Committed To Misunderstanding You

 

Things I'm Still Learning

 

Not as Terrible...

 

Saying Things Like...

 

Not all in the same boat...

 

Not a Tree

 

You Can Handle It

 

Nice To Meet You?

 

I came across this humorous post online:

“Stranger: Nice to meet you.

Me: Give it time.”

I laughed and cringed. I time travelled through my range of dysfunctional relationships, all starting off with one or another version of “nice to meet you.” From being called “the C-Word” from a friend I thought least likely to hear that from, to being insulted while I was simultaneously flirted with and asked out (all because I was being groomed for that treatment by a toxic person), to being stranded at a stranger’s place because a friend didn’t think I appreciated her enough, I have had my fair share of experiences in which I regretted the early “nice to meet you” relationship origins.

And, before I sound too high and mighty, I have also been my own version of a regrettable (and unstable) “nice to meet you” situation myself. I have been “the needy chic,” waiting by the phone, following a guy around constantly. Back in my severely disordered, anorexic days, I was so out of control, I stole, binged on, and threw away my college roommates’ “forbidden” food, all because I couldn’t have that temptation in my presence.

I believe the clinical term for my behavior is “hot mess.”

Seriously, when it comes to “nice to meet you” situations gone awry, I cannot throw stones. I dwell in a glass townhouse with an attached garage.

Concerning these “nice to meet you” situations, why do they sometimes go so badly?

Perhaps it is because…

We operate under the assumption of pleasant:

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Casablanca

Okay, okay, okay, maybe not every relationship is like Casablanca’s epic-ness, but we generally start off with good intentions, don’t we?

Yes, we often operate under the assumption that this new interaction or relationship will be pleasant. Unless we have been so burned to the point of suspicion and bitterness, typically, when we encounter someone, we give them the benefit of the doubt. We believe this time, this person, this experience will be harmless, innocent, and even great, depending upon, perhaps, positive first impressions, our unmet needs expressing hope that we will be loved, heard, seen, and valued, and, of course, good ole’ naiveté.

We want to believe there is nothing nefarious; there is no hidden agenda or ulterior motive. We want to believe we can trust in the certainty interacting with this person will go well.

And sometimes, it does. And sometimes, it can become more nightmare than realized dream.

So, what’s the game plan going in? Employ realistic expectations… and time. Wait and see. Look at the actions, not just the words. Every cliché, yes.

If we are codependent, in any way, however, that is not second nature to us. We have a tendency to expect the nice to show up.

And that places pressure, not only on the situation or the other person, but on us as well.

Therefore, if we’re not careful, the nice can become hellish, because we are not looking at anything beyond “nice to meet you.”

And we need to look in more than that one direction.

We insist on lasting BFFs.

I once impulse bought two adorable stuffed puppies, joined together, with “BFFs” written on both of their puppy chests.

Those stuffed animals spotlight how much and how often we use that phrase in our culture.

BFFs.

Before it took hold of us the way it has now, it was often written in many yearbooks, high school notebooks, and diaries. There’s much emphasis on females, especially, to pair bond with a certain female who will magically qualify as that “Best Friend Forever.”

And, while it is possible to remain best friends with someone from grade school or high school, most of the time, it is more of a rarity than a common occurrence.

BFFs. It screams “Acquisition,” doesn’t it? Like Pound Puppies, Bratz dolls, or whatever the current toy craze is currently going on now, there seems to be this latching, demanding pressure to “Collect them all!”

The basis of a sound, healthy friendship.

We do seem to hoard when it comes to people. We have more difficulty releasing people which may be toxic. We struggle to realize we have outgrown some individuals. Some “friendships” are not built to last. Some are temporary.

A phrase I have given more thought to over the last few years is this:

“People come into your life for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime.”

Our task is to determine and accept, which people go with each instance.

And then we need to act accordingly.

People are not to be collected and hoarded. People are meant to be in healthy relationship with one another.

That is much more powerful than the catchy phrase, “BFFS.”

Our immaturity (insecurity) needs to trump time.

It can often come down to one important issue, with a question attached to it.

Gimme: why?

There are many possible theories. Here are mine.

We don’t like to be alone.

Sometimes, we are desperate for connection; we are desperate for relationship. This can go beyond simply wanting to get married right now. It encompasses friendship and companionship.
We want anything… and anyone…anything EXCEPT being alone.

Enter, then, immaturity and insecurity. These factors can often drive us to become greedy and grabby. Like the famous Queen song, “I want it all… and I want it now!”

Come on, admit it, you have been there. Maybe you’re there right now.

Whatever the case may be, the concept of patience is not enjoyable to us. No, no, no! Gimme, instead! I want him! I want her! I want them!

We don’t want to wait, especially if it is for our own good.

We believe the lie that the absolute worst pain we could experience is being alone, without that spouse, lover, friend. But sometimes, aloneness is exactly what we need, accompanied by its buddy, time. Maybe we need to heal. Maybe we need to mature. Maybe it’s not the right time. Maybe, even, nothing about this situation and/or person is right.

Pressuring ourselves and rushing into something (or someone), however, does not provide the lasting fulfillment.

If that’s there, that is a cautionary red flag we would do well to heed.

And spend some alone time with ourselves, apart from everyone and everything else.

We don’t want to get to know ourselves, as ourselves.

With the prospect (or threat, depending upon how you view it) of all of this alone time looming for us, many of us struggle with getting to know ourselves.

Is it truly nice to meet ourselves? Is it?

A lot of us believe happiness is found in someone else. We don’t believe we are capable of making ourselves happy, in our own right.

Other people equal distraction, a/k/a, a reprieve from being left alone with our thoughts and the screaming question marks, asking us, “Who am I?”
We want any other noise to drown that out. And sometimes, a certain person comprises that perfect noise to keep the silence, the fear, and the hurt away.

However, as long as we are looking to and for someone else to tell us who we are and give us value, we are neglecting ourselves. We are refusing to know and accept ourselves. We are refusing to love and respect ourselves.

Like the fairytale premise of kissing many frogs to get our Prince Charming, we can become convinced that if we just encounter “the right” nice-to-meet-you interaction and person, then all will be solved.

And it doesn’t work like that. We kiss and kiss and kiss. We look and look and look. We ignore and ignore and ignore ourselves, waiting for someone else to solve us.

As long as we keep doing that, however, the riddle does not get solved.

We don’t want reality (truth) messing with our fairytales.

Prince Charming…Dream Girl… Friends Forever…“Happily ever after…”

That’s what drives all of the above, isn’t it?

“Happily ever after…”

What does that look like in those early “nice-to-meet-you” moments?

What truths would we be willing to overlook? What red flags?

What lies would we want to try to make true for ourselves?

After all, fairytales ARE prettier, easier, neater, more glamorous than imperfect reality.

Why do we need an escape valve? A fantasy? Why do we potentially see that in every new person we encounter? Why?

It’s about pain, isn’t it? Unless you and I are sadists (and one can argue that we all are, in our own unique ways), we generally try to avoid pain at all costs.

Rejection, loneliness, loss, failure, disappointment, frustration are all various points of pain. And they don’t feel good. We want to rid ourselves of them as much as we possibly can. Some of us find the remedy, the antidote, and the cure, therefore, in the meeting of someone new. And it’s exciting to think about, isn’t it? There is the rush, the possibilities, the promise, the hope that can be attached to any new person.

Who wouldn’t get intoxicated by that?

And we often do.

Is this whole thing something that is nice to be met?

It doesn’t matter how things look. It doesn’t matter how things should appear to be.

What IS?

What IS?

Can we look at it without flinching?

Is what you and I are meeting, indeed, something that is nice to be met? That can be another person; that can be ourselves.

How do we feel about- and respond to- that introduction?

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Make It Count

 

Mosaic of Beauty

 

“May all your broken pieces which feel so scattered now be reassembled into a mosaic of beauty. May your healing reveal the art of who you really are.”

John Mark Green

Picasso isn’t for everyone.

Some of us see a monstrosity; some of us only see an elbow sticking out of an ear.

Some of us see his work as art at its finest.

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Extraordinary things can arise from the ashes.

They say all of that. But is all of that truly true?

Pain is beautiful.

No one gets out of this life unscathed. And, generally speaking, no one really enjoys pain. But pain is inevitable. It reoccurs, wearing many different faces. It can be abuse, trauma, death, loss, divorce, failure, and change, just to name a few of its manifestations.

Now, I’m not talking about having an unhealthy dependency on dysfunction. We should seek to get help in mind, body, and spirit. Therapy, learning healthier coping tactics, and accepting ourselves unconditionally should be employed, but not at the expense of denying how much the pain, whatever pain it was, has affected and shaped us.

Nope, we are not “all better” lickety split. We are bleeding and scarred, sometimes lifelong. And we can often view that as moral failure and a defect in our character.

It is not.

It is pain. And pain is difficult, excruciating… and beautiful BECAUSE we have survived the pain. We got out. We made changes. We simply kept breathing.

Pain often gets associated with ugliness because it assumes the worst- case scenario will be the only, final word for us.

But there is beauty from the ashes. There is.

Think about how you have blossomed, and, if you are struggling to see that in yourself, please remember the Lotus Flower. It blooms in the mud. The incredible, delicate, commanding creation blooms in spite of. The flower is not supported by a loving gardener, in a tranquil rose garden. It is not spoken lovingly to by that gardener, affirming it of its inherent beauty and worth. Its beauty is non-negotiable, and flourishes in muddiness, in dirtiness, in filth.

How many of us have grown in mud?

How many of us have felt nothing but dirty our entire lives?

You are not filth. You’re a Lotus Flower.

And your pain can be transmuted into healing, first, for yourself, then for others who believe they are alone in their suffering.

There is a reason you painfully bloomed. There is a reason.

Mistakes (sins) are beautiful.

This one makes us all squirmy, doesn’t it? Especially for us “people of faith” out there. We are shamed for sins and imperfections, repeatedly told how we are nothing but wrong, hopeless, and unacceptable. Love, forgiveness, mercy, and grace seem to be in short supply, sometimes, nonexistent.

I suppose sin is ugly for the pain and the harm it inflicts. And, whether or not you and I view sins and mistakes as one and the same, there seems to be such emphasis in the sin or the mistake as being an inevitable, irrevocable, punishing death sentence. We can absorb lies that tell us we are forever bad, forever ruined, forever wrong, and forever shameful.

We are human beings. We make mistakes. We sin. And while we’re doing all that, we still have value. We do not need to forfeit love and redemption, because we’ve “gone too far.”

No one avoids doing things that are wrong, pathetic, shame-inducing, of poor judgment; no one avoids doing things that are hurtful to others.

Just because we have wound up “there” (in the place of whatever debauchery or evil we think is just too damning to recover from), doesn’t mean we will stay there our entire lives.

All things are subject to change. That includes you and me. Our shortcomings have devastated and changed us. But we are more than any one mistake or sin.

We are the whole mosaic, not just a colorful piece that appears to only look awful.

There is more. We are more.

Growth is beautiful.

Anyone who has ever tried to grow out their hair knows all about the struggle of the awkward stages. Whether we grow out the entire mophead we’re wearing, or simply intend to rid ourselves of our fringy bangs, so we can see our naked foreheads again, these awkward growth stages can appear ugly to us. We can grapple with a no man’s land of being neither here nor there. We don’t quite have short hair; we don’t quite have long hair. Gone are the obvious tidy bangs; but they don’t steer clear of our foreheads completely, often flapping annoyingly against our faces, like the wings of a rabid bat.

(And don’t get me started on trying to wear a ponytail).

Growth is beautiful. But there is a major difference between that assertion and the feelings which are attached to the process. That often feels ugly, painful, difficult. We can often associate beauty with ease. Therefore, we can believe that if something is not easy, it is not beautiful.

We can view the struggle as negating. Beauty is not solely about joy, giddiness, and effortlessness. We do ourselves a disservice if we believe that premise.

If we see the struggle, the hard work, and the tenacity, instead, as the true beauty, regardless of what it looks like, we can take stock in how far we have come, even if it doesn’t look like a beautiful, promised land destination.

We are getting there, nonetheless.

The getting there, not the arrival, is the thing of beauty.

And, since we are not finished human beings, we are constantly beautiful. That is the ongoing mosaic.

(With or without bangs).

Acceptance is beautiful.

I am 5 foot, 4 inches tall. I will not get any taller. There are no more growth spurts in my future (believe me, I checked).

With time and age, I will only shrink,

 (Sigh).

I once had a dream in which I kept standing on chairs and some judge-y chair-type panel of “experts” kept telling me, “Nope, still not tall enough.”

“Not enough.”

We are driven by those two words, aren’t we?

And, when we are not, we seem to be harangued by the words’ evil twin, “Too much.”

No matter which voice is coming at us, it pummels us with how we need to reject, not accept, ourselves.

We do it in big and small ways. We do it, perhaps, because we want beauty in our lives. We want to possess it, control it, activate it, and believe it will always be there. We don’t want to be abandoned by it.

We seem to attach so much power to the enough of beauty. It represents perfection, doesn’t it? And, often, this elusive beauty guarantees that we will finally be worth accepting.

Unless and until, however, that happens, we are obligated to reject ourselves.

After all, how dare we believe we are enough when we look at our lives, and only see the ugliness of shortcomings, failures, and what we deem to be personal ugliness?

What is screaming or whispering to you that you need to reject yourself?

What is preventing you from accepting yourself RIGHT NOW?

A body size? A skin color? A physical characteristic? An income? A relationship status? An achievement? A fear?

I will not be a tall woman. I will not be statuesque, unless, of course, it’s a short statue.

Over the course of my life, thus far, I have learned it’s not important in the grand scheme of things. I have almost lost my life a few times to bring that point home. Eating disorders and breast cancer were some attention getting lessons that taught me I need to appreciate my “vertically challenged,” breastless, imperfect, vulnerable, sometimes irritating, and frustrating self, while I still have the breath to do it.

And I still have the breath to do it.

So, I am tall enough. I am enough, even when I struggle with the “too much/not enough” voices that tell me otherwise.

I accept all the flaws. I’m still breathing.

That’s powerful, because many people are not.

I’m still here, and if I’m too short to reach something, I’ll stand on a chair.

Putting the Puzzle Together: Mosaic…Masterpiece… Me:

How about you?

Want to accept yourself, as is, right now?

Want to embrace your mosaic?

The flaws, the “too much/not enough” of your experience, and the learning of your enough-ness, however long it takes to learn, are all beautiful artistic mosaics, as a most important creation.

“May all your broken pieces which feel so scattered now be reassembled into a mosaic of beauty. May your healing reveal the art of who you really are.”

John Mark Green

Thank you, Mr. Green. I pray your words for ALL of us!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

“Mosaic of Beauty” challenges each of us to accept ourselves as true masterpieces.

"Mosaic of Beauty" challenges each of us to accept ourselves as true masterpieces. | elephant journal

You Did Your Part

It still stings when I recall the words.

“You Did Your Part.”

Minimizing.

Negating.

Condescending.

Patronizing.

Abusive.

Maybe you have heard the exact same thing, or, at least, a similar sentiment to those words.

“You Did Your Part.”

For those of us recovering from abuse, it’s inevitable we will come across someone who downplays what we have gone through. They will excuse it, give reasons why it happened, or encourage us to be good little soldiers, tough it out, and see ourselves as team players, rather than as targets of abuse.

“You Did Your Part.”

Those are some loaded words.

And there was more sub-text hidden in them. What was really meant was more like this…

You protected your family/job/organization/church/school and their image. (Good job!)

How many of us learn that family or business allegiance is more important than an individual’s well-being? “For the greater good,” as they say, right?

Many of us are trained, conditioned, and groomed to believe that the thing, the organization, the structure, the job, the family, the image is far more valuable than any of the members it contains. We are instructed to keep the peace, to “go along to get along,” to lie, to do whatever is necessary to keep this organism alive and thriving. Morals, ethics, relationships, marriages, personal health, and safety be damned! Just make sure “the collective body” is viewed in a positive light. That is the priority. And it is non-negotiable.

You were silent; you didn’t use you voice. (Good job!)

Silence is the mandate. It is golden. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.

How many of us, in a toxic structure, like family or a job situation, were rewarded, or, at the very least, not punished, for zipping our lips? We learn that silence is expected of us; it is our duty. Loyalty. Who are we to challenge the greater authority, and its accompanying image? Just who do we think we are, after all?

So, we muffle our voices. We see something is wrong. We feel something is wrong. We know something is wrong.

But silence. It becomes the necessary air we must breathe. Why must we breathe it?

Because suffocation, a/k/a “or else” punishment.

That can be things like, but not limited to, estrangement from family members, loss of a job, our kids or pets taken away from us, financial support is withdrawn from our lives, violence comes in our direction, guilt, we’re made to feel we are the wrong, awful, dysfunctional and, of course, we are told we are the problem. Everyone else has no issue with how things are going.

What is wrong with us, anyway? Why can’t we just do our part, like good little boys and girls?

You enabled the abuse to keep happening in some way. (Good job!)

Go along to get along. Most of us have done it. In the short-term, it’s just easier to go with the flow, to not make waves, than to confront the harmful or dysfunctional behavior. And, in some cases, especially abusive situations, it’s dangerous for us to do that. We could get ourselves killed for doing that.

So, we enable. We make excuses. We lie. We cover up. We hurt ourselves trying to get and keep things perfectly in order, to avoid wrath and mayhem.

All the while, however, we are tortured because we “let something happen.” Perhaps, we feel we stood by while someone was sexually abused, lost their job, exploited a situation, or lied. Recrimination can engulf us.

“I should have done more.”

“I should have stopped it.”

But we didn’t; many times, we couldn’t.

If we were stripped powerless, in example, we were the abused children or spouse of our tormenter, what, really could we have done? We were surrounded by trap doors.

Status quo, routine, power, perfection, and an aesthetically pleasing image are all things that are of the utmost importance to abusive and dysfunctional people. They tend to not like their perfect little delusional world disrupted, in any way. Yet, they have no thought or issue, whatsoever, with disrupting ours, for their sakes. In their minds, they may think, “That is to be expected. Of course, they would do this for me, for the family, for the business, for the team, etcetera…”

You self-abandoned. (Not just a good job here, but a GREAT job! Atta Boy! Atta Girl!)

This can be the most painful, unexpressed message “You did your part” can represent to us.

It is about betraying the self, whether that is a one-time event, a frequent reality, or the daily norm.  We become the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat, the person who “takes one for the team,” the selfless savior whose response is “for the greater good.” Perhaps, no one, outright, asked you and I do this, but it is always, somehow, understood that we would fall in line.

Of course we would do this because 1) we supposedly have no issue or problem in doing so, 2) we love someone or something so much, that it is not a chore to sacrifice ourselves, 3) we “owe” it to whatever person, family, job, organization or toxic system to offer our devoted duty, and 4) we understand, and it is agreed upon widely, that we have no right to our own lives. It is agreed upon our purpose is to serve “other,” not explore and live our own lives, in and of themselves.

This is, perhaps, the most damaging subtext of “You did your part.” It negates you and I completely. We are not the unique individuals; we are simply a tool to be used at another’s discretion. Therefore, we believe we need to endure abuse, mistreatment, exploitation, lack of love, dignity, honesty, joy and personal needs, goals, and dreams because, somehow, someone else’s determination tells us that is “the right thing to do.”

“Doing our part” is the “right” thing to do. Living our lives, apart from that mandate, therefore, is the absolute “wrong” thing to do. It is tantamount, sometimes, to the worst possible sin, choice, result, and worst-case scenario that could ever exist in all of mankind. It can be sold as that extreme, black and white thinking, all to shame, manipulate, and control us. It certainly is not done for our benefit. The most we could hope for, within this context, is to be an afterthought.

Again, it is about “other,” the all-important “other,” too valuable to not be loved, worshipped, obeyed, sacrificed for and self-abandoned for.

How dare we challenge this universal truth! How dare we turn heretic, become a Judas, and become someone who invokes mutiny and treason?

What IS Our Part, Anyway?

This is the maddening question we ask ourselves. Many of us feel like we’re walking a tightrope between love and abuse, kindness and exploitation, showing compassion and being manipulated, doing what’s needed and doing what’s best and healthiest. Many of us fall off the tightrope in the process.

Perhaps, the short answer lies in our gut response in the moment of expectation and pressure to tow the line.

How do we feel? Are we happy to do something? Joyful? Excited?

Or do we feel obligated, afraid, drained, invisible, and resentful?

Would we be comprising our personal values, morals, and integrity?

If we are conflicted or soured about what is being asked of us, it’s generally a good indicator that it is not good for us.

That’s a hard pill to swallow. Ask yourself the question, “Is this good for me?” Have a person or a situation in mind when you ask the question? What’s your first answer: yes or no?

Don’t get mired in story, history, or explanation. Is this something you want to do?

We can squirm at the prospect of thinking it’s not valid enough of a reason to have it come down to something like, “I don’t want to do it.” We can rationalize that life has lots of things we don’t want to do, but we do them in the name of being responsible adults.

But this is not that.

Doing tedious, menial tasks, like taking out the garbage or doing the laundry, typically, don’t throw into question, “am I a horrible, weak person?” There’s usually no shame attached to the chores of everyday life.

And there’s generally no sense of powerlessness or helplessness, either. No warring mixed emotions, no terror, no soul-crushing guilt. We just do the unpleasant task and move on.

“You did your part,” however, almost always has a nagging, trapped, confused, and compromising quality to it. We come away from it feeling worse, not better, about ourselves in the process.

And that’s the red alert; that’s the deal breaker.

We need to do our part, to honor and respect ourselves, and heed that. We need to take care of ourselves. We are worth doing so.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Weekend Forecast

 

Have you doubted yourself?

 

Hierarchy of Importance Lie

 

Perhaps, I have done the unforgivable. I chose my life over that of my mother’s.

My decision didn’t happen overnight. It came about as, over time, through my cancer diagnosis, I learned the hierarchy of importance lie. I encountered how, in the eyes of my mother and in the eyes of those influenced by her elderly, vulnerable adult self…

Her life was more important than mine.

Yeah. Let me explain.

Over ten years ago, my mother had a stroke that landed her in a care facility.

Since then, I did my best to care give Mom. I anticipated her ever-changing health needs. I attended her doctor’s appointments, quarterly care conferences. I bought her flowers, cards, gifts. I called her twice a week. Before I knew it, I stopped taking care of myself.

Cliché, isn’t it?

Years of this. Challenging these years further was the fact that Mom and I already had an enmeshed mother-daughter relationship.

Not surprisingly, when I was my mother’s caregiver, she often criticized my decisions for her care, health and safety-wise, because they were not enjoyable for her.

Mom would also often laugh at my attempts to help her. Again, years of this were just status quo par for the course.

And then I received my 2017 Breast cancer diagnosis.

For that was the beginning of tests, surgery, and treatment. Oh, and of being terrified in a particularly cancer-y kind of way.

Once again, cliché.

Now, in that framework, cue other people’s assumptions. Some came from the care facility. Some came from “interested parties.” Most came from my mother herself.

And here is where I encountered the concept of the hierarchy of my life and my human value, stacked against that of my mother’s. The revelations were disturbing. And perhaps, even, more common than any of us can realize.

Trap Number One: It’s Not That Bad (I Can Do This):

When I was first diagnosed, I was convinced I could do this “caregiver with cancer thing.” Yeah sure, life-altering and life-threatening change.  Just let me call my mother two days before my bilateral mastectomy and see if there is anything she needs?

 I’d downplay my terror whenever I’d interact with her. Once I was diagnosed, it would be months before I’d be able to see her. Two months of testing, then, my surgery, and exactly six weeks of healing there. And then, a course of radiation, lasting another six weeks. I could not travel. It was about healing and minimizing stress.

And, as I revealed to both my mother and the care facility about my treatment approach, I caught a bit of minimizing from both. Because I did not undergo chemo, there was a held assumption that my cancer “wasn’t that bad.”

Not that bad? Really? I had life and body-altering surgery that removed my breasts. I had radiation that burned my skin. I feared death, as uncertainty took more of a hold on my daily life.

Yet it wasn’t so much their attitudes, as it was my own internalized one that created the most pain and difficulty. In the early days of my diagnosis and treatment, I had believed that my little surgery and radiation was not that harsh. “It wasn’t that bad.” I was, after all, still in better shape than my elderly mother, right?

Wrong. Because cancer. Life changed. My future changed.

And, as much as I may have fought that reality, it wasn’t going to lessen, simply because anyone else, my mother and myself included, tried to downplay its impact.

Are you, in any way, with any loved one, downplaying your own cancer impact?

Is someone else’s life more important than your own cancer-diagnosed life?

Be honest.

Trap Number Two: Mom Will Understand:

 My mother will understand that my cancer diagnosis is serious.

Mom “seemed” to have accepted this reality. In the early days, she said things like “your health is important” and “take care of yourself.”

Yet I soon discovered that was lip service. She expected something quite different as she said those things.

I kept in contact with her by phone; I participated in her care conferences via speaker phone as well. I sent her cards, gifts, and personal care items in the mail. I did this while I had my surgery drains in. I did this while I had T-Rex arm mobility and I could not use a can opener. I did this while my irradiated, burned skin was peeling. I did this while I was processing my different body and life.

I wasn’t fully grasping this absurdity yet. When I finally visited my mother for her birthday. I coordinated the party plans, bought a sheet cake, and attended her big day. The event went well.

“Happy Birthday!” A good enough effort?

I think you can guess my answer.

Mom asked When would my husband and I see her again? I’m all better now. After all, she had proof. I was at her birthday party.

Let me find that big hole of mine again, so I can just keep digging.

Mom asserted, “You had surgery and radiation and you don’t have cancer anymore.”
I swallowed a bitter pill of realization here. There was only room for one vulnerable adult, needing care and, guess what? It wasn’t me.

I felt hopeless. In my efforts to not scare her, had I made Breast cancer “no big deal?” Had I perpetuated the hierarchy lie that her life was more valuable than mine, as I jumped through hoops despite my diagnosis? Had I done that?

Trap Number Three: Mom Will Change Her Behavior:

Yes, Mom seemed to be unwilling to accept why I wasn’t back to being her healthy daughter, catering to her needs. Her passive-aggressive comments soon impacted my stress levels. At routine checkups, doctors and nurses commented about my racing pulse. I was ever-aware of stress and recurrence. Cancer could happen again if my mental state continued to poison my physical being.

I soon found myself hating my sweet, elderly, vulnerable adult of a mother.

How’s that for Daughter of the Year?

A more insidious reality I was falling for, however, was that I was also unwilling to accept that I was not back to being her healthy daughter. I was not accepting the changes to the status quo.

Instead, I was crucifying myself for being a “bad daughter.”

Why?

Maybe because it was easier than looking at the personal changes I needed to make? Because it was more comforting to believe I was wrong, instead of accepting that the both of us needed to stop the unhealthy codependency and unrealistic expectations? Perhaps it was because I was just too scared of my mother’s disapproval? More frightened of that than even my own death?

This was not working. I had to stop making cancer okay for her.

For whom are you making your cancer experiences “okay?”

What are you afraid will happen if you put your cancer/health needs first?

Take Care of You- Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It:

As diagnosed caregivers, we must prioritize ourselves. No easy feat.

For, because of the vulnerable loved ones in our lives, all focus goes to that individual. Somehow, it’s just assumed that we, as caregivers, will stay healthy indefinitely. There is no such guarantee.

Therefore, don’t be surprised if/when you simply cannot. No judgment, no shame.

You and I are called to live a life which has meaning and health, in spite of caregiving and/or cancer. You just cannot sugarcoat it. Give yourself permission to live instead.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

Effort

 

A Narcissist’s Prayer

 

When I was a child, I was at the dinner table with an adult family member and everyone was saying grace, everyone, that is, except this individual.

As a filter-less child, I noticed this and spoke up about it.

“Why isn’t (this person) saying grace?”

Another family member, clearly uncomfortable and trying to do damage control stammered, “Well, (this person) is, in their own way.”

Meanwhile, I saw this non-praying person, the one “praying in their own way,” seethe with raw rage, making the entire table fearful of the wrath that was about to reign down.

Little did I know then, as I know now, I had just witnessed the Narcissist’s Prayer.

I happened upon a post about Narcissism, online, months ago, called the Narcissist’s Prayer.  It goes like this:

That didn’t happen.

And if it did, it wasn’t that bad.

And if it was, it’s not a big deal.

And if it is, that’s not my fault.

And if it was, I didn’t mean it.

And if I did, you deserved it.

Yikes. Yeah.

So, going back to my childhood prayer incident, I saw just how I was, indeed, being taught this prayer, not only by the Narcissist, but by those people surrounding the Narcissist as well.
That didn’t happen.

Cognitive dissonance 101: That thing you experienced? Yeah, you didn’t experience that at all. You’re mistaken. You’re stupid. You’re being silly.

Let’s face it, gaslighting makes things easier on everyone else, doesn’t it? By utilizing gaslighting, people can avoid the discomfort of addressing uncomfortable, confrontational, adversarial truth.

Yeah, that could ruin dinner.

Or confronting the situation could expose abusive, toxic, unhealthy relationships and behaviors that are harmful and not acceptable for anyone to display, at any age.

But, too often, the “adults in the room” determine they know what’s best. And dealing with an issue addressed “out of the mouths of babes” is not what’s best, according to them. It’s inconvenient. It’s unpleasant. It ruins an arrangement, a deal struck, a system that seems to be working “for everyone else.”

Therefore, the decision is made, and the person pointing out something everyone else wishes to ignore, is sacrificed for the greater good: of the family, of the group, of the organization or of the system.

Therefore… that didn’t happen.

BUT IT DID HAPPEN.

As a child, I learned to distrust my gut instincts, deferring to someone’s opinion, “who knew better.” And again, being in that kind of headspace can work great for those people who want to keep the lie or the dysfunction going.

You and I don’t have to be children for that vulnerability to exist. It can happen at any age, with any person, because we are trained to make someone else’s determination more important than our own intuition.

And we need to know, especially if we’ve never been taught or encouraged to embrace this lesson, that we are capable of knowing what’s real, of knowing we are capable for calling a situation accurately.

If something feels off to us, nine times out of ten, it’s off.

And if it did, it wasn’t that bad.

And if it was, it’s not a big deal.

“You’re overreacting.”

Ever been told that?

That must be the pet statement of a Narcissistic system, too invested in controlling other people with cognitive dissonance and gaslighting. The mission is to invalidate, confuse, cause self-doubt, and, therefore, silence and stop anyone who dares to speak out against abuse and mistreatment.

The statement is even more insidious, as it is cloaked in diffusing a situation which, left unchallenged, “could get out of hand.”

So, hush.

Concerning my childhood experience, my observation that the Narcissist was not praying was met with the explanation, ““Well, (this person) is, in their own way.” I was taught to not trust that I knew what praying looked like. I was taught to see that “in their own way,” instead, involved, no actual praying, but explosive rage instead, and then, further minimization of my observations and fears continued from there.

Here, I was instructed, far from the dinner table, that my apprehension wasn’t warranted, all because, concerning this family member, “at least didn’t hit me.”

What?

As a child, I had no idea how to deal with comparative abuse. How could I?
Why did someone have to get hit to have something be wrong, scary, or dangerous? Why was someone else’s interpretation of “what’s really bad” grounds for convincing me I shouldn’t be alarmed by my situation?

Abuse and mistreatment: it’s not a competition for “who had it worse.” All are terrifying and should not be allowed to continue.

But the Narcissist and his/her allies enabling him/her, are all about erecting criteria of why they are right and you and I, the targets of abuse, of any abuse, are wrong. The Narcissist, and those who support that person, are interested in keeping status quo, towing the line, and creating life experiences that are toxic, not healthy. “Healthy” means the Narcissist wouldn’t always get their way.

And we can’t have that happen, now can we?

And if it is, that’s not my fault.

Again, as a child, far from the dinner table, I was schooled on how my “outburst” caused the rage. You know the old phrase, “children should be seen and not heard?” Well, I, as a child, was solely responsible for the rage of this other adult, all because I dared to be both audible and visible. I should know better than to ask a question no one else wanted to answer. Asking a question equaled an unruly, childish outburst. I should know better.

But it wouldn’t have been any different if I had been an adult, questioning the same situation. It wasn’t about the age of the questioner. It was about the forbidden mandate to ask the question, in the first place. That was unacceptable, tantamount to treason of the highest violation. Indeed, doing so, would “go against the family.”

And, as we all know from watching “The Godfather” films, “no one goes against the family.”

So, the defensive strategy toward the vile offender is to punish that person and convince them they are to blame.

I experienced other family members telling me, the child, if I just were quiet, cooperative, and a good little girl, I wouldn’t have upset this person so. Compliance. Failure to go along with that? Well, I guess I internalized the message: I got what was coming to me.

This is a form of cognitive dissonance and gaslighting. It shifts all personal responsibility and rightful accountability, from the abuser to the victim.

“You made me beat you,” in essence.

But again, it doesn’t always have to be extreme physical abuse. It can be the more subtle mental and emotional mind games, planting seeds, deep with us, that we are the problem, the burden, the cause.

We start to believe, “If only we could just act right and be good…”

If only…

And if it was, I didn’t mean it.

Excuses.

They are a staple of many Narcissistic abusers, and the people who support them.

As a child, I absorbed the blame for this grace at the dinner table scenario.

Okay, I reasoned…

 I was wrong to believe this person wasn’t praying.

I was wrong to ask about it and call attention to it.

I was wrong because I got this person mad.

I was wrong because this person was special, and therefore, had full permission to show scary rage.

I was wrong because, no matter what I did or did not do, it wasn’t enough. I was to blame for ALL of it.

That’s an enormous amount of information for any person to carry.

Now, let’s add something more to that cargo, shall we?

As if I wasn’t feeling upset enough, confused enough, and troubled enough, now I had family members telling me such things as “They didn’t mean to do it. They don’t feel very good about themselves inside.”

Are you kidding me?

So, now, I’m supposed to take all of this on the chin because of someone else’s lower self-esteem issues? That is what gets this person yet another free pass?

Again, personal responsibility and accountability for one’s actions were nowhere to be found, at the dinner table, or anywhere else, for that matter.

I was informed, repeatedly, how I needed to make allowances, how I needed to be understanding and tolerant of this person, and their poor behavior. After all, they “couldn’t help it.”

How many of us have been told these things about an abuser? How many of us are gaslit into accepting responsibility for the abuse the abuser caused towards us?

Now, the cognitive dissonance gets ramped up even further. Now we can really enter codependency land. The assertion (the lie) we believe is this:

“Not only am I extremely to blame for my behavior, but I am also responsible and to blame for any other person’s bad behavior, especially if they mistreat me. I am to blame, for everyone’s sins, behaviors, thoughts, words, and deeds.”

And that sets the stage for the last part of the Narcissist’s prayer…

And if I did, you deserved it.

Blame, blame, blame!

Look no further than to you and me, huh?

Not surprisingly, this childhood dinnertime event was not the only time I encountered the Narcissist’s Prayer. It just laid much of the groundwork for the incidents yet to come. And that groundwork taught me the lay of the Narcissistic land:

There are special rules for this person.

Preferential treatment is, of course, a given.

There is a special set of truths for this person in the world.

And they get access to them all.

You cannot partake of any of their perks. For, that is not your role and function.

Yours, good news for you, is merely to serve this Narcissist, to serve this abuser.

That is your lot in life.

Congratulations.

(I’m sure Hallmark makes a card for just this situation).

Indeed, as childhood evolved into adolescence and then into adulthood, I learned, like many of us caught in these abusive dynamics, that we are simply here to endure and be at the mercy of whatever this abusive, disordered, dysfunctional person wants to do with and to us.

It’s not a message we internalize and live from a one-time encounter. It is the daily slights, the daily injustices, the daily injuries, sometimes, even mixed within the “good times,” that have us believing the tenets of this toxic prayer. We know it feels unholy to us. But, because it is normalized so often, we get to a point of resigning ourselves to our fate.

We can believe our prayers are not heard, because the Narcissist’s are. We need only look to the evidence known as our lives. They get carte blanche. We get Hell.

But right here, right now, we need to dismantle that Narcissist’s prayer. It is who that toxic person is, not who we are.

In short…

That didn’t happen.

Yes it DID! You and I witnessed it!

And if it did, it wasn’t that bad.

Yes, it was that bad! It hurt us; it changed us.

And if it was, it’s not a big deal.

It is a big deal. It has affected our lives in significant ways.

And if it is, that’s not my fault.

It is our abuser’s fault. Their choices and actions have consequences. They are responsible for those consequences.

And if it was, I didn’t mean it.

They meant it; it was easier for you and me to absorb blame and shame than it was for them to face what they did. And they let us (or made us) take their issues on because it benefited them to do so.

And if I did, you deserved it.

You and I did not deserve to be abused or mistreated. It didn’t matter what we did or did not do. Someone else abusing us is never right, never acceptable, never good childrearing, never loving, never discipline or something that’s “for our own good.” You and I were harmed. Anything else challenging that is a lie, a manipulation, or a justification. We were harmed and it wasn’t right that we were.

That is the truth.

Let us all say, “Amen!”

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse