The Prodigal Friend: Gotcha Day

 

As young children, we sang together, at the top of our lungs to our favorite songs.

We skipped along, holding hands.
Whenever I called her name, she came close.
We fell asleep sharing secrets and fears.
She listened to me and held me when I cried, like the nights I feared my house would burn with my beloved Bozo inside.
We took turns doing what the other wanted—reading, swinging on the tire swing, or playing school.
We were so close we finished each other’s sentences, reading each other’s facial expressions so words often were not even needed.

My best friend—my lifelong friend—was such a critical part of my life.
We were inseparable.

However, as we grew up, we grew apart, despite our previous closeness.
At first, she ignored me a little, focusing on what others said, what others thought was acceptable or fun.
Instead of listening to me, she took over conversations and occasionally even told me to hush, eventually leading me to talk less and less.
Soon, numerous days passed before she acknowledged my voice, too busy with her own agenda to hear what I had to say.
We spent less and less time together because she acted like a lovesick middle schooler, talking all about all the others in her life, discussing all she was doing for them.
Meanwhile, I was hoping that we could do things for each other.

It sounds like I became bitter.
Resigned might be a better way to describe my feelings.
Hopeless might be another.
It seemed while she grew larger than life, obsessed with impressing others to win their love, I grew smaller and smaller.

The irony is that she didn’t need to do anything to win my love.
I loved her without any reservations.
I was the one who knew everything about her, the one who would never betray her.

She followed that “teenage crush” for all things external.  
She became a busy adult, too busy for me.
Busy impressing.
Busy doing.
Busy caring for others.
Busy mothering and teaching and grading and cleaning and driving and mowing and friending.
Busy.

When my life became difficult, when I was at my lowest, I barely heard from her.
She asked me what I had done to bring this on myself.
She told me to move on, to deal with it, and to put on my big girl panties.
I once again kept my mouth shut, didn’t argue, but picked myself up and kept going, just as she suggested.
I desperately needed to hear other words, but after all, she was my forever friend, so I was sure she was only saying those things in love.
She couldn’t read my mind or finish my sentences any longer.
When I talked, all I heard was an echo.

If only I could have seen how abusive this friendship was.
The best parts of me had been silenced.
I allowed her to rule my actions and guide my thoughts.
I diminished myself.

I became mute.
I was present all along, but she forgot I existed.
I was a silent shadow.

When life became hard for her six years ago, when those who promised to love her created more and more distance,
When they betrayed her,
When she felt like she might be all alone,
I was still there.
Through her tears and confusion at how life had turned out, she looked up and saw me.
She saw my smile.  
She felt my hand in hers.  
Tentatively, haltingly, she spoke a few words.  Then the flood of words poured from her mouth.
We both remembered the ways things had been.
She realized I had been there all along and would never leave her.

To say that it was easy for me to believe the friendship was back would be an understatement.
After all, she had betrayed me.
She had silenced me.
She had blocked me out of her life for years.
But slowly, she earned my trust and allowed me to believe our friendship was stronger than ever.

A little over two years ago, she decided to choose me.
Just the two of us stood beside the Truckee River in Reno and made promises.
She promised to be there for me—-and she has been.
She vowed to listen—and she has.
She promised never to betray me again—and she hasn’t.

It became our "Gotcha Day." 

Now, she and I enjoy the quiet and solitude.
Yes, we enjoy the company of others, but we treasure moments with just the two of us, as we read, listen to acoustic music, watch the birds, play with the dogs, and just sit.
She and I huddle together on the sofa as we watch TV, and she holds my hands or lets me lean against her shoulder and cry.
We cheer for our favorite football and basketball teams, each out-yelling the other.
She doesn’t push me to get up and go.
Instead, she encourages me to let her take care of me.  
She wraps me in the softest of blankets.
We finish each other’s sentences, and we laugh at our own private jokes.
We once again go to sleep telling each other secrets, dreaming of the future.

Friends from birth.
Friends forever.
She’s mine, and I am hers.





Just to make sure you get this, this friend is me.  For a very long time, I ignored myself.  I ignored what I was really thinking and feeling.  I focused on others so much that my true self was silenced and minimized.  Only recently have I become friends with myself again.

I was struck the other day at the way I would have given up on this friend if someone had treated me this way—-and yet, I treated myself this way.  

I am glad that “she” and I are friends again.  I did make vows to myself in Reno two years ago beside the Truckee River.  I even gave myself a ring (the ring pictured at the start of this blog post).

Here are my vows if you are ever interested in doing something similar:



Do you choose to be true to yourself from this day forward?

• To love yourself as best as you can and to be a comfort and a safe place for yourself to live?
• To listen to yourself deeply, to trust your gut, to allow yourself to be sad and angry?
• To learn compassion for yourself and nourish yourself with compassion?
• To love your body as it ages?  To take care of yourself both in body and mind?
• To weigh the effects of the words you speak and the things you do—especially to yourself?
• To take on only today?
• To take on only what is yours?
• To see the amazing person you really are and give thanks?
• To honor the uniqueness of your spirit?
• To cherish those whose love and support helped bring you here today and helped shape you into the person you are today?
• To honor and respect you—who you are—not what you do or what role you play
• To celebrate your victories, rejoice in your achievements
• To give care and comfort, wisdom and truth—to others AND to yourself?
• To always be the best of friends to yourself?

What promises do you make to yourself?

• I promise to be gentle to me, speaking words of kindness and love.
• I promise to leave the voices of my past behind.
• I promise to define myself by being who I was meant to be—regardless of others.
• I promise to silence the internal jury, to encourage and believe in myself.
• I promise to never be with someone who does not make me feel safe.  No more tiptoeing.  No more losing of myself for the sake of keeping someone.
• I promise to only surround myself with those who value me.
• I promise to take time to heal.

Pictures from my "Gotcha Day" in Reno:

      

Of Magical Wardrobes and Yellow Brick Roads---The Time Travel of Trauma

 

It is so magical in movies and books—
A character is living their ordinary life when they are suddenly transported to another world, time, and existence.

For instance, there are the four siblings secreted in the country far away from their parents, escaping through an ordinary wardrobe to the magical land of Narnia
OR perhaps Gulliver who four times finds himself in other lands
OR perhaps Alice who tumbles into the land of the Cheshire Cat—
OR perhaps Dorothy who is taken by a chance tornado and dropped into the land of the Munchkins, traveling with her three companions (and Toto) on their way to Oz.

OR, to think of more recent magical time and space travel, you could hop in the DeLorean with Michael J. Fox or step into the TARDIS with Dr. Who.

All are so magical—-
But as you  know, real life is so different from fantasy.
There are no DeLoreans or TARDIS trips,
No magical wardrobes or rabbit hidey holes.

Instead, as you are living your ordinary, hum-ho life,
All it takes is a smell, a spoken “magical” word, a familiar situation, the sight of a specific item—
AND SUDDENLY,
And without a conscious thought,
Your body—brain—nerve endings—emotions—
ALL are vacuumed into another time and place.
Years disappear.
Confidence wanes.
Once again, you find yourself in fight
OR flight
OR freeze.

That moment . . .
That moment you felt in that single space between tick and tock
The people and place and situation
All flood, surge, overwhelm—taking over every thought and breath,
Breaking open your heart and soul and mind.

Or in that moment between tick and tock,
The people and place and situation all get sucked out in a second in a black hole or wormhole,

Leaving you scared and helpless all over again.


Alone.


Vulnerable.

You stand, straddling the present and the past,
And no one in the present knows or understands this time travel or this space locked in time,
This space stored carefully within the wrinkles and crevasses of the brain,
This space hidden in the muscles and veins of the heart,
This space locked away in the emotions of the soul.

* * * * * *

You are middle aged,
And yet, the sound of giggling girls,
Or the sight of a tall metal trash can,
An image of a gorilla,
The sound of a praise song,
Or the unexpected knock on your front door . . . .

And you have time traveled, and you are suddenly, in a split second,
13 and awkward, stumbling and hiding your true self from vicious attacks,
17 in a band hall, desperately wanting love and accepting abuse instead,
35, feeling helpless and stripped naked of all dignity,
37, leading worship right after you have been threatened by false CPS accusations,
53, facing the reserved and downcast glances of two sheriff deputies at 2:00 a.m.

* * * * * * * * *

Time travel is always unexpected.
It is always incomprehensible,
Mysterious,
Uncontrollable,
You are whisked away in the time it takes for one heartbeat to transition into the next.

However incomprehensible or mysterious or uncontrollable, it is anything but magical.

Instead, it is bewildering,
Confusing,
And utterly debilitating.
In that moment,
You are helpless to stop the time travel.
You cannot halt the way the emotions overwhelm or are frozen in place.
There is no Wizard who will send you on a quest to find those red shoes to happily get you home.

As debilitating as it is,
There is one truth you should know, a truth this time traveler has learned after years of time and space travel: 
Just as the four siblings returned wiser because of their encounters with Aslan and the White Witch,
And just as Gulliver and Alice found their way home, altered by new perspectives,
Or Dorothy awoke in her bed, glad to be back in Kansas,

Just like them,
With time—and with frequent time travel practice—
You can find your way home,
Forever changed,
But perhaps a bit less cocky and sure of yourself,
More empathetic,
And more grateful for your present time.

As you arrive back from the wormhole,
Or step out of your DeLorean,
You see familiar landmarks,
You recognize the beaten-up mailbox and long, windy drive,
And as you follow the turns of this dirt path,
You see the paving stones that lead to your front porch.

You find that your front door is already open,
With Current You standing there with arms outstretched,
Hugging you and welcoming you home—
Just as you are.

The Minus Men

 

 

Like vampires,
The Minus Men suck your life blood,
They sleep in normal beds, dress in khakis and polos,
And put on their underwear the same way as every Tom, Dick, and Harry.
These Minus Men may not sleep in coffins or brush sharpened teeth,
But they drain
and minimize like Dracula.

These modern vampires inhabit offices with oaken desks,
They shelter in place behind computer monitors and office assistants,
Shielded by degrees and job titles,
But their hunger for the spirit and soul of others
Is just as insistent and destructive
As if they were Bram Stoker’s creations.

These Minus Men are feverishly hungry,
Gnawing on any small bits of gristle,
Any small details that they can focus on and then tear apart.
They look for miniscule weaknesses in your defense, and
Instead of teeth, their tongues pick at,
Ridicule,
And suck your marrow by cracking and breaking and destroying—
Your appearance, your laugh, your intelligence, your personality, your mental health, and your heritage are all snacks on the plate.

Minus Men
Target you because your passion and confidence is strong,
And your self-esteem and resilience are the most desired life force
For these little men.

They insert lifts in their Florsheims to increase their stature,
Not wanting you to appear taller than themselves.
They make sure their job title is capitalized, a proper noun,
And the diploma is gold-plated—
Anything to close the door on dissent or new thought.

They dimunitize by referring to “Kimmy,” even though they know you are Kim,
Deny the truth of what you say,
Speak with a megaphone to silence your viewpoint,
Cover the mirrors to keep you from seeing the truth of your image--
The truth of your real height.

They make sure their titles and degrees or their Holy Spirit-endowed gifts
Help those around them feel less than,
Less chosen,
Less valid,
Less important,
Of Less value.

These little men are Minus Men.
They can easily take a 10—
and with each word they slowly drain 1 and 1 and 1 until a 7 stands before them.
Oh, the anger they feel for anyone, especially a female, who would dare for an 8 or 9 or 10.
They make sure to Minus you in front of others,
To ignore your needs or your reality.
They make you question yourself,
Am I mistaken?  Am I overreacting?  Am I really that messed up?  
10 . . . 9. . . . 8. . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5—
All so they can sit in their big boy chairs.

The Minus Men—   
No garlic, holy water, or stake through the heart can destroy these modern monsters.
They are protected by their ability to camouflage their blood-sucking desire.


So, dear Warrior,
Your fight is a daily one.  
You will need to gear up.
Buy earbuds to block out the seductive minimizing words.
Carry a mirror to remind yourself of your truth.
Wear your heels (if you choose) but remind yourself that you are taller than they are
Even if you are in flats.
Surround yourself with Multipliers, those who reveal the truth,
And slowly . . .
Slowly . . .
Slowly . . .
 

You will realize their Minus Man math makes no sense.
Pythagoras, Alan Turing, and even Stephen Hawking himself would not have understood their logic.  

You will  learn to speak up and maximize your power. 

You will learn to stand tall, refusing to stoop your shoulders.  

You will  look the vampires right in the eyes and dare them to diminish you.

You will remind yourself daily that they are wearing lifts,
That they are hiding their vampire teeth and poisonous tongues.

You are a warrior,
No matter what they say.