Monday, May 10, 2010
There is movement away from the known. Adjustments are called for. Resistance is imminent. The prettiness and the politeness are falling away.
I see the mirror in my Oma's rapid onset of dementia; her forgetting, her reduced intake of food, her getting lost while driving, the subsequent removal of her car keys. And now the deluge of 90 years of suppressed rage is flooding her family. Her needle is stuck in a groove of loss and blame and threats for attention because she has moved into the scary unknown and pretense is no longer possible.
I am guessing she will eventually exhaust herself and the exploding baggage will be carried away on the wind. But until resistance gasps and surrenders, I see the uncomfortable reflection of my own fears. After all, I was taught about womanhood and ways to behave by what she passed on. Suppression of feelings and the appearance of perfection were the primary rules of the game. For the most part, the rules seem to work. Until they don't. And when they don't, there is hell to pay within and without.
Faced with my own version of moving on, moving more purposefully into the unknown, I am somewhat paralyzed by my fears, yet aware of what must be done. I hope not to misdirect the little rages I carry within me, I hope not to keep paying for mistakes that weren't really mistakes, I hope and I hope and I hope like hell I can live and breathe with trust. I have lived so long without it, to live with it and in it, is movement away from the known and I feel afraid.
Of course, the whole issue, the whole ball of fear is lack of trust in myself. My self criticisms, my self judgments, my knee-jerk self scoldings, are the foundations of fear of the same from others. Lack of trust in myself keeps my wings folded and my head tilted towards the ground. It keeps the rage from being expressed in a timely and well-directed way. It keeps me stuck where I don't want to be.
So, I work towards the gasp and surrender. I work towards the trust that I will never be and feel unloved or abandoned. By and from myself. With trust as my goal, with prettiness or not, this is the time for moving on.