Huh. Synchronicity is an odd thing.
I am currently working on "Intention". I define this as carrying out the steps to reach a defined goal - minute or huge, inner/outer... doesn't matter. And yes, I'm being hyperanalytical about it!
For me, identifying a goal isn't enough. Even if it's something everyone can agree on is a good, worthy endeavor - like quitting smoking. OK... I think, so maybe I'm just not committed to it. So what is commitment, really? A promise? A contract? Accountability?? Or is it, in essence, something ELSE? My hubby defines commitment as "How bad do you want it?"
OH... I'm allowed to want?! What do I want & why?? And will I change my mind?? I mean, some days I want chocolate... and other days I want something else - garlic bread! "Want" seems to not be consistent enough to carry out a task, commit to a goal/process over time. It doesn't have enough energy behind it, either.
So then, I started back with the old script tapes: why try? why bother? won't work anyway; bound to fail; it doesn't matter -
I don't matter. OKkkkkk... so this gets to shame again... and for some miraculous reason I was at the point where I could see that all through "my story" is an underlying theme: in 53 years I haven't been able to find a way to get my mother to take care of my emotional needs.... I FAILED to matter to her in that way... and like a dork, I've kept trying... head to brick wall... stubbornness, I guess. Or maybe it was a survival instinct in infanthood - and the needle got stuck on that groove of my neuro-vinyl; pushed down HARD into the groove because of the later trauma - reinforced seemingly permanently. That survival instinct is life-death; one NEVER gives up.... and so creates that force that opposes all manner of intention or goals that I call "resistance".
That cycle - or circle of hell - I'm calling:
the giving up that never gives up.And "want" gets kicked to ditch... in favor of the all-consuming want of "get mother to care about me" or be important to mother just for who I am... not for what I can do (which is never "right" you know, because it's not the way she would do it).
Getting myself out of the "tar barrel":At some point, kids are expected, trained, and encouraged to become independent - and responsible for their own emotions; independent emotionally. Normally, anyway. Maybe I mean ideally. Each person's path to this goal is just as fraught with pitfalls, imperfections, injustice, hurt and loss. Every single one. No one gets it perfect. There is no deadline for this. We all get there when we get there. There is no magical "healed" state - just human-ness.
The tar barrel that I got thrown into - because I would "never give up" - is that one-pointed focus of intention; my purpose of being was DEPENDENT on that life-death struggle for survival (identity-survival I guess) that defined success as: I am important to mother just for who I am. It's a lifetime of survival attempt engraved on my brain... hell, the potholes in the pathways and the debris on the highway make for distractions, circuituous navigation, frustration and impatience!! It's as old as my freckles; as much a part of me, too.
uh..... DUH! At this stage of life - there are other more important things to me. So how do I get out of the tar barrel... now? I don't think I have another 53 years to work at this. And like quicksand... the more I struggle the more "stuck" I get. OK - really giving up is an option: reject the want... remind myself my survival doesn't depend ONLY on that one objective... and let myself forget about this life-long detour - let it go. It's only one failure and after all, I don't have to blame anyone - not her, not myself - it is what it is.
But OH, guess what? Letting it go requires intention, too... something's still missing.
And that is addressing the "I don't matter". There are so many things that my mother neglected to teach me; that I had to learn elsewhere - like brushing my teeth before going to bed (she thought that was just stupid; once in the morning was good enough). I was terribly embarrassed at needing to learn these things; ashamed. And of course, the "blame" for that lies squarely with my mom. I was SOOOOOOOOOO ashamed of my parents..... please.... the neighbors called the cops when my Dad was drunk, fighting on the lawn with the old, old woman he brought home to torture my mom with. I hope they were clothed; they weren't when my mom forced me to witness them having sex so that I would "see how much Daddy loves you??" And how sensitive and self-conscious is a NORMAL 12 yr old??? Let alone one who's chronically anxious, fearful, and already parentified? (Sorry; Twiggy wanted to tell you 'coz she trusts & likes you; she knows you won't think she's LIKE THEM.)
The last bit about how shame figures into this is that Twiggy couldn't divorce her parents. She was too smart to runaway - she knew she needed food, clothing & shelter and she couldn't get this for herself at her age. Later... during the "shunned" period... when she was so thoroughly gaslighted and confused about what happened... she made a huge, glaring, mistake. No one else "did" this mistake to her - she did it to herself. She took all the big ugly pile of messy shame she felt about her parents... and she "made it go away" by being responsible for it; neither parent acted like they had any shame... it was just a barrel of tar that SHE was stuck in... it must belong to her, because no one else was claiming it. She made it go away by taking it with her when she "went into the box" - and left just Amber in "me". Nice try, Twiggy. That didn't work either, coz the stench of the tar and Twiggy herself came tumbling out of my unconsciousness - always at the most inconvenient times!
Twiggy's big mistake was letting that tar barrel of shame convince HER that "I don't matter"... that because she felt so horrible it meant that she was "bad" - shameful -
just like her parents. (Remember, she wasn't allowed to have boundaries and there was a ton of mom-projections going on too. It was much, much "safer" to not matter.)
And there WAS something else Twiggy wanted: she wanted a mom she could be proud enough of to say - SHE'S my mom and I'm happy to be like her in some ways. She kept attaching herself to "substitute moms"... looking for characteristics that matched up with her talents... looking for deficits and gaps... and "fixing" them.... learning.
Over the last four years, I've felt more and more that Twiggy is me - and vice versa. I became that "mom" she wanted. She is still clinging to that resistance - that life-death struggle to not matter; to stay safe from the barrel of tar/shame that really doesn't belong to her - and I keep gently trying to get her to give up that struggle... to show her it's "safe" now... and to accept things I want her to do to become emotionally independent and secure. To take care of herself. Coz, no matter how many times I have to say it or show her - she matters to me at the life-death level. That, I think... is commitment. That is also intention: how to get to a goal. And it "always is"... it's consistent over time... will help push through the difficulties that I know will arise... will provide encouragement to "get up and try again" in the face of a mistake or set back...
Before I get to blathering (tee-hee! this is already too long) - Twiggy and I are now working together on a big project. I just started a new journal and while we're allowed to reference the past in all it's gory detail... the journal is NOT about the past. It's a dictionary - a definition - of Twiggy/Amber - who I am now... and what else I want to be. We are working together to choose goals, create intention and action plans, to move into "now" and progress to the future... without any "hangovers" from the past. I know I can't do this without Twiggy's cooperation. She still needs some maturing time, too. Some reassurance that it's finally OK to be her - sans the crap in the barrel... and she's got some catching up to do, age-wise, too.
"Yes, I am a pirate - 200 years too late..."
I have thoroughly hijacked your thread, GS..... in my defense, I'll only say I've missed you that much!! Can you come back to play?
