Shining Light

 

Watering a Rock...

 

Give Yourself Permission

 

Organic Face Tattoos and Other Hijinks

 

It’s hard to prepare for Breast cancer. We can often believe we know exactly what that landscape looks like: intense fear, surgery, chemo, radiation, hormone blockers and the looming possibility of death.

But that is not all of the possibilities out there.

Oh, no!

There is still more fun to be had.

Since my diagnosis, I have stumbled upon a few instances of this extra “fun.”

First, there was the matter of my chin. Yes, you heard me.

At the tail end of my radiation, I woke up to a parting gift one morning: a black mark on my chin.

And no, it was not a mole. Those are dark brown. This sucker was jet black and noticeable even with makeup covering it.

After several unsuccessful attempts at scrubbing my face, freaked out, I called my radiation nurse. What was this? We were targeting the right side of my chest, not my chin.

She seemed unconcerned as we spoke on the phone. Meanwhile, I’m wondering if this thing was going to spread further; I still had some treatments to go. I envisioned my mug looking like Mike Tyson’s face tattoo.

She examined it when I came in later that day. And, upon closer inspection, my nurse calmly mentioned how, your favorite and mine, stress could change the pigment of the skin. So… black spots.

She assured me, “In time, it will fade.”

And yes, it has, although I still see a faint trace. Souvenir, I suppose.

I’m Itchy:

Okay, so, eventually, my face calmed down and, concerning Breast cancer mayhem, I was able to focus on my chest. Yep, things were quite chesty in the early days of my recovery. And, that’s because I was itch-er-rific.

They say itching is a sign of healing. Well, then, I was healing intensely.

With my bilateral mastectomy, I told my surgeon to take all of the breast tissue. I wasn’t interested in leaving some behind, a flap’s worth here or there, to possibly get reconstructive surgery if I changed my mind. Nope. I really was done.

So, from surgery wakeup on, I had one patch on my right side that was especially “skin and bone.” I’m talking tissue-paper thin… and itchy.

As I went to checkups with my Cancer Care treatment team, no one raised an eyebrow. This is just my brand of healing. Because so much tissue was removed during my surgery, that patch would be sensitive. It was skin over breastplate bone. Sensitivity, plus all breast tissue removed, plus healing, equals itchy, I guess.

And it persists, to this day. It goes with the tight scar tissue band across my chest. Healing. You can probably hear me scratching right now.

With so much emphasis on the loss or change of breasts, there is not much said about personal itchiness. And I could have really used that head’s up.

Dents and Creases:

Continuing on with the lack of head’s up concerning my Breast cancer experiences, there was the matter of me changing shape with dents…oh, and creases.

I knew I would not have breasts on my chest after my bilateral mastectomy. I knew that area of my body would change. After the stitches, after the burned skin from radiation, after months of my skin tightening and healing, I noticed something. On my right side, the side that contained the tumor and the irradiated, slightly swollen skin, I had a couple of dents. It was explained to me, by my both my physical therapist and my surgeon, how part of my healing involved rebuilding that area. Visions of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Mr. Universe competitions danced before me. I wasn’t thrilled about that. But, indeed, as I healed from major surgery and from radiation’s intensity, I was rebuilding muscle and tissue. So, dents.

And the creases, mainly one prominent one where my right breast used to be, also got my attention. This was beyond a person’s face having a crease or indentation from a pillowcase or a bedspread. This looked like the right side of my chest was ironed and folded incorrectly. When I raised my right arm, it formed a “Y-shaped” crease that traveled North. And it did not straighten out as I attempted to push, pull and stretch my skin. Nope, just a divining rod, “Y-shape,” almost smirking from its crease-i-ness.

So, there I was again, panicking, bringing this up to my care team. Again, I was assured I was simply healing. This was how I was sewn up and this was how my skin responded to my scar site. Regenerating muscle and developing scar tissue were all part of the “new normal chest,” with a large “Y” chest crease.

I learned the lesson: if you have Breast cancer, along with its accompanying surgery and procedures, your chest will change in ways you didn’t expect.

And, just when I got slightly comfortable in that lesson’s discomfort, another wackadoodle thing popped up. But this time, it wasn’t my chest. Try my left calf instead.

Yeah.

A year after my surgery and radiation, I felt a discomfort- and a lump- in my left calf muscle. My little imagination went straight to worst-case scenario. I wondered if this was a cancerous mass. And this discovery happened during the holiday season. It wasn’t a very merry Christmas- nope. Amid the colorful lights and “good will toward men,” I was pondering Sarcoma and possible amputation, fa-la-la-la-la. Extreme, you might say? Out of the realm of possibility? Well, cancer already hit my life. And my dark nature bleakly concluded that all bets were officially off now.

When I had it checked out, my primary physician, to her credit, did not dismiss me as a silly girl, patting me on the head. No, after explaining my symptoms, she immediately ordered X-rays and an ultrasound. Top of her concern list? A potential- and life-threatening- blood clot.

Oh, great, something else to think about.

I learned this possible issue could occur after surgery and radiation: yes, both of those procedures put me at an elevated risk of blood clots. Fantastic. Cut nerves and pathways are cut nerves and pathways. I couldn’t avoid the fact that my body was attempting to adjust to itself after some major physical trauma. Anyway, I was zapped and canvased and received my results within the next two hours.

No, I wasn’t dying. There wasn’t a tumor. There wasn’t a blood clot. Instead, it was the return flare up of my chronic back issues, a non-Breast cancer issue. My physician explained I had thousands of miles on me, like a car.

It’s always great to hear you’re old, especially from a medical professional.

But even though this was not directly Breast-cancer related, the knowledge of potential clots showing up in my legs and other weird things happening to my body is still something on my radar screen, as I ponder all manner of “what’s wrong with me now” thoughts.

The fact is I’m more vulnerable to things going wrong. Fun. Call it recurrence, complications, “increased risk,” or “mileage,” it still emphasizes how a weird thing happening to my body can no longer simply be dismissed. Cancer Land, the amusement park that it is, changed that.

So, lumps, bumps, dents, aches, pains, sensations and pigment changes are all possible hijinks now. And yes, that irritates me. Nevertheless, I pay attention and go along for the ride, taking care of each situation, one by one.

I have to say “hi” to the hijinks.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

2 Ways To Be Fooled

 

The Plan is This

 

The Artist, The Art

 

The Real Prize

 

Verbally, But With Dance Prep

 

Interviewer: How would you describe yourself?

Me: Verbally, but I’ve also prepared a dance.

Leave it to the internet, with its plethora of memes and assorted posts.

To look at me, and my challenged coordination, you wouldn’t necessarily see someone who has taken dance classes. I am far from a gamine, graceful ballerina.

Yet, throughout my life, I have taken a few dance classes and I have learned about the importance of dance prep. And this dance prep has taught me about another kind of prep: using your words. A big part of knowing, accepting, and describing ourselves, if we were to answer life’s interviewer, hinges on the teeny tiny, but mega word, “No.”

I have taken dance class as a kindergartener and a college theatre major. Both stints educated me on assumptions. And there are plenty of assumptions associated with communication, with how effective we think we are with the endeavor.

Dance Class: I thought it was easy.

As a six- year- old and later, as a twenty-one-year old college student, I believed, wrongly so, that dance was a piece of cake. As a little girl, I got excited about the blue tutu (who wouldn’t?) and the tap shoes. College- age me, likewise, got excited at the prospect of the “easy” class, a way to rack up credits on my theatre degree.

My kindergarten ballerina was bummed to find out that you just don’t get onstage with your fabulous blue tutu and get applauded instantly. Nope. It’s more like regularly scheduled, often tedious and boring, dance rehearsals. No one is dressed in a showtime tutu. And there is no applause. Just ho-hum rehearsals.

The college version of me viewed the easy dance class as being free from pop quizzes and research papers. Obviously, this was a no-brainer. An “easy A.” But, again, there existed the pesky classes, like those rehearsals of my kindergarten ballerina. Repetitive. Boring. I was not a born dancer, with my spirit animal being this graceful gazelle or doe gliding through time and space. No, I was more of the clumsy, awkward fish out of water spirit animal, just looking for opportunities to cut class any time I could.

Ballroom dance was lovely, just not so much when I’m doing it. I can accept that.

Prepare This Dance:

“No,” on the surface, looks easy. Maybe it’s the size of the word. It’s just two little letters. One syllable. Doesn’t take up much space. It will probably fit in our carryon luggage. No problem.

But “no” is an inevitability. We will experience it in our lives; we will hear it. And we will need to say it.

We shouldn’t let the fear of its reality, and the baggage that comes with it, paralyze us. But we need to have a healthy, realistic respect of it also.

If we approach the saying of our no with a simplistic, this will be heeded, heard and be the end of a matter assumption, we will be sorely disappointed.

As a basic self-defense expert, teaching women to protect themselves once uttered…

“When a person refuses to heed your no, they want to control you.”

“For a woman, her no is not the end of a discussion. It is the beginning of a negotiation.”

Our no will, more often than not, be met with some form of resistance or conflict.

I believe it would benefit us all to go into our “no” situations, knowing that. Buckle up. You and I will need to be stronger for our “no” stance.

Dance Class: Practice, Practice, Practice

We often hear about the discipline it takes to be a dancer. Hours or rehearsal are at the heart of that discipline.

As a kindergartener, attending my regular dance classes, I was not thrilled with the repetitive tediousness. I remember one tap dance routine we were learning as students was set to a 45 record, “Practice, Practice, Practice.” Over and over again, I would, indeed, practice that routine with my small tap shoes on the studio’s dance floor, staring at the large black satin bow that kept my dance teacher’s bun in place.

As a college “dance student,” fulfilling the credits necessary for my theatre degree, I also endured ballroom dancing tediousness, “theatre dance movement” tediousness, even some fencing tediousness, thrown in for dangerous measure. The common denominator, however, was that practicing repetition.

Prepare This Dance:

“No” requires practice. Like the different styles of dance, with their unique steps, using the word, “no,” from situation to situation, requires finesse, flexibility, and individual application. One size does not fit all.

Again, the tiny, two-letter word may appear simple, but it rarely yields a simple outcome. We don’t need to be so hypervigilant about that reality; we would, however, do better to accept it is more complicated, going in, so we can have a plan in place when things get hairy.

One of my very first “no’s” involved some individuals I had known my entire life. I thought they would certainly accept my no as final.

Can you hear the buzzer? Wrong!

I assumed that, going into this particular situation, because everyone involved was an adult, and I was coming from the vantage point of being respectful, everyone else would operate in kind.

Nope.

Instead, what happened was that I ran smack dab into other peoples’ expectations- and their perceived failure for me to have met them- according to their specifications.

And this was where hurt feelings, name calling, and personalization ensued. I was called everything, except a child of God. It was probably easier for them to scapegoat me, to paint me as a villain, l than it was to accept my displeasing “no.”

With the loaded “no,” that is par for the course. I didn’t quite understand that concept until I was in the middle of it, doing my best to tread water.

Dance Class: Step on Toes.

As a kindergarten ballerina, during my first dance class recital, there was another fellow ballerina who screwed up the class dance performance onstage. While everyone else “finished” the dance program of twirling in their tutus, this lone ballerina still kept a-twirling. She did it, not because she wanted extra limelight. She thought there was still more dancing to be done.

There wasn’t.

And our dance teacher finally had to yank her off the stage, furthering the humiliation factor. The lone ballerina cried offstage, embarrassed.

Unfortunately, the dance teacher was also embarrassed, and yelled at her for making her dance studio look bad and unprofessional. She yelled at a six-year-old ballerina.

That was one form of the stepping on of toes.

As for the college dance experiences, another was more literal. I completely sucked when it came to ballroom dancing. I stepped on each dancer partner’s toes, no matter if he was a fellow student or the Czechoslovakian dance instructor himself. One-two-three…(step on toes), one-two-three…(step on toes). It happened with and without practice. It happened to me, and I watched it happen to others as the bystander (or the by-dancer, depending on how you view it).

Both eras of my dance experiences taught me the stepping on of toes is universal. No one gets out of here alive.

Prepare This Dance:

“No” WILL offend and displease. We will step on all kinds of toes for saying that infamous, two-letter word.

Again, it comes down to managing expectations, dealing with them, and, yes, often dealing with them despite not meeting them perfectly for others, and even for ourselves. “No,” like my kindergarten ballet recital, can leave us still twirling, because we didn’t know we would be left alone, to dance by ourselves… and then get yelled at for saying “no,” and going against the grain.

“No” can be lonely. “No” can also be empowering, freeing, healthy, and loving. Most times, it’s all of the above, while simultaneously being in that lonely place.

Dance Class: The Music Stops and/or Changes.

Everything has its season. My kindergarten stint at dance class ended before the start of my first- grade year. Dance didn’t quite “take.” For me. I’m not sure why, exactly, I was in the class in the first place. But I don’t remember missing the class once it stopped.

And, years later, as I took dance class in college, primarily to meet my theatre degree requirement, I was not mourning the cessation of ballroom steps, “theatre dance movement,” and the sheer awkwardness of me stepping on my partner’s toes, or my constant bumping into the ballet bars. Dance class, here, was a means to an end.

Both times the music stopped; the dance class stopped. Life changed.

Prepare This Dance:

As it was for dance class, so it is with this two-letter word.

“No” can and will change things; be ready for that.

When we start out in life, learning how to walk and talk, the toddler versions of ourselves are passionate, insistent, and defiant about the word, “no.” We stamp our feet; we pout. We throw tantrums and scream bloodcurdling cries whenever our no is disregarded.

And then, somewhere, along the way, we learn to become more “civilized.” We become polite, docile, quiet.

We learn that, in order to get along in a civilized society, we need to say no to using the “no word.” We learn that “no” breeds conflict, and, oftentimes, conflict is akin to danger. Depending upon a multitude of factors and conditions, like gender, socioeconomic backgrounds, money, and power, we accept that “no” is displeasing, ugly, unreasonable, shameful, disloyal, and an unacceptable option we are forbidden to use in our lives and our decisions.

I’m not quite sure how we come to learn these dance steps, but we learn them all the same.

Perhaps, what we should focus more of our attention on is the importance of how our “no’s” change, not just the application of them. We learn, over time, that certain things that were once considered to be unacceptable and forbidden, no longer are. And vice versa. What are those things then? And why have they changed?

No matter what, it’s okay to have our “no’s” be different. Nothing stays the same. All things are subject to change.

How would you describe yourself?

Verbally, but I’ve also prepared a dance.

Doing life requires dancing. The “No Word” is a dance step in that routine. We need to speak up and out. Saying no is a learning lab to discovering who we are. We make mistakes with this two-letter word, but we still need to imperfectly implement it in our lives.

How are you dancing with no?

How are you dancing with the reaction to you saying it?

How do you feel about hearing it?

How would you describe yourself?

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Discover Yours

 

Roses Need Help

 

Normalize Saying Things Like...

 

Your Past Was...

 

Sit Anyway

 

We can often take for granted sitting comfortably… in a chair, on a couch, in any station we find ourselves in concerning this life. Sometimes, yes, everything is clicking just right. It is a perfect fit.

Kismet. Fate. Divine Plan.

Still, within our daily lives, often we are uncomfortably seated.

Felines love boxes; they love sitting in boxes. And not just the domestic Tabby Cat, either.

I have seen big cats- leopards, lions, and tigers enjoying a cardboard box, seeing its presence as an invitation to sit in it.

Easier said than done, however, for Big Kitty. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the adorable and humorous images online. Many a creature, large or small, has overestimated the cardboard box’s ability to contain their bodies effectively. The box is usually squashed. And often, this is the caption that follows…

“If I fits, I sits.”

Awwwwh.

Yet, if you and I engage in sitting situations, like these fuzzy creatures, it seems to be, or, at least, feels, less adorable. The experience we have is awkward, ill-fitting, humiliating, or chaotic. It goes beyond just a squashed cardboard box. Yet, despite its unpleasantness, much of it seems inevitable, unavoidable. We cannot escape it.

What can we do about it?

“If I fits, I sits.”

But we don’t fit. One way or another, we don’t. There are numerous, unique ways this shows up for us. And maybe it can be better addressed by a theory on answered prayer; the Divine answers our prayers one of three ways:

Yes.

Not yet.

I have something better for you.

Let’s just explore that possibility a bit.

When “If I fits, I sits” is a fail for us, it probably speaks to the educational process of living ill-fitting. Such as…

When we haven’t quite grown into something…

“If I fits, I sits.”

The problem here isn’t that we crushed some proverbial cardboard box because we’re too big for it. We haven’t grown into its space. There’s extra room all alongside of us. If we tried to wear it as clothing (as certain avant-garde fashion designers have insisted on in many of their runway shows), it’d probably fall off.

We want something. We need something. We desire something. We aspire to or strive towards something. And, the first prayer answer option, “yes,” hasn’t popped up for us.

Now, it seems, we are in the realm of option two, “not yet.”

You can hear the bloodcurdling, frustrated screams, can’t you?

Being told to wait. Being in limbo. Being put off.

It feels like there are hurdles and obstacles, roadblocks, all while feeling that “not yet” is simply a cop out. Just code for “no, and I don’t want to deal with you further, so I’ll just leave you hanging.”

That’s fun. That’s enjoyable.

So, what are we supposed to do? Well, what if we consider the felines’ perspective?

“If I fits, I sits.”

Translation?

Sit anyway.

I know. It’s uncomfortable, embarrassing, even.

You and I feel stupid, like gluttons for punishment. We do not want to be here. Between sitting in this ill-fitting situation and standing, with some modicum of dignity, it seems we’d rather stand, right?

But there is beauty, meaning, significance, and answers in staying put. There’s a bigger picture to us staying put concerning a situation in which we feel way out of our depth. Overwhelmed. Ill-equipped. On hold.

However, just look what is happening, just look at what is being developed during all of this waiting!

We are becoming who we are supposed to be, altered versions of the pre-sit experience. “Not yet” is where we discover. Discovery doesn’t always equal fun, but it informs us in a way nothing else can. Make the mistake. Flub. Have a crisis. Flail. Look like an imbecile. It’s temporary. I give you some advice from Sir Winston Churchill…

“Success is never final, and failure is never fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.”

The courage is found in sitting in the “not yet.”

“If I fits, I sits.”

Need more? Well, Winston gets no-nonsense blunt about it…

“If you're going through hell, keep going.”

That only happens if you and I are like the felines, who, despite not achieving the perfect fit, decide they are sitting, nonetheless.

“If I fits, I sits.”

And then, you and I need to decide for ourselves what value can be gleaned from this uncomfortably seated situation. There is value. It’s not fun. But the proverbial cardboard box didn’t promise us it would be fun. It is just there. We take it up on its offer of being there… and go from there to a different place.

And no, we don’t know what that place will be. But it is there for us. Just not yet.

Can we stayed seated and develop, in the meantime, understanding that?

When we have outgrown something…

We feel the winds of change. Something is different. Something is scary. Something is life-altering. Like many of the feline images of cats trying to reside in a too-small box, we sense we no longer fit a situation.

“If I fits, I sits.”

This is, by no means, about us remaining in something that no longer fits us. Rather, it’s about possessing the awareness, instead of fighting it, that we have outgrown something in our lives. Before we take any kind of healthy and beneficial action, we must, first, be aware that our lives need to change. No small thing. It’s an intimidating cardboard box to behold.

Sometimes, we need to become so uncomfortable, be in so much pain, by resisting the pain that persists, that the fear takes a backseat to the agony of having outgrown something. Growing pains. They don’t call them “Growing Pleasures,” now, do they?

Wherever we are in this seating arrangement, each of us needs to decide for ourselves the question of how much is enough. How much is too much? Some of us have ridiculous thresholds of pain. Some of us can tolerate a lot of abuse, disorder, and dysfunction.

But there is a saturation point. Sooner or later, each of us reaches the awareness of what that is.

Sitting in this circumstance, we, again, are often in “not yet” territory when it comes to any answered prayer or yearning.

“If I fits, I sits.”

Sit anyway.

Okay, so maybe we’re not moving now.

Maybe we feel paralyzed, stranded, confused. Maybe it’s stagnant right now.

But this feeling is not without its own merit. We need to remember this paralyzed, stagnant, stuck feeling; use it as fuel to not remain the limitation of who we were. We are in the process of becoming; we are constantly changing. We need look no further than our high school yearbook photos. We are not now who we were then. Thankfully. Because some of those hairstyles were atrocious!

But seriously, look at yourself, say, fifteen years ago. See any differences? Of course, you do! That was a different age and stage and time than where you are now. You changed. And you’ll do it again.

We all need to reassure ourselves of that.

So, in the meantime…

“If I fits, I sits.”

Sit anyway.

And know the unfolding plan and change will reveal itself.

Be “Big cat in a tiny box” confident of that.

When we have been told/we believe we shouldn’t have something…

Here is where we, perhaps, finally get to the third answered prayer option: “I have something better for you.”

Yes, we may be waiting in “not yet” limbo, but this core belief, kicking around in many of us, can threaten to defeat us, all because we assert, somehow, we do not deserve something good, healthy, or loving. We can be completely unconscious we are operating from this perspective too. It’s subtle. It’s just a way of being from some early experience that wrongly taught us we are undeserving, no matter what we do or don’t do, no matter who we are. That’s a painful, lonely, and difficult thing to overcome in life.

Let’s revisit the felines for a bit.

The mentality of them is claiming rightful ownership of a cardboard box, however how ill-fitting it may be. Felines are all about dominion, aren’t they? Couch, bed, person, they “claim.” They “own.” There is no self-doubt.

“If I fits, I sits.”

Too small? Too big? Not quite “ours?” No problem!

“If I fits, I sits.”

Sit anyway.

Sit anyway.

I know, yet again, it’s easier said than done. Believing we are worthy. How does that become organically engrained in our being? How does it become an automatic thought we don’t need to reach or try so hard for?

Perhaps, it starts by recognizing and admitting to ourselves that we have been fed wrong information about our worth. We were lied to, misled, and ill-prepared to accept that which we deserve. Those wrong lessons came from someone; the origin of that harmful misinformation has often been in the form of a person or persons. Often, those individuals have believed the lie or the information several times over for themselves. And, because they don’t know any differently, they pass it on to us. Sometimes, it is of malicious intent, but most of the time, there is an unawareness of self-worth. There is only the acceptance of settling for less than what a human being deserves. And one way or another, we all settle.

Some of us dare not sit, because we believe it is not an available option to us.

Some of us dare not sit because we believe that standing, crouching, or lying down, symbolic of very specific “answers” are the only solutions OVER sitting.

Some of us dare not sit because we believe the box is for someone else, never for us.

We question, self-doubt, disqualify, maybe, even more so, because we and/or life circumstances are not “perfect enough” yet. So, we settle for something only being as good as a certain level, while never believing there could ever be a better way. It’s not about FOMO or “Bigger, better deal.” It’s about not valuing ourselves at all. It’s about not believing we are entitled to rest, to sit, to experience a respite of a good thing in life.

And so, we accept the unfulfilling plan, marriage, relationship, expectation, and opportunity because, after all, being disappointed and unfulfilled IS something that we have coming. We can sit in misery. That’s a familiar cardboard box. But joy? Peace? Contentment? Acceptance of who we are? Well, we can never inhabit THAT space.

We decide that is not our rightful space.

Only, it is.

Just look at the decidedness of the feline choosing its box. Boom!

“If I fits, I sits.”

There is no second guessing, no waffling. No awaiting perfection. There is no attention being paid to naysayers.

Sit anyway.

Sitting into, settling into, our authentic, valuable lives is an inherent right. It’s about taking up rightful space. There will always be an argument and reasons not to do so.

But there will also always be proverbial boxes, extending the invitation to feel like we’re not quite ready, to get uncomfortable, to grow, to stretch, to sit in the process of all that “sitting anyway” means.

In this regard, you and I do “fit.” Therefore, because we fit, we can agree with and practice that same assertion:

“If I fits, I sits.”

Sit anyway.

Sit anyway.

Sit anyway.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

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I’ll Call You

 

In Narcissistic circles, we often hear about the concept of future faking. It can be the overpromise of a commitment involving relationship, marriage, family, or money. It essentially asserts, “Just hang in there. It’ll happen. I promise.”

Only, it never quite seems to manifest, does it?

Let’s take it to a much simpler promise. How about the promise of basic communication?

Does someone keep telling you and I, “I’ll call you?”

You know, someone who keeps making and breaking appointments, always with an excuse, always with a “reason.” Yes, sure, life happens. The unexpected happens. Emergencies happen. But if it KEEPS happening, at every turn, something else is going on, isn’t it?

Here is where sayings like, “We make the time for what is important to us,” and “Don’t make someone a priority who makes you an option” pop up.

I, once again, return to a family relic which has served me well as an educational tool: a hunk of Fool’s Gold. It looks shiny. It looks like “the real thing.” But it can deliver on nothing more than its very name: “Fool’s Gold,” the illusion of something precious, in the eye of the beholder. And, oftentimes, when that is us in this scenario, we feel like a fool.

So, why? Why is there the tactic of “I’ll call you” when it comes to the Future Faking maneuver?

Here are a few of my theories. Kick them around and see if anything resonates.

They don’t care.

This can be a startling wakeup call for us. It seems inconceivable that the Narcissist wouldn’t care. And it’s not necessarily because we’re naïve. Rather, it has more to do with the fact that we are mistaking our caring and empathetic selves for their uncaring selves. Yes, we’re projecting, only we’re believing the best, instead of the worst, in the person.

We need to constantly remember that how we’d respond, how we’re moved with compassion to others may not, indeed, be another’s like response.

And how much more so if we are dealing with a Narcissist. They view things more through a self-focused lens. “Others” just are not as important; if fact, often, they are viewed as simply expendable in a Narcissist’s eyes.

Concerning communication, therefore, there is not the reciprocity. Phone calls, direct messages, emails, and texts, in the Narcissist’s eyes, all have the luxury of being ignored. It’s just not important. End of story.

Nothing personal.

It’s nothing personal, because our Narcissist simply doesn’t rate it as significant. They do not care.

So, that’s one big why. Ready for another?

They get something from our time and attention. (They enjoy the power of being unavailable).

Narcissistic supply is defined as the energy, the fuel, the attention a Narcissist gets when they engage with us.

And if we are sincerely invested in the relationship, trying to make it work, out of love, out of a need to help or be there for that person, then the scales of power are imbalanced.

And make no mistake, the Narcissist LOVES that imbalance, in their favor. Power and control over another person are big, big, big in the eyes of this abusive type. They revel in holding power over someone. It’s often why many Narcissists gravitate to positions of power, like politics, law enforcement and highly public platforms which garner much attention. They enjoy the attention the “perks” being. They enjoy being able to decide what happens to “the little people.”

Ego stroking is just too appealing. They cannot deny themselves any and every opportunity to engage in it.

And how this translates to the “I’ll call you” of phones calls and assorted communication relates, again, to the power imbalance that comes with being unreachable, “un-gettable,” “too important” to speak with a mere mortal by phone.

They like the chase. They like being wanted and pursued. It feeds their delusional ego, reassuring them that yes, they are important, special, “different.” They don’t need to abide by the rules that the rest of us must follow. They are too much of a star to be bothered. Our sincere desire, attempts, love, and desperate willingness to be there and to connect with the Narcissist further cement their grandiose sense of self.

Yes, they are the master; we are the slave. Never the two shall change. The worship is, therefore, owed them.

They are cowards.

Often, Narcissists take the easy way out. Ever notice that?

They often avoid uncomfortable situations, possess endless excuses, and employ other people, a/k/a, “Flying Monkeys,” to do their dirty work.

Narcissists, it appears, cannot be bothered with one-on-one, direct, open communications. They may reason, again, they are too important, too busy, too special to stoop to such lowly and unrewarding behavior. It’s beneath them.

But I believe it has more to do with cowardice. It takes moral character, strength and facing one’s fear of difficult confrontations to have an open, honest dialogue. Whether that’s a breakup, for which the Narcissist may “ghost” that person, just disappear, without any explanation, or “delegate” an awkward firing of an employee to one of the Narcissist’s underlings, the communication never seems to be direct, eye-to-eye.

And a phone call? Forget it! Again, they may reassure, “I’ll call you,” but it’s sporadic, at best, isn’t it? And, if a call is returned, it may take on a rushed tone, even further underscored with their superiority over our inferiority. In any case, if there’s an important matter or issue that needs to be addressed, it rarely, if ever, happens. The Narcissist, in one way or another, slips out of the phone call.

Indeed, the “I’ll call you” real moment is just too real, with too much discomfort; it strikes their insecure nerves. And remember, a Narcissist does not want to be reminded of his/her insecurity. Yes, it already permeates their entire being, but denial is a right a Narcissist may believe himself/herself to inherently possess. They get to pretend and play by their own rules, while “the rest of us” must deal with reality.

These are potentially a few explanations, attempting to answer the confusing “why” questions a Narcissist often leaves behind in the wake. But let’s really get to an uncomfortable explanation. And this speaks to our participation in the dysfunctional dance.

Why are we here?

Why do we believe the lie of “I’ll call you?”

We’re being abused and mistreated.

No, we didn’t deserve mistreatment or abuse. Nevertheless, we, somehow, put up with it, don’t we? We give chance after chance. We constantly check our emails, text messages, and phones. We believe “this time will be different.”

And it never seems to be different.

We hang on like this, perhaps, because we’ve been trained to do so.

Many of us have come from abusive backgrounds. We’re accustomed to bad treatment, a lack of accountability, and personal responsibility. We’re used to lies, chaos, and broken promises. That doesn’t mean we like it; it merely means we’re used to it. It’s the familiar.

But, within the context of future faking’s “I’ll call you” faulty promise, it is, nevertheless, Fool’s Gold.  It looks solid and shiny, but it’s not the real thing.

And no amount of us wishing or wanting or hoping it will be so will make it so.

One of the most painful, most difficult things for each of us to accept is this: concerning some people, abusers included, we need to admit that they mean more to us than we do to them. And that’s not a healthy love, family or friend dynamic. Relationships involve reciprocity, dignity, and a mutual give-and-take respect.

And that includes the caring follow through of the communication ping pong game.

“I’ll call you…”

The actions match those uttered words. Period.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse