The Pain of Father’s Day

 

Milestones. Painful anniversaries. Poignant hauntings. I’m at another one today with Father’s Day.

Eighteen Father’s Days ago, I spoke with my dad for the last time. I didn’t know then it would be that. Hindsight only later visited me, to “rub it in.”

I should mention, before I go any further, my dad was abusive. I did not have the loving, warm, father-daughter relationship with him. It was not for lack of trying on my part. Never experiencing the unconditional love and approval of my dad, I learned I had to “earn” it. Even though I never did. Even though I was set up to never achieve earning it. Years of focusing on pleasing, on being a “good girl,” on winning trophies, ribbons, scholarships, and awards, on making Straight A’s, years of gradually, but thoroughly, developing eating disorders, plummeting to an emaciated two-digit weight only created a disinterested, criticizing, “not good enough” response.

“Under his roof,” throughout my childhood, I was at the mercy of an abuser. Rages culminated with him hunting and chasing me from room to room, to scream at me, to threaten who and what I loved, to destroy, all because his anger released such endorphins of pleasure in him. He felt all-powerful. Look at how he reigned; look at how he wielded his authority over a frightened child!

I managed to survive my childhood and become an adult. I was doing my best, dealing with my past in therapy.

Seventeen years ago, I was at a point in my life where I had become more connected with my faith. In fact, “inspired” by the Father’s Day Sunday church sermon that morning, I decided to call my dad and wish him a happy Father’s Day. This was big. I had not seen or spoken to him in years. My husband and I had relocated to the West Coast; my parents remained on the Minnesota farm. I thought there was now enough distance, emotionally and geographically, to safely make the call; and surely, enough time had passed.

I called my eighty- year- old dad. My mother answered and was surprised to hear my voice. She gave the phone to him and, right away, I heard his irritated confusion. I knew he had a series of mini strokes over the past ten years, for which he didn’t seek any medical attention. I also knew he had difficulty hearing. And again, we hadn’t been in contact with one another for years. I thought I was braced for the realistic possibilities.

Yeah, sure, braced.

“Happy Father’s Day!”  A few beats of awkward silence followed.

He growled, “Ain’t you doing anything?”

 I shouldn’t have been surprised at the hostile question. There wasn’t any loving relationship. What part of abusive, toxic, unhealthy communicator did I not remember in this person, known as my male parent?

I quickly repeated my greeting and hung up. I didn’t cry. I was too stunned to cry. Why did I expect anything other than this? It was par for the abusive course. There was never going to be anything that I could do that would constitute “doing anything...”

Doing anything worthy, anyway.

I wasn’t sure what to do with this exchange, except feel horrible and regret making this phone call. Life moved on. The next month, my dad had a large stroke, hospitalizing him. By August, he was dead. I did not get to him before that happened.

And cue complicated grief and devastation. Oh, and processing up the wazoo.

I still think about his last words. They really were the perfect ones to define who he was, a taskmaster workaholic who was obsessed with making money. And I was not the male heir who would inherit the family farm and legacy. I was the unwanted daughter and an only child. Right from the start, when he learned of my arrival on the planet, he was disappointed and angry with the news. He was not passing out “It’s a girl!” cigars to his farmer buddies. My dad stated he deserved more. Me, being this girl, was the insulting slap to his face. Retaliation, of course, therefore, must be his response to me. He took care of his financial obligations concerning me, but that was it. Don’t expect connection, love, approval. Just don’t. I’m the failure in his eyes.

And I’ve also been trying to undo my faulty belief I’m the failure in my eyes. With therapy, Inner Child work, a loving husband, a more compassionate faith and, well, time, I’m getting better.

But, make no mistake, I hear those echoed words on a daily basis. Recovering from them. Doing my best, whatever that means.

Seventeen years later, oddly, or appropriately enough, my cancer diagnosis has become a large part of my healing arsenal to those words. I’m taking care of myself now in a way I never had pre- “C-word.”

Why am I writing this? Numerous reasons. Personal, healing reasons, yes.

But I write this as the cautionary tale of marks made. They have a way of lasting, no matter how well-treated and healed.

I go back and forth about the regret I feel for making that phone call that day. If I hadn’t called, could I have spared myself pain? Probably not, because I had decades of trauma, representing the two of us. And the recriminations I hurled at myself when he died were also there; I didn’t get “closure.”

But, in calling, in experiencing these “last words,” did I get that closure?

No. I got a last zinger of trauma from him.

Overall, I suppose, I console myself. I took the initiative; I was responsible for my actions. I wished him a sincere, happy day. And that will stand the test of time.

But it’s unfortunate that I have to strain to reach these conclusions, “making sense of pain,” even after all these years. I wish I knew who said it, but this sentiment has helped me accept painful relationship reality, bit by bit: “Forgiveness is accepting the past could never have been any different than what it was.”

There was no way I could have had a different father-daughter experience.

Fathers, I ask that you work to create a reality of you and your children that they don’t need to recover from. Don’t abuse them. Love them. Accept them. Be involved with them.

Children of abusive and dysfunctional fathers, release yourself from the condemnation.

“The past could never have been any different than what it was.”

You did not deserve the abuse/mistreatment from a pain-inflicting parent. It’s not your fault. And there was nothing you, as a child, could have done at the time. Now, as an adult, however, you can take steps to heal, regardless of that parent. You are worth healing.

And, I believe, in time, you and I will find peace, however we need to, whenever we hear- or say- the words, “Happy Father’s Day.”

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

The Feet of Those Who Broke You

 

Know When To Let Go

 

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

 

The Most Important Apologies

 

Face Your Fears (With the Truth)...

 

I Decided

 

Wakeup Call

 

After a Toxic Childhood (Some Strength)

 

Wouldn’t Versus Couldn’t

 

At the risk of being a Debbie Downer who deflates all positivity, we live in a life with limits.

Why am I bringing up this fun topic?

Because we tend to beat our heads against several walls, trying to force one answer where another already exists and will not change.

Situations like addiction and abuse highlight that reality. How many of us, especially us codependent types, will hang in there, enable, try, and blame ourselves for the self-destructive actions our loved ones make? It is often within this realm, we are confronted with will versus disease, and personal choice versus circumstances beyond our control.

Wouldn’t Over Couldn’t:

One such loved one for me was a female family member, “Jenny” (not her real name, of course).

Jenny grew up in a physically abusive home, regularly watching her father beat her mother with his fists and hammers. Unable to do anything to stop the chaos, Jenny, not surprisingly, focused on simply surviving.

And that meant she turned to food as her coping mechanism. She ate to feel better. She ate to escape. She ate to numb. She ate to deal with her “unacceptable,” unsafe, and repressed rage. She ate for every other reason, except to nourish her body.

This set the stage for her struggle with food, weight, and body image for the rest of her life. Constantly either dieting or binging, Jenny became a depressed individual. And, as an adult, she chose not to seek therapy for her issues. She became convinced her answer was only found in a diet and the achievement of a weight loss goal.

There were multiple factors impacting Jenny, not the least of which, was her depressed state. One can bring up the point of how much her depression was there from the start, eliciting her self-medication, or how much of it was brought on by her daily, abused trauma.

Chicken or egg: which one came FIRST?

Still, her “wouldn’t” exerted a strong will over her “couldn’t,” in the respect that, she was aware of professional help, therapy, and counselors. As a child, she was powerless to seek those things out, as her adult parents had the final say in her life. But as an adult, she could make a different choice. And she did not choose therapy.

She chose, instead, to insist she didn’t need counseling (that was for OTHER people), she was healthy, compared to her alcoholic siblings, all while dieting and binging, chasing an unrealistic and faulty solution in being thin as the remedy to her pain. She did this all while simultaneously becoming morbidly obese.

It’s not to shame or judge. It merely illuminates, despite the complexities of life and trauma, in this case, those of Jenny’s life, ultimately, her decision was to choose to say no to help. You and I can make that exact same choice, despite our different lives and painful issues.

Scripture has a couple of great ditties that underscore this concept.

First…

“‘If You will, Thou canst make me clean.’ And He stretched out His hand and touched him, saying, ‘I am willing; be clean.’”

Luke 5:12-13

There is help. Do you and I ask for it? There are therapists, doctors, programs, books, support people… and even prayer, itself.

Do we reach out, admit we need help, and grab those tools and lifelines? Because the overwhelming response from these helpful resources, usually, is this…

“I am willing. Be clean.”

Fairly straightforward, wouldn’t you say?

Ah, but here’s where another scripture ditty comes into play concerning the help/get clean issue…

“…‘Do you want to get well?’"

John 5:6

Boom! Mic drop.

Is our “want to” busted?

Would we rather stay sick?

Would we rather say no to help?

Each one of us has had moments in which we appeared to choose disease over health, chaos over peace, misery over fulfillment.

We all know the common sense answers: eat healthy, exercise, get enough sleep, be around people who treat us with love, dignity, kindness and healthy behaviors, delay gratification. Even if that hasn’t been our direct experience, we know, because, again, there are resources. There’s social media, the internet, television, and people offering to give us these very things.

Do we accept or do we refuse?

Most of us, if we’re honest with ourselves, can probably admit to, at least one instance of saying, “Nah, I’m good. I wanna get loaded, get high, binge on junk food, stay with this toxic person, etcetera.” We know the answer we “should” choose.

And then we choose its opposite.

Couldn’t Over Wouldn’t:

“…The spirit is indeed willing. But the flesh is weak.”

Matthew 26:41

As Jenny grew older, her weight ballooned. Her decades of dieting and binging caught up to her one day in the summer of 2009. She woke up on a Sunday morning, had a stroke, and collapsed. She wasn’t found until two days later, when a welfare check was done. Hospitalized for days, it was soon determined she had lost the ability to walk because of the stroke. And her excess weight made everything more difficult to achieve, including the restorative therapy to repair some of the stroke’s damage. She was moved to a care facility, where she spent the remainder of her life.

And now, her obese body is confined to a wheelchair. Despite exercise being a regular part of her daily routine, as part of her care, she cannot do what it physically takes to lose enough weight that would place her in a “healthy” range. She is monitored, on a multi-drug regimen to deal with her slew of health issues.

But, by and large, the window for Jenny’s ability to make significant changes to greatly improve her life and her health has closed. Try as she might, especially in the early days, post-stroke, Jenny was adamant about walking, insisting she’d be back to her normal self in no time flat.

 Her legs said otherwise.

Stubborn at that reality, she often overdid things, pushing herself past what was doable or safe. She fell many times, all while maintaining she could walk.

This was a woman who once avoided physical activity, loathed it as punishment, and only a means to get “thin.” Now, she desperately wanted to be active… and could no longer be.

Perhaps, now she was willing. But, like Matthew 26:41 stated, her physical body was, indeed, weak.

It has been a painful cautionary tale for my family members and I to behold.

When the “Wouldn’t Window” Becomes the Closed “Couldn’t Window…”

We can delude ourselves into thinking we have all the time in the world. We have endless opportunities laid before us. We have chance after chance to do something. We will get to it “later.”

But what if “later” is “too late?”

I mention this, along with Jenny’s situation, to illustrate how, as despair-filled and hopeless this outcome may be, it also does have a silver lining attached to it.

When we flawed, vulnerable, human beings encounter life moments that show us that maybe, a moment or opportunity has passed us by, that maybe it does feel “to late,” a grace can flow from that broken place. And that broken place asserts that in human weakness, be it physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual, compassion is something we qualify for when we simply just “can’t.” It doesn’t need to be life and death matters, or something as severe and attention-getting as not being able to walk, like Jenny. It can be anything that we “give way” on.

When stress, pressure, and, well, life, come at us, we will find ourselves giving way to it. And there is no shame in that; there is only humanity.

And I hate to break it to ya, we’re not being excused with any kind of hall pass from that humanity.

Pesky little sucker.

So, when you and I simply can’t, for whatever reason, remember, humanity. We’re all subject to it.

Back to Wouldn’t Again:

Jenny was faced with opportunities and experiences to embrace and refuse help. She encountered the consequences of exerting her will, and of being fragile and limited concerning her desires and wishes.

For the past few years, she has settled into a resignation about her life.

Seeing it as largely over, living in a wheelchair, in a care facility, and unable to be the person she once was, she, not surprisingly, is not interested in exploring anything new. I’m not just talking about a new hobby.

Again, I am referring to the concept of getting therapy for herself.

And her refusal to do so is not simply because of her age and health limitations. Her decision, again, largely falls on her steadfast belief she doesn’t need the help, and, therefore, would not benefit from it. Maybe she believes she is “too old,” or it is “too late.”

 But, mostly, she doesn’t want to enter into that therapeutic space, because of fear, pride, ego, and discomfort. To a certain degree, she’s content with her discontent. She’d rather exist in her status quo than live in better health and well-being.

I say this because, within her care facility, there are options and offers for her to discuss with a counselor, her issues, and circumstances, including her disordered image and abuse issues. She has refused them, insisting, again, therapy is for “other people,” and she is fine as she is.

Because of this choice Jenny has made for her life, I have had to sever contact with her. For, her refusal to help herself impacts on my ability to lead a healthier life. And since my cancer diagnosis hit my life years ago, “healthy” has become a non-negotiable for me. To waffle on this now could cost me my life, not to mention my sanity and my spirit.

Her disease cannot be my disease.

So, I made the painful decision. Jenny is no longer in my life.

“Do you want to get well…

…or not?”

The question cuts through reasons, excuse, lies, and circumstances.

There will never be a “good time” to deal with our pain and our issues. There will never be the perfect cocoon, the ideal environment. So, with that in mind, what is keeping us from transcending our “wouldn’t?”

The answer: us, you and I making the willful choice, even after life changing circumstances and insights have altered our worlds and our perspectives.

Maybe the wakeup call didn’t wake us up.

Maybe the death or the health issue didn’t get our attention enough to change.

Maybe the loss of a relationship was not a powerful enough motivator to get us to seek help and deal with ourselves already.

Wouldn’t or Couldn’t Within Us:

We can make the choice, to improve, to get healthier, to deal, to heal. We make thousands of choices every single day. We can choose even while powerless in our lives. The choice in those paralyzed moments, is to choose to embrace and accept, not abandon ourselves.

We deserve to not abandon ourselves… ever.

Easier said than applied. It may feel like an impossible, harsh, judgmental standard, asking way too much of us.

Still, we choose, regardless of if we think we’re making a choice.

We choose.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

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

Hey, Medical Community, Could You Please Do the Bare Minimum?

 

I know. Adverse times. Pandemic. The health care system stretched to its limits.

I also know…

I am not the center of the universe.

Things happen.

Human error is real.

As a cancer survivor, I am familiar with a broad range of appointments. When it comes to doctors, specialists, nurses, blood draws, egos, and tests performed, as well as getting the results from those tests, I’ve felt triumphant, frustrated, and in despair.

Due to chronic back issues and lower, right flank pain, I saw a nurse practitioner, to rule out anything hinky. I made a telehealth appointment first, for much of the intake stuff. And then, the face-to-face followed two weeks later.

After the Covid-19 protocol of ringing the doorbell, waiting for the door to unlock, swiping my forehead for a temperature reading, I waited in the waiting room. Nothing unusual there.

As I’m filling out forms, I’m notified another patient will be seen first, ahead of me. Okay.

Once I finally got in the exam room, the nurse practitioner went through my forms, plugging in the additional information on a computer. She asked me questions, regarding the forms I filled out not once, but twice, once, in the telehealth appointment, two weeks before, and now during this face-to-face appointment.

One question, in particular, caught my attention.

The nurse practitioner asks me, “Would you like to schedule a mammogram?”

I responded, as the breast cancer survivor who listed both my diagnosis and my bilateral mastectomy on the forms, twice: “Well, that would be kind of difficult. There’s nothing there to put in the machine.”

Then, she giggles. “Oh, that’s right. You have it written down. Sorry. I should have seen it.”

It’s in this moment I lose all confidence I’m going to have a thorough exam.

She checks my heart and breathing. I’m still in my clothes. I don’t even need to change into one of those paper gowns. That was strange. She looks into my ears and eyes with one of those lighted instruments. She has me press on her hands with my hand. I raise my legs and bring them down again.

And just like that, we’re done. Maybe the exam took five minutes. Maybe.

I left the appointment, but not before paying a $50 copay for the pleasure of the experience.

Yay.

Look, I know the medical community is taxed with the pandemic. And yes, to be fair, the nurse practitioner and everyone working in that office were masked up (double masks, with one of those windshield head gear screens, to boot). They all made sure to follow social distance and handwashing protocols. I did not feel unsafe.

But I did feel unseen and unheard. That was not accomplished by pandemic-related issues. That was accomplished by the medical professional, failing to read (and heed) the extensive forms I filled out twice.

Am I making a mountain out of a mole hill here? Perhaps, not.

Things could have been much more devastating if I were in a different emotional state. I have accepted my breastless chest. I have had time to embrace my newer normal physicality.

But what if I hadn’t accepted and embraced my situation? What if I was distraught and raw, struggling to process the reality of my body, with the backdrop of life-threatening cancer?

This nurse practitioner’s innocent, but mistaken mammogram question could have sent me hurling into grief and negative body image issues. It could have triggered, maybe, recrimination of “I should have gotten more mammograms, or gotten them sooner; it’s all my fault.”

Here’s a dirty little secret: even within the context of cancer, there still can exist a shaming toward the diagnosed person facing it. Therefore, in my subjective opinion, sensitivity and caution must be practiced, just as strongly as examining and treating the patient.

I am not a medical professional. I am a patient.

But, as that patient, I am entitled to have my medical information, read, heard, and responded to accordingly. This nurse practitioner meticulously plugged my information into her computer, all while failing to read what she typed… (twice).

I’m not asking for miracles; I’m asking that the medical community do the bare minimum here: READ THE DIRECTIONS!

Is that really too much to ask for, pandemic or no pandemic?

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

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