With this festive time of year, I’m
certainly a sucker for nostalgia and memories.
And, as I delve into them,
it usually is not too long before I bump into, your favorite and mine, some
early childhood gaslighting.
I recently discovered an old photo
of me, being visited by “Santa” (a family friend who agreed to play the role
for my six-year-old self’s benefit).
He showed up at my house, of
course, bringing his bag of gifts. Santa had made a few of these holiday stops
over the years, ever since I was old enough to grasp the “gimme gimme” concept of
the holiday season. Usually, he’d give me a brown bag of peanuts before,
drumroll please, the presentation of my desired presents.
As a four and five-year-old, I knew
the drill. Endure the peanuts; get to the good stuff.
There I was, a sophisticated
six-year-old, dressed in a royal blue, high neck dress, with my mother’s
opulent brooch (because what six-year-old doesn’t enjoy an opulent
brooch?).
I did the Santa pleasantries and
awaited my gifts with as much polite patience as a child could muster.
Finally, Santa reached into his bag
and pulled out my present. It was a medium-sized box, wrapped in beautiful
wrapping paper. I remember absolutely loving the wrapping paper.
I fixated on the paper; it was
filled with beautiful angels scattered all over the surface.
But it was more than that. I had seen
this wrapping paper before. My mother had wrapped our other Christmas
presents under the tree with it!
As the outspoken girl I was, I
IMMEDIATELY brought this to Santa’s attention. The photo my mother took, that I
include here, captures that exact moment. I thought Santa should really know
he was using the same wrapping paper as that of mere mortals. I considered it a
public service bringing the issue to his attention.
That moment, I remember, instantly
created an awkward pause, along with my mother’s nervous laughter and
Santa’s stuttering. I guess I “busted” them. For a good thirty seconds, both
Santa, his one blue eyeball peeking from underneath his hat and strategically
placed white wig, and my mother, fumbled for explanations…
“Ah-well- Honey… people use the
same wrapping paper… all of the time. It’s not that unusual for Santa to
wrap his presents with the same paper Mommy uses- uh- it’s very common…”
Santa chimes in…
“Why- uh-yes, I use… wrapping paper
that other families use… all the time!”
Uh-huh.
Something in me wasn’t buying it.
All I had to do was go to our Christmas tree and pick a present for proof.
However, because I was raised to be
“a good girl,” meaning, don’t question the adults, especially not Santa,
I let it go. Thank you very much for coming. Please say “hi” to Rudolph.
Keep it moving.
But, however sweet, innocent and
endearing this incident was, it was still gaslighting. For my mother wrapped the
gift, gave it to this Santa-posing friend ahead of time, all for the purpose of
reinforcing the entire Santa narrative.
Make it believable; sell it!
Something many a parent has done
over the decades.
But here was the thing. At six, I
was already starting to question Santa’s validity. Some things already
were not adding up. Even though we had a chimney, why didn’t he ever use
it? He always knocked loudly on our front door.
And even though I heard sleigh
bells, why did I never SEE Rudolph? Wouldn’t he want me to feed him some
carrots? I could pet him, along with the other reindeer.
No, everything seemed very
controlled.
Don’t rush to look out the window
or go outside to check the roof. It’s “too cold” and “too snowy.”
Yeah, I know. It’s Minnesota in
winter. Christmas, remember?
No, no, stuff was not adding up. I
was taking mental notes since I was four.
So, the angel wrapping paper was
the tipping point. I KNEW what I saw!
Yet I was dissuaded from
believing my experience. They tried to talk me out of it.
I know, I know, I know, it’s all in
the name of childhood wonder and memories. And, overall, with this gaslighting
incident, I got off light. After all, there was no abuse, no molestation. It
could have been a lot more traumatic.
But still, the lesson that incident
taught me was… to doubt myself.
And that’s what I’m getting at.
Gaslighting children to disbelieve
what they see, hear, think and feel is harmful.
Years later, I’m not bitter about
this memory. I know there was childhood innocence permeating it.
But there was a cost.
However unintentional, it still laid the foundation for me to distrust what I
knew, to forfeit my experience for someone else’s, someone “who knew better.”
Each of us can have that first
moment of gaslighting. And, for many of us, that moment can exist within
the vulnerable time of childhood.
Gaslighting does, after all, start somewhere.
Rolodex your own holiday and/or childhood
memories. See anything? Remember anything?
How about, right now, giving
yourself the gift to own and to acknowledge that yes, you KNEW what was going
on! You were RIGHT!
You weren’t silly; you weren’t
crazy!
You were a gaslit child.
And now, you’re so much more!
It’s now time to heal.
Happy holidays!
Copyright © 2021 by
Sheryle Cruse
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