Every Morning...

 

Eventually.

 

More Than Screaming Cat Face Mode

 

I often fall prey to internet memes, and an assortment of cute and absurd images.

I recently came across an image of a cat, labeled as “the screaming cat.” The photo captured a feline in three successive images, with its mouth open, sitting oddly, paws out, next to a fan that was not running.

And it made me think about a fundamental truth: things are often not as they appear. Then I thought about Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”

Then I thought about the all-around need for each of us to practice more self-compassion.

(Stay with me here).

First, it’s a yawn.

Things are not as they appear; same thing with screaming kitty. It is a yawn, shot, more than likely, in mid-expression by the photographer.

And that photographic evidence reminds me of how susceptible you and I are to being stuck in moments. Ugly moments. Unflattering moments. Embarrassing moments. Excruciating, “this-will-never-end-and-I-am-in-hell” moments.

You know, those moments.

But just like the screaming cat, the situation may not be what it seems. A yawn is not necessarily Munch’s “The Scream.” Sometimes, the unbearable moment we feel caught in is because we are tired. How many times are we in a circumstance that feels exponentially worse because we are exhausted? I know this statement is much easily uttered than solved. Sleep deprivation appears to be one of our modern-day plagues. And if/when life comes crashing down all around us, “taking a nap” just doesn’t seem to cut it.

See Compassion in Frozen in Time.

Kitty-Cat may give us a photographic reminder that we can be stuck in an exhausted, unattractive moment… and it’s okay.

We have some major tragedies and challenges that test us all. Being well-rested can help. It probably won’t cure anything, but the call for self-compassion still exists. Do we take the call?

The call is based on our human frailty and imperfection.

We all have made horrible decisions because we were exhausted.

We all have looked ridiculous because we got caught unaware of some cosmic spinach in our teeth reality. Toilet paper on the bottom of the shoe. We didn’t know it looked that bad, we didn’t know it was that bad until some life incident, via person, place or thing, brought it to our attention.

And then, we wanted to crawl in a poison-encrusted hole… and die.

But what if it was okay to be caught mid-yawn, like Kitty? What if it was okay to make horrible decisions because we were tired, because we were not existing in any other state BUT tired?

Self-compassion asserts that we deserve kindness, love, grace, forgiveness, and rest, no matter what. No matter the blunder, the sin, the mistake. The stuck- in- the- moment yawn will give way to the normal looking face again. The cat’s “scream” is temporary.

So is your scream; so is mine.

We are sitting weird.

As I looked at this screaming cat image, another thing struck me. The feline was sitting in an awkward position; it looked like a prairie dog. The little guy was perched on its back legs, with its front legs held in front. To me, it looked like Kitty was about to do the bunny hop.

Anyway, this weird seating position reminded me of our own weird seating positions, be they physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual positions.  How many of us have done our fair share of weird, perching bunny hop stances at different points in our lives?

See Compassion While Sitting Weird.

Maybe we’re at a crossroads. Maybe we have experienced death, loss, divorce, estrangement, and illness. It would probably, therefore, be unrealistic to expect us to look at our camera ready, absolute best, right? Therefore, self-compassion.

Indeed, while we are adapting or simply trying to hang on, there is little chance we will be sitting portrait pretty, hands folded in our laps, with a twinkling smile beaming. Nope. We will look like a prairie dog/awkward cat, waiting to hop, hop, hop down the bunny hop trail.

Instead of fighting that reality, let’s embrace it. This will be awkward; this will look awkward.

And, of course, this will FEEL awkward.

Nevertheless, just as you and I would not pummel this weird prairie dog of a feline, punishing it for its awkward, moment in time, posture, how about we not torture ourselves as well?

Be one with the sweet prairie dog/cat critter.

And the next time we get the urge to eviscerate ourselves, let’s remember that self-compassion… and act accordingly, while we sit on our weird haunches.

The Refreshing Fan is Turned Off.

As I continued to gaze at the screaming cat, I noticed a tabletop fan in the background. It was motionless. Perhaps it was now autumn when the photo was taken; maybe it hadn’t been put away in storage yet for the cooler weather.

Regardless, it made me think about what we have at our disposal.

Are we using all of the tools?

Like Kitty-Cat, are we turning away from a fan that is not in operation? Do we even see the fan?

It brings up the question of support; do we fight our help?

Therapists, groups, books, and even friends are some potential tabletop fans, just waiting for us to acknowledge them and access them. Do we take them up on their offers? Do we know about their existence?

See Compassion While Turning on the Tools.

We don’t have to have it all figured out right this second.

Apply that to anything we’re going through: relationships, career moves, crossroad decisions. We can place enormous pressure on ourselves to hurry up and get something all solved, perfectly, thoroughly, once and for all. Stick a big red bow on it. Ta-dah! Done! Finito!

And, how compassionate are we toward ourselves when we’re trying to do all of this perfect giftwrapping?

Exactly.

But life, specifically, our unique, one-of-a-kind life, does not that work that way. As much as we hear about how “life is short,” it’s also the long game as well. Things take time; things unfold, usually without us getting in there and mucking it all up.

How many of you Kitty Cats have seriously mucked up some life stuff? Raise your paw!

Setting the impossibility of our achieving quick, thorough, and a one-time effort only regarding perfection of said issue, outside help, so much of the time, is really the only way we’re going to get anywhere with anything: decisions, career moves, healing. We are going to have to recognize the motionless tabletop fan, waiting dormant in our own lives, do something concerning it, like, I don’t know, turn it on. Not a passive motion; it’s an active choice.

Choose, Kitty, choose, knowing you don’t have to do it all by yourself.

What’s the Heart, Kitty-Cat?

With our screaming feline, we get the refresher course of things not being what they appear to be. The scream is not a scream; it’s a yawn. The unflattering moment does not dictate eternal destiny. We can look ridiculous, sitting in an odd posture. A fan that doesn’t move can start up again. How we are caught, in any moment, is a moment in time. More will follow. It’s not hopeless.

All things are subject to change.

And, in the meantime, don’t discount the heart, dear Kitty.

“‘…Elohim sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but Elohim looks on the heart.’”

1 Samuel 16:7

There’s more to the story, to any story. There’s more than we recognize.

And we’re not in total control. Compassion exists, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically because it needs to exist for our human vulnerabilities. We have them… and there’s no shame in having them.

So be in screaming cat mode if you need to be. It’s okay. There’s more to you than that.

You still have many purring days ahead.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

The Covert Narcissistic Parent...

 

Our Inner Janis

 

The anguish. The yearning plea. The bluesy voice. The wildness. The raw truth that, not only commanded you see and hear her, but also that you tap into your own heartache, using her voice as the driving vehicle.

Janis Joplin. Most of us have seen and heard her in the pop culture landscape. She is a staple figure of the “27 Club,” amongst those musicians, like Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, and Jimi Hendrix, who all died at the young age of twenty-seven. They succumbed much too soon, due to personal struggles with drugs, alcohol, depression, and mental illness. She is in that roster.

And her music. A white girl screeching the blues, yanking at the agony of love, unhealthy relationships, and despair-filled longing.

You know, part of the human experience.

I love Janis. Despite my vocal shortcomings, I have belted out her stuff, a coping strategy to deal with exorcising the demons of this thing called life. I try not to make dogs and wolves, alike, howl in neighboring states. But, yes, Janis is a necessity in tapping into and releasing pain for me. I identify with her. For good reason. I don’t have anything really in common with her, at first glance, except our shared middle name.

Janis Lyn Joplin.

And, initially, I thought that was the end of the similarities. That was, until I learned more about her. And I could, again, identify with her, beyond just a shared middle name.

I suspect you can also tap into your Inner Janis as well.

Invisible Beginnings:

Clichés are clichés for a reason.

We are familiar with the common trope. A famous person starts out with humble beginnings. Poverty, abuse, a lack of love, and neglect are all a part of that story.

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

Yep, we, your community, do not see you.

Janis was born and raised in Port Arthur, Texas. And, not surprisingly, she did not fit in. Appearance, popularity, and talent were not appreciated as she grew into a teenager. She did not look like or express herself, “like everyone else.”

Just like you and me, perhaps?

The Invisible Prophet:

Maybe part of why we adore celebrities, like rock stars, is because we see, in them, us, as the misfit. We’ve encountered enough stories, fact and fiction, which have featured the loner outcast, the individual who just didn’t fit in.

Was that you? And, if so, how was that you?

I think, for a lot of us out there, a part of that answer can be found in the Narcissistically abusive systems we live in. Culprits include the family of origin, public or private school experiences, and houses of worship are all heavy hitters. How much more so if we are dwelling in a small and/or rural town, like I did?

Regardless, things like physical appearance, self-expression, sexuality, and financial status are just a few “reasons” that seem to make us targets of rejection.

There seems to be an “us versus other” mentality which asserts that anyone who appears to be different from the rest of the herd is to be ostracized.

And, let’s face it, if you are reading these words, you probably see yourself in the “other” category.

Just like Janis.

Rebellion and/Persecution:

Hello, to all the black sheep and scapegoats out there! Let’s all bleat together!

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

As a youth, Janis Joplin was ostracized and bullied. Because of, and despite this, she explored her musical abilities and interests. She went to blues clubs, just across the state line.

After graduating high school, she attended art school in Austin, Texas and began performing her music in small clubs. Eventually, Janis moved to San Francisco during the 1960s Haight Asbury hippie movement. Janis flourished with that move.

This was a form of rebellion on her part, while simultaneously tapping into her voice in the process. Janis Joplin was not viewed as a beautiful girl, a Southern belle, or a debutante. She did not “fit.” She was, perhaps, too loud, too aggressive, too sexual, too weird. She wasn’t traditional, conservative, or quiet. She was a screaming banshee. She challenged authority.

In time, the world would celebrate that. But not in this time and place. Each step of the way, she was met with criticism, judgment, and scorn. She may have projected a scrappy “tough girl” attitude, but it hurt her in a way that it hurts any of us when we are told we don’t measure up.

The Rebellious/Persecuted Prophet:

Indeed, if, day after day, the message we receive is “you don’t fit; you are wrong,” we are being persecuted. And it’s now gone global, with cyber bullying and stalking ratcheting a threat level beyond name calling.

So, within that hostile environment, we, like Janis, are presented with a choice to fight back, to rebel, or not. Most of us, on some level, choose to fight back and rebel. It can be with belligerence and fist fights. It can also be with our deliberate decision to create and express. Enter: art.

Like Janis Joplin, many of us have found solace, identity, purpose, and meaning via this avenue. We create, therefore, we are.

We can resemble Janis Joplin, even if we cannot carry a tune in a bucket. We can express ourselves, and we should not feel stifled for doing so.

Rejection:

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

Janis Joplin was not accepted in her hometown. Blame it on the Southern mentality, the Bible Belt, a lack of diversity in her community, or any other possible explanation under the sun, it still didn’t change her reality. Janis was rejected.

Attending art school in Austin, Texas would, unfortunately repeat that experience for her.

According to one documentary I caught on the rock icon, while attending that Austin art school, each year, the fraternities would sponsor a festival on campus. And one of the activities was the “Ugly Man” award. People could nominate anyone who they believed should get that distinction.

(You know what happened next).

Someone nominated Janis… and she won.

This devastated her; she cried upon hearing the news.

The Rejected Prophet:

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

I know we don’t want to hear this but getting bullied and persecuted in our hometowns does not inoculate us from repeating that experience later on, in different settings. As much as we may want the happily ever after swan transformation, unfortunately, reality plays more of a harsh game.

We can take our rejected experiences and even our internalized rejected states of being with us, wherever we go. No, we are not to blame for being bullied. But nothing about life makes a point of checking in with our past life experiences, asking our permission to do or not do something. And it certainly doesn’t honor any kind of mistreatment quota.

“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”

Matthew 5:44-45

Yeah, I know. That is just a mistreated bridge too far.

And if the Bible is too much for us to handle, let’s reduce it down to this: life happens to everyone.

It would be great if we could get some free passes from pain, all while we’re growing, discovering, and becoming who we are. But we don’t get that immunity. Janis may have left her stifling hometown, but she did not leave the rejection spirit some people possessed and decided to exert on others. We encounter similar situations. It may be personal; it may be random. It could have evil intent, or it could simply be something someone does because they are bored. We don’t know why people choose to reject us. We only know we have been rejected, mistreated, and hurt.

I am inclined to believe the evidence of greatness resides in the presence of persecution, not in its absence.

Therefore, my persecuted friend, you are, indeed, having a brush with Janis Joplin in this regard.

And more to the point, you, indeed, are having a brush with greatness in your own right.

Love Search:

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

It should come as no surprise Janis Joplin was seeking love.

After feeling like a misfit, unappreciated by both her family and her hometown, of course, it would be a given that Janis would be in search of love.

As I watched documentaries on her, one of her close personal friends made a heartbreaking statement about the singer…

“She would be with second rate people if they would love her.”

Ouch.

Janis was not lucky in love, as they say. She was involved, reportedly, with both men and women, including Country Joe McDonald, Kris Kristofferson, and Jae Whitaker. Supposedly, she was even engaged, at the time of her death in 1970, to Seth Morgan.

Listen to “Ball and Chain,” “Piece of My Heart,” and “Me and Bobby McGee.” You hear the struggle, don’t you?

Adding still more heartbreaking struggle to Joplin’s life, was her search to be loved by, yet again, her family and her hometown.

In a 1970 appearance on The Dick Cavett Show, Janis enthusiastically spoke of her plans to attend her upcoming tenth high school reunion. Cavett asked her if she had been popular in school. She responded that her peers "laughed me out of class, out of town and out of the state"^[

So, naturally, she, the misfit and the loner, was relishing this reunion as an opportunity to come back the triumphant heroine and probably strut her stuff and rub her persecutors’ noses in it. This was her revenge/justice moment.

Dick Cavett: “Do you think you’ll have a lot to say to your classmates?”

Janis cackled, “I’m gonna laugh a lot, man.”

Unfortunately, that apparently did not happen. Those close to her reported that, while Joplin did return home for that milestone event, again, she was treated as the outsider. The reality did not match her revenge fantasy. She was further rejected, by both her community, and by her own family members. They were upset at her for speaking so ill of the hometown.

Janis Joplin was, once again, heartbroken, disappointed, and in need of love.

The Love-Starved Prophet:

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

“She would be with second rate people if they would love her.”

Which statement rings truer for you?

When we have been rejected on a macro or a micro level, we can tend to make it our mission to obtain love: to prove them all wrong, to get revenge, and simply, to be loved because that has been the gaping unmet need screaming to be realized. Human beings need to love and be loved. When that does not happen, we try to self-soothe, cope, and seek, if not love directly, then, at least, some love substitute.

And here’s where many of us can turn to alcohol, drugs, food, spending, sex, as well as to a full range of desperate and toxic relationships and behaviors. We just want to get this love need met, any way we can.

Rejection has created the hole. We just want it filled.

Stardom:

“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”

Luke 4:24

Despite rejection from her humble upbringing, Janis Joplin has left a legacy. Her music endures to this day. Artists like Melissa Ethridge, Stevie Nicks, Pink, and Florence Welch have all been influenced and inspired by the singer. And you can see it in their performances. Tough, strong rebellious women, who were also vulnerable, affected by love, and had powerful things to say.

I don’t know to what extent Janis truly sought and desired fame. I suspect she, like most of us out there, wanted to be loved, valued, seen, and unheard, as the individual she was. Janis was a “prophet,” in that she signaled what was yet to come in music and in feminism.

Did she know she was doing all of that at the time? Probably not.

The Star Prophet:

So, let’s turn it around onto you.

Are you a star? What does that definition look like?

Before you disqualify yourself, listing things like not enough fame, achievement, money, or status to back it up, imagine you already are a star. Right now. As is. Can you do that?

If you’ve been rejected in your family, your hometown, your country, or your religion, just to name a few outlets of acceptance-seeking, you are part of an elite club. The fighters. The survivors. The artists. The changemakers. The people who move the needle, however so slightly, or seemingly, insignificantly. Nevertheless, the needle is moved. The change is made.

That is you. With or without Janis Joplin and her example.

But may her example encourage you, right now, to accept your value and worth. It’s not about resembling and connecting with your “inner Janis.” It’s about connecting with and discovering your own spin on that kindred spirit.

I suspect, in your own unique, flawed, beautiful, rejected, fragile, strong, hurt, individualistic way, you are already there. You are greater than what “they” put you through.

Go be a prophet now!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

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

 

Check the Check Engine Light

 

I recently had some hindsight revelations about ignoring the gut instinct.

First Blinking: Not “Business as Usual” Business:

Years ago, my husband and I were relocating to a new apartment complex.

Right from the jump, it seemed to be an exercise in red flags. We met the apartment manager; let’s call her “Lissy.” When we shook hands with her, it was like grabbing a limp fish. There was a passivity and an apathy to the introduction. It was a signpost of things to come, things we should not have ignored.

But despite Lissy’s fish handshake, we took the apartment. We called the movers, packed our way-too-much- stuff into boxes and believed this move was going to be good for us.

Eh, not so fast.

Let’s see how moving day went, shall we?

Around nine in the morning, as we gathered our stuff, and our spicy calico cats, we got a phone call from Lissy.

It turned out we could not move into the apartment that day… the agreed upon day, listed in our lease…on the first day of the month.

What? Why NOT?

She “explained” that the previous tenant had moved out last minute and left it in dire need of repair.

Oh, and Lissy was “sorry.”

Um, that lip service was pretty, but it didn’t change the fact that we had shelled out massive moolah for the movers that were scheduled to arrive at the new apartment and unload our stuff that day.

The train was leaving the station; it was already in transit.

So, after arriving at the leasing office, we demanded the apartment complex foot the bill for the extra move-in day. Our movers would need to shlep our way-too-much-stuff to a different location, a temporary squatter’s dwelling place, offered to us for the duration of the apartment’s repairs.

As I was on the phone, laying out the situation to the movers, I asked for Lissy’s full name. The movers would be in contact with her for the obvious payment arrangements. In response to my question, she only gave her first name. Like Cher. Like Prince. Like Madonna.

I quickly grabbed a business card I spotted on her desk and read her full name to the movers. My husband and I fought to keep our cool, as we were given the address to our temporary dwelling place.

Oh, and we asked if we could see the “in shambles” apartment for ourselves before we left.

Not surprisingly, Lissy told us “no.”

“Hmmm… Why Not?” (I silently simmered).

But we didn’t challenge things. We were exhausted and it was barely ten in the morning now. We just wanted to be squatters in our temporary home, surrounded by packed boxes, living out of them. We would have three weeks of this fun to look forward to.

Oh, let’s get started now.

“Hmmm… Why Not?”

What we do we do when you and I are stuck in moments of “Hmmm… Why (or Why Not?)”

We all have them.

Where there are question marks, there are usually some exclamation points.

We experience some odd behavior or interaction that JUST doesn’t track well. Our check engine light, known as our intuition, is blinking furiously, alerting us that all is not well, and certainly NOT to be trusted at face value. But we dismiss the question mark, the check engine light, the gut reaction that blares at us.

We often like to, instead, “explain” it away…

“Well, I’m sure it’s a simple mistake…”

“Anyone can have a bad day…”

“I’m sure my boyfriend and this woman are “just friends…”

But the simple mistake and the bad day keep happening over and over.

And we caught that boyfriend having sex with this new girl on our brand-new couch (adding new furniture insult to current relationship injury).

What is getting our check engine light attention?

And what are we refusing to admit or see?

It’s probably worth taking a second look, isn’t it?

More Check Engine Blinking: Outright Lies:

Okay, so back to the apartment saga.

Hubby and I are dwelling amongst our boxes in this temporary abode. Finally, we get word from Lissy that our actual apartment is ready, is fully repaired and is complete with angel choir to serenade our arrival.

Move-in day, take two then.

Our stuff travels from temporary dwelling place to “permanent” apartment home. Second time’s the charm, perhaps?

The day went smoothly, uneventful. No dishes were broken; we got the cable hooked up. Free and clear, hallelujah, right?

(Come on, you know what’s coming).

We moved in on a Friday. There were no leasing office business hours on weekends. I mention this because, first thing, when we woke up on Saturday morning, we encountered multiple cockroaches squirming around our cats’ food and water dishes!

How’s that for a welcome wagon?

After the initial freak out, my husband and I had no choice other than to ride out the weekend with our disgusting nocturnal roomies.

Did I mention how much fun it was to participate in this nocturnal activity?

Our sleep deprived states were further heightened as both of our cats were especially stimulated by these night creatures; they viewed them only viewed as their prey. One of our cats loved grabbing a roach in her mouth and whisking herself into our bedroom to drop her wiggly prey onto the carpet at all hours of the night.

Fun.

First thing, Monday morning, I phoned Lissy, bringing up the roaches.

“Oh, really?’ was her response. She seemed surprised.

I’d soon find out she was lying.

Liar, Liar, What’s on Fire?

We have all be lied to. But, at what point, do we override our instincts to willingly choose to believe the lies?

Primrose path. This explanation connects to that explanation… and so on, and so forth.

Yet, often, when we get to the end of the explanations, all that is left is a lie. What’s yours?

A relationship that’s been on the skids for years, only to have an explosion, confirming a lie?

How about a business deal that seems to be too good to be true, going exactly your way… until it sells you out?

How about that one person in your life you thought would NEVER betray you until one day, Hello, Judas?

Our check engine light detects the presence of lies, even if all we see are happy, uneventful truths and fairytale endings.

Our intuition knows better.

What does your intuition know, right now, that you are clueless about?

More Check Engine Blinking, More Lies:

So, I spoke to Lissy about the roaches first thing on Monday morning. She seemed surprised, but I was already suspicious.

We had not been able to move in on the original lease date because the previous tenant moved out at the last minute and trashed the joint. Uh-huh.

We were denied our request to see the trashed apartment before we spent the next few weeks in a temporary residence. Uh-huh.

And now, her innocent, wide-eyed reaction to the creepy crawlies. Uh-huh.

Nope. Not buying it.

So, I insisted on an action plan to rid the roaches. Not too unreasonable, right?

I was informed that the current exterminator they used would be in touch with me shortly.

Uh-huh.

Upon meeting this guy, I gingerly asked if he had been treating this complex for more than this “isolated” incident. He did not answer, but the pregnant pause and look on his face told me what I needed to know. This place was infested. Plus, when the exterminator arrived at our apartment, fellow neighbor tenants peeked out the doors and knocked on mine, asking when their apartments would be dealt with also.

Uh-huh.

Can you hear my boiling blood? Shall I put on some music to drown out its sound?

What I DID find out from Mr. Exterminator was that he had diligently been on the scene for the past three weeks.

The past three weeks.

Uh-huh.

Unbeknownst to us, the new, trusting tenants.

So, far, the extermination was not that effective, because, well, roaches. Night after night now, they were creeping nocturnally, keeping us up at night all night, forcing me to keep the lights on at night, so that they would be kept somewhat at bay.

Yet, the leasing office and our new BFF, Lissy, kept minimizing and downplaying how bad all of it was.

(Easy for you to say. You’re well-rested in your roach-free home).

Anyway, supposedly, the exterminator stepped things up. But the bug action continued. In fact, it got worse. Now, these night creatures were visible and crawling around during the day.

Especially unnerving was when the roaches were dazed and confused, crawling on the ceilings, right above our heads. By this point, I wanted to live outside, safely under the open sky. No danger of roaches pelting me from above that way!

This was not working. So, I called the city’s health inspector. This WAS a health and safety issue. Roaches can carry disease; they certainly weren’t hygienic. And we couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

A couple of days later, a health inspection walked throughout our apartment and the ones nearby, including units one floor below us. While we’re all doing this fun walkthrough, I asked Lissy for a copy of the extermination order, set up a few weeks’ earlier. This followed on the heels of the health inspector, busting her on how she should have not withheld this information from us, as the new tenants.

She produced copies of the extermination order, and I discovered something “curious.” At the exact time of nine or ten in the morning, while we were in the leasing office, dealing with one-name Lissy, making new arrangements with the movers and temporarily being relocated, the exterminators were spraying creepy crawlies. That was why we could we not see that apartment. We would see the bug guy… and the corresponding bugs. We would catch Lissy and the entire apartment management company in a big fat lie!

It took us being displaced, being disturbed by our undeniably predatory feline cats, roping in a city health inspector, who subsequently, gave the apartment complex a hefty fine from that city, and employing an entomologist carpet bombing the roaches, all to shine light on this lie and work toward a solution.

If only we had checked all of the check engine lights that were insistently blinking. If only.

How Many Check Engine Lights Does It Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?

It feels like the setup to a bad joke, doesn’t it? We keep getting signs that we somehow, keep ignoring.

The lipstick on the collar…

The hang up phone calls…

The person who never seems to be where they say they will be…

The multiple stone- in- our- stomach feelings as we try to convince ourselves that something is “okay…”

The Check Engine Light Means Business the First Time.

How many times do we need to keep experiencing this wrongness BEFORE we BELIEVE it?

Intuition is there for our safety: physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. The check engine light blinks only to get our attention and bring us to safety.

Something is wrong, dangerous, unhealthy.

Blink, blink! Pay Attention!

Unfortunately, that can be inconvenient. Scary. Messy. Not fun. Not what we want at the time. So, we talk ourselves out of the warning.

It’s nothing…

It’s my imagination…

It’s not that bad…

It’s too good to pass up…

On and on. You get the point. We all get the point. Yet, we all seem to have a habit of ignoring that check engine light.

My personal hindsight: we should have run from Lissy’s fishy handshake. We should have demanded to see the buggy apartment.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

We can all visit that land from time to time. I do. My passport is up-to-date.

Still, what happened cannot be changed. Bad vibes, lies, displacement, roaches.

But I learned what happens when you repeatedly hush the intuition that tells you to pay attention to something that is not right.

Therefore, overs the years, I have been learning to heed that check engine light. I pay attention when a person seems a little too hinky or creepy for comfort. I don’t hang around them. If a situation doesn’t feel right, for any reason, I no longer give it the “benefit of the doubt.” Doing so could be harmful to me now. I know that.

Each of us has our own check engine light; it’s not just bestowed on a lucky few. We can tap into what that message system is trying to tell us. It takes time and, yes, practice.

But you and I can learn the life lessons that are there for the taking, should we decide to take them up on their offers to teach us.

And hopefully, we can also avoid cockroaches in our futures.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse