Monday, March 26

The Red Tent




Goddess, I love this book. It's been two years since I read it, but it still has a profound effect on me. Tonight, Tom and I went to bed early (9) and I slept fitfully, at best. So, I woke up a few minutes ago compelled to talk about this book. I am sure a lot of the desire comes from a long conversation that I had with my Mom today, and the rest of the desire comes from some very strange dreams I had this evening.

If you have not read this book, please do not read this blog. I am not going to tell you the story, per se. I am going to talk about my take on the story. The reason I don't want you to read this is because Anita Diamant does such an incredible job of taking you on this strife-filed journey through the dark ages, all the while giving you all of the pieces to this puzzle. At the end, she amazingly puts all of the pieces together and shows you the glorious things that this strife-filled journey can result in. So, if you haven't read it, go on to something else, please.






I started reading this book, at behest of one of my dearest friends, about two years ago, just prior to my wedding. I read it through the time we spent in Vegas for the wedding and then on the trip from the chapel to my Grandmother's bedside at the hospice. I finished the book whilst sitting with my Memee the last day of her life. I knew when I finished that book that something much greater than myself had directed me to read that book during this transition in my life. I would not have appreciated the time I spent with Memee prior to her death without this book by my side. I would not have realized what Memee *gave* to my life without this book. I am glad I realized that gift before she past, when I could still thank her, face-to-face.

Men carry the names, the land, the jewels, the livestock, the businesses, the public legacy of the family. From generation to generation they create an identity for the family. Women carry something much different. We carry the history, the love, the strength, and the pain. Our legacy is often that of darkness, something so intangible.

I know nothing of the hardships of being a man, so everything I am writing is based solely upon assumption. A lot of what I am going to say is very much a generalization and probably not so applicable in today's society as it was in aeons past.

Men often function on their own. They don't rely specifically upon other people to get them through certain events. Women have to have other women in their lives. When a woman gives birth, she has to have someone to help care for the other children, look after the house and the family, etc. etc. If there were a problem during childbirth, we rely upon another woman to care for our child.

We are a piece of every woman we ever spent time with. Our mothers, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, sisters and daughters shape us into the women we are. Sometimes our stories are not told, but that is OK. Our stories will always live on in the women whose lives we help form. My grandmother's strength will live on in me until I am able to pass it to another woman, and so on, and so forth.

So, all of the land, money, jewels, and names can go to the men, that is fine with me. What I have inherited is much more valuable. The strength to carry my head high and cherish my life is worth so very much more, to me.


** This all sounds so very biased. It isn't. I don't mean to downplay the very important role of men in our families, lives and histories. Especially today, because men have assumed many of the roles that our sisters and mothers would have assumed just 50 years ago.

Saturday, March 24

I think I might like this...

Writing that is. I used to do it a lot, but haven't in years. It feels good. It releases stuff. Things I dwell on and obsess about can get out of my freaking head this way. I think it is much more cathartic than anything else I've been doing lately. So, maybe this is the beginning of a blog? Maybe not. We shall see.

I am feeling really good about things lately. I feel like a lot of weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I am really focused on getting off this medication and getting my body back to a semblance of normalcy. I think working out and looking for a part-time job are things that I need to concentrate on. Working out especially because it raises the endorphin levels and that will be important for me when getting off of the anti-depressants.

As far as a job goes. I have no clue what I should look at. I know the skill-set that I have, but I don't want to do anything in lending. I think I would like to do something simple. Maybe work at one of the little stores on base or something. Maybe find a job with a landscaper or working outdoors? I dunno. I would like to think I can do that, but I am not sure about my knees.

Anyway, I think I might keep doing this writing gig. I am feeling really good about the direction of my life and my goals.

Wednesday, March 21

I am not broken...




That's me in the bottom right corner of the picture. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. My mom was french braiding my hair. She used to do this every third day. I had hair down to my butt at that time.

Anyway, that age... there in the photo, that is about the time that I think I started to feel broken. Less than human. Different. Isolated. Flawed. Worthless. It wasn't too bad at that time, but it got worse. Much worse over the years.

One of my dearest friends told me a week or so ago, "You are not broken." Those four words have been rolling around my head since then. I've been going to shrinks, hating myself, taking anti-depressants, trying to find the missing piece. Well, fuck! There isn't one. I am not broken or incomplete.

I am who I am. I am sick of being on stupid pills that are supposed to make me not crazy, but don't really succeed. I am sick of trying to figure out the flaw in me that made certain people in my life turn away from me or keep their distance. Who fucking knew that all of this time, that was their issue. Not mine.

I am not broken. Holy shit?! It is so simple, but yet... so fucking complex. I am amazed at what I've done over the years to try and make reparations to myself. I am amazed at the things that I have missed over the years because I figured that the people involved would not want a broken person with them.



I was talking to my mom the other day. She told me that she thought that there were three distinct phases of my relationship with my Father. First, she said I was Suzy Golden-hair who could do no wrong. I went everywhere with him. I was treated like a princess. I was his sidekick. Then, after the divorce, I became a possession to be bartered and fought over. He was so focused on the dissolution of the relationship with my mom that he lost sight of the little girl who used to be his buddy. Then, about the time I hit adolescents, I could do no right. Everything I did was a fucking mistake. From the jobs I chose to the kid I had. Hell the place I lived was a mistake. Then men I dated. The friends I had. The relationship with my mother. It was all wrong.

I don't remember the first stage, not really. I remember being Daddy's little girl. I must. That is the feeling I have been trying to get back to for 25 fucking years. I remember being the tool of emotional wars. I remember not being able to do a damn thing right (how can I forget that, I am still there). Somewhere along the line, his attitude change towards me helped me down the path to feeling broken.

Well, I am fucking done. I am not broken. I am not some shitty human being that doesn't deserve the life, love, family, and friends that I have. I am a good, whole person who needs to realize that her father is not worth her time.

So, why am I writing this? I dunno. I haven't written anything like this in years. I don't blog. I don't LJ. I just was laying in bed and realized that my fear of being broken was no longer useful in my life. I need to move the fuck on. So, I guess that is why I am writing this. To share with you all that I am not broken. I never was and I never will be.

luvs
binks