It's Called Surviving

 

Is That So? (Consider the Source)

 

Is it true; is it kind, or is it necessary?”

Socrates

Words.

Words heal. Words kill.

We have all heard the expression, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Yet life isn’t that simple when it comes to what is said to us, is it?

And nothing gets the painful ball rolling quite like hearing certain things from our childhood, often beginning with our family of origin. For here is where seeds get planted, lies get told as truths, and issues are born long before we realize them as such.

Some examples?

“You’re ugly. / “You’re fat.”

Almost from the start of our arrival on the planet, we are assessed and judged by our appearance.

Boy/Girl.

Healthy/Unhealthy.

And soon, before we know it…

Cute/Ugly.

Thin/Fat.

Value determinations are right alongside of these simple, yet powerful, words. We are often taught, usually at the speech of a trusted adult, that we aren’t good enough because of how we look in their estimation.

And it has nothing to do with who we are… and everything to do with who they are.

Consider the Source:

Hello, Projection.

Some of us with disordered food, weight, and body image issues, indeed, have endured this kind of projection. Perhaps there was a parent who struggled with his/her own weight, and, instead of dealing with those issues directly, saw an answer or a release valve in shaming us when we were small children.

Doing so, perhaps, allowed the adult parent to still self-hate and be critical but take no responsibility for his/her personal behavior. Placing the blame on someone external, even if that is a small child, redirects the source of the problem. Yes, it’s the child’s fault, not mine.

So, there are those of us who have absorbed the harmful lie that there is something wrong with us. We are fat. We are ugly. We are bad. We are wrong. We should work on fixing that, a/k/a, fixing Mommy or Daddy, to make things right.

It’s our job to do so, after all. Our childlike mind cannot withstand anything contrary to that punishing job description.

We want to be good boys and girls, right?

“You’re stupid.”

After our very image has been assaulted as children, what can usually come next is our intellect. Think about how many times you, perhaps, were told, “You’re stupid.”

And it is sometimes accompanied with the following question:

“Can’t you do anything right?

These commentaries attack or core being. Essentially, we, as children, can often absorb the message, “I’m too stupid to live, be loved, and to have self-worth.” That realized language may come later as we mature and even enter therapy.

But, make no mistake, as innocent children, we internalize the visceral experience solely as a defect in us. We believe there is something inherently wrong with us.

We’re “too stupid” for it to be otherwise.

Consider the Source:

People sometimes do not have our best interests at heart. In fact, sometimes, they live to have our worst interests motivating their behaviors.

Now, add the devastating factor of a so-called trusted adult, parent, or authority figure to the equation and see just how damaging the results can be!

Jealousy, insecurity, and schadenfreude (the term used to describe someone who delights in another’s pain or misfortune) are not limited to adult-on-adult relationships and interactions. No, often, their tentacles can spread from a fully grown adult, jealous, and insecure of the child within his/her midst.

For instance, a mother recognizes the special gifts and talents in her daughter. Those gifts and talents may be a high I.Q., a unique creativity, or a precocious communication style, so far advanced for the child’s tender years, that this adult gets threatened by it.

The adult may, indeed, feel “less than” whenever she is in her child’s presence. Insecurity, jealousy, and a need to “level,” to “take the child down a peg or a notch” becomes all-consuming.

If the adult cannot rise to that level of brilliance or intellect, naturally, according to the insecure parent, the only recourse is to eviscerate the child’s giftings and sense of self, so that the child, indeed, is the “less than” individual in the parent-child relationship.

“You’re worthless.”

This harmful statement is often uttered on the part of the parent and/or trust adult authority figure. It comes across, via image and performance-focused issues.

Some of us are told it outright. Some of us get the insidious constant message, communicated daily to us. We are inundated with beliefs like, “I don’t look the way I’m supposed to look,” “I don’t act the way I’m supposed to act,” “I’m wrong,” and “I can never do anything right.”

Therefore, it’s not too long before we draw the conclusion, if it isn’t dictated directly to us, “I’m worthless.”

Consider the Source:

Who told/taught you that?

Again, who is the first author of this harmful belief, directed our way?

We learned it from somewhere, from someone, after all.

But, perhaps just as important of a question is “Why did they tell/teach you that?”

 Again, it’s important to recognize that another person’s motivation, be they trusted parent or any other adult in our young lives, may not be noble, healthy, or loving.

When an adult, especially a parent, to a child, insists that child is value-less, defective, or only as good as the last thing achieved or perceived (focusing on the elusive image and perfectionistic mandates), it screams more of that adult’s inferior sense of self.

And again, that adult may wrongly determine the solution to their poor self- image is to make the child’s self-image worse.

It’s the adult’s issue, not the child’s. That is, unless and until, through abuse of the power and the charge the adult has over the child, the young and innocent party is now inheriting the unresolved issued of previous generations.

And the child doesn’t question why it’s happening, often times, because they implicitly trust that their parents, teachers, coaches and other “respected authority figures “know what they’re doing, love me, and want the best for me.”

In an ideal world, yes.

But do we live in that world?

Is That So?

These three little words can begin a relief-inspiring process of healing, if we are open to it, if we are willing to challenge the “reality” which appears to be so intimidating.

“Is That So?”

Incorporating these three words, saying them out loud to ourselves, and even to others can, indeed, place us on a path of heathier self-perception and choices.

You and I were fed any number of lies and harmful beliefs about who we were in the world. Many of us have been wrestling with that daunting setup since childhood.

When we were children, there was little we could do to fight against that harshness. The adults had the power, the ability, the control, and the force to execute whatever misguided, abusive, and evil will they desired to inflict upon us.

But we are adults now, empowered to choose something different, if, for no other reason, than to honor that long silenced and neglected child. The question is “Will we do that?”

Consider the Source:

As you and I consider each harmful source, speaking each harmful word into our lives, will we create another source, all our own? Will it be ourselves, someone who, when questioned if we are worthy already, someone who will confidently respond with an authentic and brave “yes?”

Let’s start being that kind of authentic and brave source right now, right where we are!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Translation: Codependency

 

Cancer has gotten my attention on many things.

But one thing I hadn’t quite counted on confronting was codependency. And, oddly enough, or appropriately enough, I faced mine as I was placed in a position in which I needed to be taken care of in an intense way. There’s nothing like a threat of death, major surgery and life-altering changes to one’s physical body to really get someone to face their own limitations and unflattering codependent nature.

One can argue we all are codependent, to varying degrees. It’s not just about enabling a drug addict or an alcoholic, say, giving them money, a place to crash or bailing them out of jail. Codependency is often more subtle than that.

Again, trusty-dusty Wikipedia gives us its definition…

“Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity. Definitions of codependency vary, but it is generally defined as a subclinical, situational, and/or episodic behavioral condition similar to that of dependent personality disorder. The term is less individually diagnostic and more descriptive of a relationship dynamic...”

Uh-huh.

Human beings are nothing, if not codependent. After all, we’re social creatures, interdependent on working and living together. Each of us has strengths and weaknesses. The “many hands make light work” principle is often trotted out, encouraging unity and getting things done, etcetera…

On and on, creating nothing but codependent behavior for miles!

Yes, we need to be helpful, of service… within reason.

With BALANCE!

And here is where you and I can get tripped up, as our poor self-images, need for purpose and our extreme approval- seeking demand we overextend ourselves, again and again.

It would be ideal if we would and could recognize this, each time we fling ourselves into self-destructive, unrealistic “save the world” patterns.

But often, we are too much in the middle of our self-imposed tornadoes to witness them spinning us out of control. And then, like Dorothy, from “The Wizard of Oz,” we say to our crisis-stricken lives, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!”

Cancer has strongly nudged, if not, forced me to examine how I was showing up for others in a codependent fashion.

Maybe you’ll see some of yourself here.

Again, as human beings, it’s hard not to fall into at least a little codependency. Largely, I believe, that’s because it has a lot to do with unrealistic expectations, both others’ and our own. Boundaries can be blurry, if they even exist at all when we traipse into a relationship dynamic with another person.

Codependency can be sneaky and subtle. It is often revealed through what others say to us. Here are just a few of my greatest hits. Enjoy.

“You’re so thoughtful!”

I have heard these words uttered repeatedly throughout my life. It usually follows on the heels of me doing some gift-giving. I love to give gifts; it’s a big way I express love.

However, I’ve needed to adjust my gift-giving, post cancer. I soon discovered, although it was never voiced, certain people expected the gifts to keep rolling in after my diagnosis, while I was in the hospital, getting my surgery and as my energy levels were zapped.

Still, that notorious expectation… People wanted things “back to normal” from me. Yes, they paid lip service, acknowledging my health crisis, saying things like “You take care of yourself.”

Yet, actions do speak louder than words, don’t they?

Eventually, their patience wore thin. I was taking too long to recover. I wasn’t “back to normal.” I was different. And soon, there was the pressure for the gift pipeline to resume. Resentment, and sarcasm were executed as I tried to “explain” why I just was not getting with the program.

And soon, unrealistic expectation reared its ugly head within me. Guilt. Arguments like “I should give them money, flowers, gifts like I did before. It’s not that bad. I can do this. They’re counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

I was saying this stuff as doctors strongly cautioned I “take it easy.” That meant no gift-giving, no excessive thoughtfulness (obsession) with pleasing someone else.

I had to take care of myself. I had to rest. I had to receive gifts and help instead of worrying about dispersing them like Santa at Christmas.

Ho- Ho-Ho. Not as merry, as I battled with expectation.

Translation: Codependency

What should everyone expect in this situation? When does expectation become demand?

Gift-giving/receiving has to do the spirit in which it’s done (the intention from both giver and receiver), the expectation (from both parties) and the sense of self derived from doing so concerning both parties (“Am I loved or worthless, based on the transaction?”)

That last one, especially, just shines a big Klieg light onto the “all-or-nothing” way of thinking. Codependency thrives on that premise. We’re either Savior or Villain. There’s no room in between.

“You’re very conscientious!”

This statement has also been directed at me. It’s not in the realm of gift-giving. Rather, it mostly operates in the context of “acts of service.” I do something for someone. Fairly straightforward, right?

Nope.

Here was usually where I responded to an emergency. The only thing was, it wasn’t a one-time thing. No. I had to repeatedly rescue the individual. This was a pattern.

Yet I was not being conscientious for conscientious’ sake. I was simply envisioning the worst- case scenario… and it was solely up to me to prevent it.

How’s that for ego? How’s that for completely unrealistic, unhealthy and unsafe expectation?

Translation: Codependency

Here’s where I was a participant. In these circumstances, whether they be rife with abuse, manipulation or dysfunction, I was choosing. I think that’s what gets lost in the shuffle for so many of us, even within these circumstances. We are constantly choosing, making thousands of decisions each day about how we will respond to, well, life.

Iyanla Vanzant, a well-known life coach, has a great quote: “You can always make another choice.”

Not surprisingly, we, codependents are not thrilled about that statement. We’d rather believe “there is no other choice” and “I have to do this.”

No, we don’t.

It’s not about shaming anyone who has been through abuse and treacherous situations. When you’re in it, you are in survival. There may not be much luxury to analyze the complexities of the environment as, say, you and I are simply trying to stay alive and sane.

However, if we can grasp onto any notion of power and control that we do have access to, we can tap into that power of “making another choice.” It’s not easy; it’s not instant. It’s ongoing and imperfect.

And it is possible, however, whenever, wherever you and I can accept it. We can make different- and better- choices.

 “You have a servant’s heart.”

This one still makes me cringe. I have heard it spoken to me within a volunteer context, where being pleasing and accommodating were held in high regard. And, usually, that means there is some form of worthy cause, implying self-sacrifice and “the greater good.”

In my personal experience, this applies to church. I want to state, church is just one of the many possibilities out there when it comes to being codependent in group settings. I’m not “picking on the church.”

However, yes, indeed, codependency is often encouraged within a church setting. For me, personally, whether I was doing something for a pastor, “the team” or “for the Lord,” it still called into question what was appropriate… and what was not.

It is a sticky question to entertain. Just how DO you and I deal with things when it appears The Almighty is counting on us?

But notice my words; I say “appears,” meaning, is that really what’s going on here? Or is it something else?

Volunteering is a noble, loving, human endeavor. But, if/when you and I add matters of faith to the equation, there can be added pressure and blurred boundaries to the mix.

I received a lot of great insights, camaraderie, and personal discoveries of myself within my church volunteering experiences.

But, undeniably, I also received some toxic messages, encouraging harmful codependent behavior, for “the greater good.”

For me, that meant staying long hours, being sleep deprived, stressing myself out because of unrealistic expectations (from both myself and from church staff), neglecting my husband and my writing, because, after all, “this” (whatever the current task or project of the day was) APPEARED to be that much more important.

“THIS,” after all, included…

Saving lives…

Saving souls…

Feeding the hungry…

And so, I heard the statement, part approval, part warning…

“You have a servant’s heart.”

As long as the pastors were pleased with my performance, as long as I made things flow easier, generated more money, removed burdens, was compliant and cheerful, while being self-sacrificing, I was, indeed, that stellar person with the servant’s heart.

Deviate from those mentioned examples, however, and I risk being the exact opposite? A selfish, unloving, uncaring person?

Can you see the agonizing, double-bind trap to it all?

Translation: Codependency:

We all need to do our part. Yes.

However, spoiler alert, misuses of power and codependency can thrive. And, as we’ve heard of many scandals over the years, church is not immune from those exploitative behaviors.

But, again, this goes beyond the church. Think of any “well-meaning cause.”

“The greater good.”

Think of organizations and groups that have set such high bars of curing humanity’s ills. To make any and all of that happen, even the most well-intentioned group can fall prey to encouraging codependency. There can, without anyone realizing it, emerge the message…

“You need to keep giving and doing at this high level, for the cause, so we can experience the results of it.”

Yet, there is less realization and appreciation to OTHER results which can occur if we try to keep up this impossible pace…

An emotional and mental breakdown…

Depression…

Anxiety…

Addictive behaviors…

Broken marriages and relationships…

Deterioration of one’s physical health…

And, while I was impacted by much of the above listed, what, again, got my attention the most was that last one, via my cancer diagnosis.

Now, to employ church terminology, my “temple,” my “vessel,” was at risk.

Translating Codependency:

I wish I could say that my epiphany was one distinct moment. It wasn’t, even with my diagnosis. Rather, it was a subtle awakening, like slowly coming out of anesthesia.

I think that’s what it can be like for most of us codependents. We often don’t know what we’ve experienced until, perhaps, years- even decades- after the fact.

Hindsight, 20/20 stuff.

But, sooner or later, we come to recognize the dysfunction, the pattern. And, sooner or later, we recognize it’s not working. Our way of dealing with life must change.

People pleasing and being viewed as “nice” can bombard us with guilt and obligation. But we need to look closer at what those connotations are all about.

And, within the framework of codependency, it’s about others’ needs being more important than our own. Each of us needs to recognize our needs, wants and desires are JUST as valid as someone else’s. And sometimes, they take priority over that other person’s situation.

It’s the cliché example of the Oxygen mask on an airline flight. You need to put your own mask on FIRST before you can help anyone else.

And, even if there is no one else around to help, you are worthy enough to pay attention to.

That is the translating we codependents need to be doing.

All by ourselves, without anyone else’s needs or demands, we are worth it.
Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Self-Care is...

 

Take Note

 

Their Trip

 

Rejection Letter

 

Whatever you're doing today...

 

Yosemite Sam, My Mother and Cancer: Healing From All Three

 

Yosemite Sam, My Mother and Cancer: Healing From All Three

Cancer and caregiving have introduced me to the terms, “vulnerable adult,” “self-care,” “Narcissistic abuse…” and “Grey Rock.” They are daily parts of my life now.

I try to soldier on. But, have you seen the cartoon, Yosemite Sam?

 “Dag gum, rootin’ tootin’ varmint!”

I devolve into him, maybe with steam escaping my ear holes.

My mother entered her care facility ten years ago after a crippling stroke. And I have been her caregiver ever since.

Who wants to experience some caregiving fun? How about the quarterly care conferences? These meetings cover all things resident: activity level, diet and an opportunity to voice anything that has become an issue.

I am Mom’s health care agent; ergo, I deal with any problems concerning her. However, my mother only sees me as the child playing dress up. That viewpoint, coupled with her nervous discomfort over uncomfortable matters, sparks her laughter at me during the meeting’s discussed topics. I ask questions and go over her stats with the social worker, dietician and nurse case manager. Her laughter becomes distracting, as all discussion stops.

“Mom, what’s so funny?”

“Oh, just something.” Her body convulses with giggles in her wheelchair. Eventually, we wrap up the conference and I end yet another fun adventure in caregiving.

And, once I am safely in the car, I can become Yosemite Sam. I vent, scream, sometimes cry. Imaginary caregiving guns blazing. My poor husband gets an earful during the two-hour drive back. Years of this dynamic.

And, for years, I convinced myself I could go on like this indefinitely. Mom’s elderly. I can tough it out.

Not so fast.

For, in 2017, I received my Breast cancer diagnosis. But even then, it took a while for me to access Grey Rock for my benefit, as well as for Yosemite Sam’s.

What’s Grey Rock, you ask?

It’s a technique practiced within the context of Narcissistic abuse and toxic people. The goal is to be as non-reactionary as possible, just like… a grey rock. To do otherwise only gets the other toxic person’s juices flowing, harming us further.

A year after my diagnosis, while grappling with both caregiving and cancer challenges, I discovered that my sweet, vulnerable adult mother was, more than likely, a Covert Narcissist.

That was a fun day.

Because of my abusive childhood, I knew there was codependency. Our lives were spent walking on eggshells and pleasing my dad, “or else…”

My mother was submissive. No voice. Abused.

But my mother could not face that reality.

And, I believe that she made a choice. Her refusal to see how bad it was, her desire to be taken care of, to be viewed as a “nice woman,” and to have affirmation any way she could get it, all led her to be covert about obtaining, maintaining and executing power, control and her “voice.” She achieved this via, me, the powerless child.

(I know, this is not an objective stance).

But my mother has been passive-aggressive with me my entire life. She doesn’t directly voice what she wants. She undermines. She comments. She asks a question, instilling doubt and guilt. She makes light of a distressing situation, laughing about it. But she does it all sweetly.

She did this even after my cancer diagnosis. She just couldn’t-or wouldn’t- get that I was preoccupied with treatment and healing, not orbiting around her. And that’s what she wanted. Me orbiting her until she dies.

Only now, there’s a possibility I could die before her.

So, I had frustrating conversations with her, trying to reason with her. That led to one exchange, exposing her victim mentality, a hallmark of Covert Narcissists. She told me that I disappointed her, even though what I was doing was recovering from my cancer experiences and practicing “self-care.”

To her, however, that was unacceptable.

Yosemite Sam was not only furious. Now, he was despondent.

Something had to change.

Okay, then, time to recalibrate. I’m still her daughter. I’m still her caregiver. But I’m also diagnosed. And, if I’m not physically dying right now, I’m certainly emotionally dying, suffocating in this dynamic.

I had to change. Mom wouldn’t. Mom couldn’t. She is the person she is.

Grey Rock would be my paperweight, holding my psyche together and keeping Yosemite Sam at bay. It’s not a perfect method, but it helps me, nonetheless.

Here are a few of the staple go-to phrases I’m currently using.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

For decades, I tried to reason with my mother why I could not meet her expectations. And that never worked. So, no more.

Whatever she says, be it guilt-inducing or martyr-filled., I respond, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” It plainly communicates I have heard her, but she is not getting any further past the protective barrier. Boundaries.

Sometimes, she insists on mocking me. Sometimes, she is quiet. In any case, I am resolute. I’m not giving in to her demands; I’m taking care of myself. Simple.

“That’s interesting.”

I use this response when Mom still insists that I should look differently and make lifestyle choices that would move me geographically closer to her. Perhaps, now, she posits that because of “the cancer,” the only logical option for me is to move into her care facility, residing right next door. Or better yet, bunk beds in her room! My husband could assemble a cot nearby for himself, I guess.

Ludicrous, right? Even with “my cancer?”

Mom wants me to revert to babyhood. I cannot comply. Breast cancer and whatever may result concerning it are not boo-boos she can make better.

So, to her remarks now: “That’s interesting.” I give no other spirited Yosemite Sam feedback.

“I’m hanging in there.”

I say this whenever we speak by phone and she asks me how I am doing. At first, she didn’t know what to say to that. Sometimes, she comes back with the question, “What does that mean?” and I retort with, “Just that, Mom. I’m hanging in there.” Sometimes, she laughs at me.

It probably frustrates her, sure. But that’s because she’s not getting “the intel” she desires, intel which gets her attention/sympathy from her care facility and intel which she can use against me later. That stuff has happened too many times.

Early in my diagnosis, I did try to inform her, with as little gore and fear as possible. She just didn’t want to hear anything other than “I am okay. I’ll soon be back to focusing on you again.”

But energy is finite now; I need to be mercenary. Yosemite Sam cannot get riled up as he once did.

Besides, even into her advanced years, Mom’s still “covert.” Sneaky. Agenda-filled.

She has not- and will not- change.  I must change.

“I’m fine. What’s going on with you?”

These responses address the “spin it around” tactic.

I strive to be boring in my answer and I quickly ask my mother what’s going on with her. Let’s interact concerning your life, Mom.

She usually doesn’t have much to say. It’s surface chit-chat. Unfortunately, that’s our relationship.

Distance is the Heart Healer

And I grieve and resign myself to that. Sometimes, we don’t get what we need from our important loved ones.

But I am worth being in a healing, peaceful place. Change concerning Mom is helping me get me there. I’m still her caregiver, but I do things concerning her more at a distance. I employ the speaker phone concerning her care conferences. I see her, but now, it’s less frequently.  I tend to her needs and issues as best as I can. And that is enough.

I love my mother. But sometimes, loving her can turn into killing me. I’m aware of that now. That stops now. 

I give myself permission to make it stop.

Yosemite Sam has calmed down a bit and I continue to focus on my cancer survivorship and well-being.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

Verbally, But With Dance Prep

 “Verbally, But With Dance Prep” discusses the “no word” in our life’s communication arsenal. | elephant journal

What's Actually Happening

 

Building From the Inside Out

 

As you are shifting...

 

Perspective

 

In high school art class, I was taught the definition of perspective:

“Two seemingly parallel lines meet at a vanishing point on the horizon.”

And, to get a more tactile lesson in that definition, my art teacher had us students draw our high school hallway, capturing that perspective.

So, there we were, a bunch of ninth and tenth graders, perched at various points of the hallway, our 18 X 24- inch sheets of paper taped to gigantic drawing boards that could be used to bludgeon someone.

And, from there, with our pencils and rulers, we endeavored to capture that illusive perspective line. No easy feat. I learned an art class lesson very early; draw LIGHTLY. It was hard to thoroughly obliterate a mistake of a dark line, even with the thickest of pink gum erasers.

Furthermore, the challenge of capturing perspective’s line, on the first attempt, was usually incorrect, meaning, what was supposed to resemble the flow of a long hallway, quickly became the row of lockers colliding into the opposite wall.

Two seemingly parallels lines meeting at a vanishing point on the horizon?

Hardly.

It was more like you’re never going to be able to open your locker again.

For the few weeks we students were doing our artsy sit-in, probably, while being fire/safety hazards. And, I have found myself learning a few lessons, beyond the drawing of a hallway, ever since.

The Seemingly Never-ending Row of Lockers:

They seemed to stretch for miles.

With my trusty-dusty ruler, I had to carve out several of these sliced buggers while, again, making sure that they, somehow, met at a vanishing point on the infernal horizon. These drawn slivers of locker had to be spaced accurately. You couldn’t just have a three-inch block of locker next to a two- millimeter slice. They had to TAPER!

TAPER!

As I was lightly drawing with my ruler and pencil, I kept thinking about the school lockers. How many instances of bullying, getting shoved into them and getting sexually harassed near them have occurred, since the dawn of high school time? I know I experienced a little of my own hashtag Me Too back in the day.

As I was sitting in the exact same spot on the hallway floor, day after day, I started realizing how much lockers were a metaphor for life.

Each locker was a contained space. Each locker held something: unique, personal expressions of its master. An athletic calendar of upcoming events, a photo of a boyfriend or girlfriend tacked on the inside of the door, books, lettermen’s jackets, gym clothes, maybe an unwieldly instrument like a trombone for band practice. Each locker was a representation of a life, positioned next to another locker, representing another life.

And so on, and so on…

But, as I was vexed with the task of drawing locker slice, after locker slice, it also occurred to me how much lockers represent something more universal and philosophical.

Uncertainty? Monotony? Tediousness?

Life going on, regardless? Yay.

Who, in their adolescent mind, really thinks about boredom, the disappointment, the loss, beyond that of high school experiences? It can be further challenging as the “adults” force feed teenagers glimmering promises of pristine futures, limitless achievements, happily ever after, perhaps?

I know, I know, I know. You can’t break it to ‘em just what life actually is. Each person needs to find out for himself/herself.

These lockers just captivated my attention, way back when. If you focus on something for long periods of time, other thoughts show up.

And, no matter what age or stage we find ourselves in, past high school, there is still that row of clustered sliver blocks, lockers, representing us, veering toward some point, which, one can argue, is our mortality.

Decorate your locker with that!

The Floor:

You know the scene in the 1991 film, “Terminator 2?” There’s just endless road, lurching forward, ominously predicting how cyborgs were going to kill all of humanity? Well, that’s how I viewed the hallway floor as I went about my art project back in the day. It’s was smooth, polished green, and it seemed to keep going, always with the threat of tripping you up.

It appeared to be more menacing than the lineup of endless lockers. After all, there was no personalization here. To quote the band, REM’s lyric, just “three miles of bad road.”

Fantastic. Higher education.

I couldn’t quite get a handle on the hallway floor, this buffed, jade-green surface, for which many a times, I’d tripped and fallen, splat, onto it. Being uncoordinated didn’t help; slippery Minnesota winters, trudging in pools of melted ice further also created obstacle courses, en route to the lockers and classrooms.

But, overall, I suppose what got my attention was how the floor represented the path, life’s path. It just stretched before us, yes, tripping us up from time to time. There would be falls; there would be injuries. Graduating from high school would not- and could not change that.

So, hit the ground running, hit the polished hallway floor running, hit whatever pathway we encounter running, sooner or later, well, life happens.

Breast cancer, for me personally, was just one bit of evidence to support that theory. Although, yes, I was always uneasy with my breasts, no one ever told me, as a young person, that this experience would be part of my hallway floor, my path, the ongoing stretch of life set before me.

Sometimes, disease, illness, loss and death are the floors we must walk on.

Exit Sign:

As that high school student, drawing the hallway, my vantage point had an Exit sign within my sight line. Nothing extraordinary about it. You’ve seen one Exit Sign, you’ve seen them all.

It was positioned to my left, so, I proceeded to draw it in the top left corner of my paper. A simple, slightly rectangular box, with “Exit” written in it. Not much to write home about.

I thought my little sign was adorable. It made a statement. And it wasn’t just, “Go! Get out of here!”

No, rather, it was, “This is the way out.” Simple, less violent, no teenage stampeding, crushing bodies trying to escape the hell of high school.

I was enduring high school. Most of us do. It’s a time fraught with angst, bullying, rejection, awkwardness and lonely insecurity. So, naturally, we’d probably do anything we could to escape that.

All things are subject to change. It’s a universal truth, Inevitably, life does change, some way, somehow. Signposts, signaling an Exit here or there, prompt us to acknowledge and remember we will move on a have different experiences.

For me, personally, high school would end and an era of eating disorders, in their full expression, would begin throughout college into my young adulthood. And then other transitions arrived: marriage, my writing career, loss of one parent, caregiving to another… and cancer.

No one could prep me with a big enough Exit Sign for THAT one.

Yet, here I am, supposedly, in Survivorship mode, navigating the uncertain reality of what the ultimate Exit may mean. Yes, I think about how I once so innocently drew that little sign on the top left side of my paper, never entertaining how much thought I’d give it later.

But eventually, you and I do give our personal Exit Signs a lot of thought, don’t we? Something ends, something “phases out.”

And we need to start over again.

Vanishing Point on the Horizon:

Back during that high school art project, as we sat at the end of the long hallway, there was the destination apex, where, supposedly, our two seemingly, parallel lines met at a vanishing point on the horizon.

When it came to the literal high school hallway I drew, that was represented by a large window at the end of the smoothly polished jade-green floor.

A window- well, there’s a metaphor, huh? Let’s look outside. What’s beyond it? What does the world look like, from here?

The trick, in drawing the beast, was that, on sunny mornings, blinding sunlight would stream through. You had to be careful, looking directly at it. No one here was a wise Native American elder, practicing the ritual of staring at the sun until his/her retinas burned out, while simultaneously, achieving an enlightened vision.

Hardly. Remember, we’re a bunch of teenagers. One needs to lower that expectation a bit.

Still, as I averted my eyes, trying to capture the window, noting how the entire end of the hallway was Madonna’s white-hot set in the “Lucky Star” video, I couldn’t avoid one simple truth:

There is more.

Perspective.

We don’t always see everything when we think we should see it. That, I guess, is what hindsight is for. When you and I are finally mature, wise, compassionate enough to handle the deeper truth in life, then, the vision revelation often comes…

“Oh, so that’s what that was.”

If we try to force things, before we’re ready, we can burn ourselves out. Our retinas may be intact, but something else can be destroyed, if not seriously damaged.

We’re not ready for “it” yet.

Hopefully, we will be someday. But today- now- is not that day.

And, until we are, we need to keep learning the lessons our spirits were assigned, our cosmic homework.

We don’t get finished, actualized, enlightened, all, in one fell swoop. It’s a series of smaller vanishing points on the horizon, smaller, “Oh, so that’s what that was” revelations.

One after the other.

“Draw what you see, not what you know:”

This quote was uttered daily by my high school art teacher and it sticks with me, to this day.

In the drawing context, the point she was trying to hammer home with us was to not get ahead of ourselves. Yes, we may know there’s an ear or a flower in the still life’s vase, but are we actively experiencing drawing the shape and the line of what is before us?

No, we, instead, want to go full steam ahead and draw what we believe is that ear or flower. We’re not in the moment, experiencing it with our pencil. We are assuming instead. Assumption rarely leads to great art.

Going beyond art class, my teacher’s wisdom is the gentle reminder to experience what I’m going through, not make assumptions about what I may or may not encounter. I have yet to master this skill; I can be a bit of a control freak, wanting answers.

Cancer was a doozy for me, therefore, in that department. I don’t know, I REALLY don’t know, what the future will look like. Sometimes, I’m uncertain about my present.

And the past? Well, I’ve had to face it and challenge myself with what truly happened. That’s more painful than just assuming the tale I’d like to believe.

So, yes, I’m currently in a state of challenging the past, present and the future. Although I’d like the tidy, fairytale, “happily ever after,” I have to face and live “what IS.”

I need to draw WHAT I SEE, AND NOT WHAT I KNOW.

And, the irony in doing so is this: I discover, learn and know more from practicing the “what IS.” Truth over story.

Eventually, when you and I face what we see, we, inevitably, stumble upon something. Some personal revelation. Some lesson.

I’ve read some affirmation statements, encouraging us to rejoice, to make the best of things when we find ourselves stuck in a hallway, known as our life circumstances.

Don’t worry. Soon, a door will open and ta-dah. Chin up. That kind of thing.

I don’t know how realistic that advice is. Some hallways are quite brutal. Waiting is the equivalent to agony.

Perspective: “two seemingly parallel lines meet at a vanishing point on the horizon:”

Not all of us draw our high school hallways, trying to get the accurate look of 3-D dimensions from lockers, doors and floors.

But ALL of us can achieve perspective. What do the issues, events, people and places mean to us?

What vanishes from prominence? What emerges as predominant?

No two perspectives are exactly alike. They are fingerprints; they are snowflakes.

A challenge, perhaps, is to recognize that, to find meaning from it. To face what intersects, what disappears and what remains visible.

Perspective. More than just an artistic term.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse