you say something mean to me. Let those be your last words." When he lives through that she'll try to hold hope that it meant 'God' will reconcile their relationship and it will never happen. She will fight a woman from the church that called the hospital who told her she wasn't his daughter because she's known him for years and he'd never spoken of her. She will seek out any male attention in hopes of getting that affirmation that never came. She will be starved for approval and wounded again and again. She will live in envy of all the women who had fathers that adored them.

That picture was the only moment I had where it appeared that I mattered to him.

The Funeral

Facebook reminded me that today is the 6 year anniversary of my father's funeral. Feels like a much shorter time but also very long ago. My father disowned me the last two years of his life, but once he was away from my step mother I did see him twice in the care facility he was living at. I wasn't sad when he died. My grief was for what never was and what would never happen.

There was concern that I would cause a scene at the funeral. Now I see why everyone would be scared as I have a mouth and a lot to say about my father. But truly my only concern was getting through the day and I didn't have the energy to lose my shit. I was in Las Vegas when he died, which was hysterical on many levels, and told my family I'd look for an earlier flight out. I never checked a single flight. I was flying out that night anyway and saw no need to get back to where I wasn't all that wanted anyway. I heard he died, went down to the casino and bought a donut and latte, and scarfed it down while watching old people smoke and play slot machines. That night at dinner, which was most of my family except me, the talk came back to worries of what I'd do. My husband spoke up and said, "She can do whatever the fuck she wants to do! He was her father and she can speak up in any way!!" He's now my ex-husband but his speaking out on my behalf will always be a cherished memory. 

My step mother didn't want my brothers and I involved in the funeral planning, but my youngest brother is skilled at swaying people so we were there as the details were sorted out. He also asked to speak and I smirked as my step mother grizzled at the thought. Other people were in the room, and she was all about appearances, so she begrudgingly agreed. The church's coordinator came in to tell us about meal choices and this is where things went sideways in the best way. He was obviously gay, think Cam from Modern Family, but apparently married to a woman with a few kids. He starts describing a salad choice and my brothers and I were struggling to keep composed because it was the gayest salad description I've ever heard. One of my brothers texted us "Are we being punked right now?!" and the other brother, who is also gay, and I were pinching ourselves to not scream laugh. Being the loudest laugher of the bunch I had to excuse myself to the bathroom where I sat on the floor in a stall howling at top volume with tears running down my face. It was a perfect moment.

Funeral day came and I was lock jawed and trying to hold it together. I knew more than half the place was going to be friends of my father and step mother, and likely all thinking I was the devil. My crime? I told my father dying of Alzheimer's that he shouldn't drive and that my step mother, showing early dementia signs, shouldn't either. I know...I'm so awful. I wanted to get through the day without a public breakdown. I saw he had a casket, as I didn't know what his last wishes were, and thought "Why isn't he cremated? This is obnoxious." It got worse. I was trying to make myself cry, make myself feel something other than relief, trying to get myself good and worked up as I went up to the casket. I said in my head, "That's your dead father. You should feel something.". I looked in the casket and my impression was the embalmer put a smirk on his face. I went from almost crying to eye rolling. 

The funeral was pretty average all things considered. My brother gave a nice tribute as I could feel all eyes of their friends on the opposite side of the church glaring through me. Now this was an Evangelical funeral so the pastor gave the obligatory, "If you want to see him again you'll make sure you give your life to Jesus!" I thought, "Well cool I'm agnostic because I don't want to see him again!". One of my father's friends came up and was talking about him. He went from regular speech to an emotional scream, "He was the kind of guy who would have taken the cross from Jesus and carried it ALL THE WAY TO CALVARY!!". My brother was still on stage and we caught each other's eyes and nearly imploded trying to hold the laughter in. For years we'd start phone calls with, "ALL THE WAY TO CALVARY!". 

My son started crying when they put the casket in the hearse. I started to cry also and ran to the bathroom where I was followed by a ton of women trying to comfort me. I heard how he was a great man, a great father, so missed and I said, "He treated me like shit and you all know this.". They left.

At the cemetery I had decided I wasn't going to leave until I could let him go. I didn't want to be haunted by a lifetime of his pain. Everyone left and I stood there alone. It was a great movie moment idea if I'd let him go there but our brains don't exactly work like that. The snow was coming down lightly and my family were watching and waiting by their cars. Finally my brother came to the casket to lead me away.

Overreaction

I overreact all the time but I hide it well. Or so I think. My overreaction is usually internal as I get upset but feel shame for what I'm upset over as I know my feelings are over the top and not facts. Someone could walk down the hall and have something in their eye and my assumption is they are making a face at me because they hate me. Yes, it's ridiculous and I know it. But even with all my knowing, understanding and self awareness, I can't control that internal overreaction.

Upset usually means hurt or triggered. Though I come across bitchy, I'm really not as angry as I can appear. Beneath my loud and obnoxious exterior is someone who gets hurt a lot. This hurt typically means embarrassment, shame or feeling rejected. Nearly all of the time I know my reaction is so far beyond what it should be and this brings on more shame because why can't you just be normal?

I don't need my therapist to know what's happening to me internally as it's a survival technique that I've learned to make me feel safe. Or to bring me back to perceived safety. There is this need to critique my every move, see if it's accepted, and make judgments on myself for my shortcomings. I suppose I feel like if I monitor myself at all times, then I can adjust my actions so no one leaves me or hurts me. Well it doesn't work that way, does it?

I had an extreme overreaction last night though this person had no idea it was happening as I hid it. I went to bed sobbing and woke up today still crying. It's humiliating, even only to yourself, when you can observe your emotional reaction and think, "What in fuck is wrong with you!?". I know what's wrong. I know where the hurt is, when it happened, how it happened and the effects on me. I just can't seem to get to the other side. I can't say, "This not a reflection of you!."

There it is: a reflection on me. I struggle to believe everything isn't a reflection of me. My life coach says I need to seek out experiences where I think I'll be hurt but find that my worst fears never happened and I'm actually accepted. I'm trying. I do this a ton but you won't know what I'm doing. Eleanor Roosevelt said, "You wouldn't worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.". That's wonderful...but why are my feelings kind of hurt by it?

How do you get to the other side? I'm the self help queen and have read every book imaginable. I've been going to therapy a quarter of a century. I do yoga, meditation, journaling, blogging to the stratosphere....but the other side feels so far away.