This time of year my body is sending pulses of memory throughout my senses. The memory it holds inside gives way to emotional bursts of rushing, hurrying, making sure, be ready, don’t let down, be prepared.
Today is the day, every year, that we joined with family and good times and more bad times were had.
Today is the day, every year, that as a child we piled into the Chevette and drove to Grandma’s house. After a week of arguing and all-morning nagging from my mother, my step father would grudgingly slouch-walk to the car and be the last one in, literally throwing his body into the driver’s seat and driving as slowly as he could through our old neighborhoods to Grandma’s house; Grandpa’s house; the one Mom grew up in. The one where her father, the man who tortured her relentlessly as a child, who drove her to run away from home, who screamed from the basement den for more beer and roast beef lived. We were heading to Grandma’s house and my mother’s husband didn’t want to go –he made sure we knew why the entire drive there. We would arrive and grab presents from the hatchback, running off to find our cousins. My step-dad would linger at the Chevette and finally waltz in the front door with a plastic smile a few minutes after. My mom would pretend Grandpa wasn’t even there, smiling a forced smile with pained eyes. We’d get sweaty waiting for dinner to finish; the house was kept at 80 degrees Fahrenheit because Grandpa wanted it that way. Mom’s sister, aunt Donna would lift the kitchen window and say, “To hell with Dad! It’s hot!” but within moments he’d shout from the his lair, “Who’s opened a window? Shut it, you’re letting out the heat!” He’d then get up from his hard-worked-for leather couch and stomp to the thermostat and turn it up to 85. When the food was done, we’d all sit down at tables Grandma set up with my aunts, mom and uncles. Grandpa never left his leather throne. His food was gently handed to him with a tv tray, Grandma slowly backing away, hoping for his approval. He’d grunt and she’d dash back upstairs to the kitchen to eat alone, there. I’d come to the kitchen and demand she join us, which she did, but with a look of worry.
Our family was held captive by him. His will was ours. We dared not change nor divert his plans, he was the patriarch, but we all loved the matriarch. I received mixed signals as I was a hopeful, wanting-all-to-know-love child. I forced myself on him. I sat next to Grandpa, I made him listen to my stories, I climbed upon his lap and did what no one dared to do –I kissed him! I loved him! He let me stay curled up beside him on his earned throne (leather couch) and no one else dared. I learned his favorite music. Watched what he watched. Learned what he liked, learned what he did for enjoyment; I showed interest in him and he broke open and loved me back. He showed me the doll house he was building (it’s 25 years later and still not finished) and let me see the tears he cried when Pavarotti sang Ava Maria –I even bought him a video of that concert. I felt like I was able to tap into this monster of a man and he wasn’t a monster at all. They were all wrong. He was loveable and I loved him.
Unfortunately, this set me up to want to fix everyone. EVERYONE. I married a man that needed fixing. I knew it the moment we met. He, like many others, was drawn to me, telling me the deep feelings he was enduring in life. He asked for a helping hand (more like he was a manipulative fuck) and I was hooked. My mother had told me as a teen that in order to win a guy over, you gotta like what they like; I’d been taught to morph into what ever is needed for who ever is needing. She’d told me since I was small to adjust my feelings or I’d get what was coming. I’ve always been a people-pleaser –practice made me perfect at it. And now I find myself constantly having to shut down the need to worry about what others think of me. I’m obsessed by it; it’s like I need to know –what does this person think of me, oh that person hates me –why? I’ve gotta show them why they don’t need to; this person believes this about me, I’ve gotta set them straight… etc… etc… It’s been exhausting. I’ve been trained well to be what others want, instead of what I want. No more!!!
At one point after my son was born I went to the doctor and told her the very sentences I was hearing in my mind: “She hasn’t lost that baby weight yet, look at her she’s so fat, oh my god, that child of hers– why is she dressing him like that, doesn’t she care that he’s so fat? Look at her hair. Look at her clothes. Look at her body. She’s a mess, just look.” My doctor smiled softly and said, “You have post-partum depression, here take this.”
Welbutrin XL. Thus, this was the beginning of my dependence on big Pharma to send my emotions and messages [sent from my body directly to my mind] into a dark hole where I wouldn’t hear them, anymore. It’s unfortunate, too, because at that time I’d been enduring a lot of problems in my marriage and job –I needed to get those feelings of stress and fear listened to, not hidden. I needed to work out those evil thoughts and find out why I was thinking them. I needed help to end my marriage but I had no one I felt safe speaking to. I had post-partum depression because my husband had played inappropriately with our child and I felt terrified and trapped in my marriage. We also lived in an 8 story building as the only young couple with children, and I felt like we were on a microscope strip. The drugs helped me, I thought. I wasn’t obsessing over my fears as much (turning off my red-flag detector) and I wasn’t as terrified to go out into public. My doctor said I was verging on agoraphobia (fear of leaving home), but the meds would help. After a few months she was right.
Okay, just so you know, there is a point to all this rambling. It is to say that when we are in situations where we feel like it’s wrong to do what we’re doing (such as my step-dad not wanting to go to his in-laws for Christmas dinner, or forcing yourself on someone who doesn’t like anyone but themselves) we should listen to our bodies and NOT do it. Even if we’re right in the middle of it and it would be embarrassing to stop it and walk away –do it anyway. Walk away. Stop. Say no and go. It’s ok!! From my experiences I can say with great knowledge that doing what others want, trying to please others to be accepted, and enduring bullshit until you’re abusing others just to get away is NOT the way!
Let’s choose what we love and do those things. Just because someone is demanding you drop everything for them, especially if they’ve been abusive schmucks their whole lives, and you’ve done it all your life does NOT mean you have to keep obeying them. Let them know what it’s truly like in their own stink. Walk away and check on them a few days later, if you still care.
For real, this is the new survival! Being a dick is going to get people nowhere, soon. Just like the Christians do, shun! –and that may mean shunning a Christian, by the way. Shun them and walk away. Stop accepting their shitty attitude and foul temper, stop spending time with them, they are not worth your sanity being lost and your peace being stolen. Toxic is toxic, admit it when you see it!
So, this Christmas as you do what you do, I’ll be spending it without Jesus and all those fairy tales, but I know one thing is for sure: I’ll be spending my time with those that fill me with joy and love! Happy New Year my friends! May you be surrounded by those who you love and who love you! May your holiday be morphed into exactly what YOU need and filled with the people who bring out the best of you and you, likewise bring out the best in them.
Life is to enjoy! So enjoy it!!! We can make heaven right here on earth. We do it for our babies and steal it away when they’re grown. We can make heaven here, over again and again.
Much love to you,
Dalai Momma’s Alexis