I M Perfect lady

Tag: promises

  • Wishing is a train out of Reality.

    Forceful kindness is a phrase I had used to describe how some may take your power, how they keep pushing kindness to make you believe or feel something…it isn't just kindness, it is kindness with an agenda.

    Kindness that is trying to change your mind.

    Kindness that runs over your feelings.

    Kindness that sounds one way but feels completely different.

    Kindness that wants something.

    Kindness with an abusive attitude, for it is trying too hard to convince you…it is kind.

    I have been given many aspects of my mother appearing and reappearing time and time again, showing me OR rather allowing me to see that which I thought was one thing, was literally the opposite, and I am getting wiser and catching the lessons, grabbing on to the falsehood and forced kindness in order for me to 'do something'.

    The manipulation and delivery sounds so nice, empathetic, understanding, with a 'reason' behind it.

    My latest delivery came in the form of "I am going to help you"…which actually boiled down to….I am helping myself.

    My boss said she was bringing in 'help' for me after a long Monday, by the time I was ready to bundle the mail and head out on Tuesday the help turned into a person who was there to make sure I didn't go into overtime for the week.  And since it appeared that my hours would balance out, all help was removed.

    The daily struggle on very heavy package days don't matter, unless it happens to be a Friday, and it looks like I am on the verge of overtime.

    What I told her is that don't pretend to 'help' me, when all you really are focused on is your spread sheet of hours.  I understand and I get it.  Your main job is to see that we don't go over hours.  You can't be empathetic or helpful, you have to manage hours.  Just say it.  Just be forthright and say it.  Don't call it 'helping me' when you are actually helping your self.

    I truly get it and accept, that the Post Office can't offer help, it has to watch its bottom line.  I am not upset about that.

    I am upset with the way my boss tried to sell me help, when it was really for herself.

    If someone is going to help you, it will feel like help.  It didn't feel like she was helping me, but helping herself and I told her so.

    She wanted to appear, helpful and empathetic, when the Post Office doesn't allow for it.  I wasn't going to appear helped when it didn't help me.

    I believed the first night she indeed could help me.  I was relieved.  I was disappointed on the second day, when she changed the type of help she could give me.  And in the passing hours felt the help totally disappear…and felt it, and expressed it quite expressively.

    Some may challenge me and say it was being insubordinate, but what I was actually doing was calling her on her false delivery.

    I told her, "For me, please don't say you are going to do something and then not do it, make promises you can't deliver or are even capable of doing.  Don't make it seem like you are going to help me, when you can't.  I would prefer you say Nothing UNTIL you can.  If it isn't possible, I get it.  Just call it saving overtime and not help."

    I am way okay with the reality of how things are.  I am way not okay with someone playing in front of them trying to make me believe that which isn't possible.

    I understood that I too wanted to believe in help that wasn't possible.

    I own my part, my believing and wanting it…so I grabbed on.

    We both took a day and a half ride on Make Belief….and in the end I was disappointed.

    I was disappointed I believed in that which wasn't possible…a train ride out of reality and I was let down.  Let down right where I started, overwhelmed with the work at hand….wishing for help.

    Wishing is a place that isn't reality…

    Wishing is what comprised my whole childhood.

    Wishing things were different…

    It took me a whole day to get back to acceptance.

    Accepting what is…accepting that I will be overwhelmed for the next two weeks, and that no help will be coming.  I am okay, once I get back to reality and let the wishing go…

    Wishing is a train out of reality.

     

     

     

     

  • In the Ditches of Life.

    Promises and commitments seem to only have real power when they are used for self, when they are used for others we become their slave.

    I want my daughter’s decision and commitment to be for her self and not for me, for it to be something she feels obligated to do for her own morals and values, leaving me out of the picture.

    If she were to make choices based on what makes me happy, she has just transferred herself over to me for me to rule.

    Promises and commitments when made for another seem on the surface to be a nice and friendly thing, yet if you look closer, they become silk chains that now keep you dancing for their happiness.

    I do not want my children to live a life that has them chained to my happiness, I want their lives to be driven from the inside out, to do what pleases them and makes them happy.

    Defining their own morals and values, owning their responsibility as individuals, being their own character sets them free to make promises to themselves, commitments they want to live by, that leaves us both free.

    My actions can’t define her and hers can’t define me.

    It is the freedom that is both liberating and scary as hell.

    Letting them go to crash and burn or to grow and become strong and independent.

    Kicking them out of the nest in my head, letting them grow and stretch into their own lives.

    I can no longer catch them when they fall; their falls are much bigger. They have to get back up and travel on.

    I think the threads and ties are for the mother’s benefit, I am thinking that our children are much stronger and more resilient than we believe.

    While there is freedom when the silk apron strings are cut, there is fear that did we teach them all they need to know?

    Are they strong enough to fly?

    Life isn’t lived in a straight line without failures; it looks more like a drunkard path.

    We all will fall, and stumble, make a bad judgment call, fall off the path and go in the ditch to gather a morsel of wisdom, it isn’t the mistakes we make but how we pick ourselves back up.

    We are not born with wisdom we find it in the ditches of life.

  • Love Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

    In the children’s book, “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” by C. J. Lewis, the youngest child during a game of hide and seek, looks into a wardrobe and discovers a portal to a mysterious world of Narnia.

    This is how I see the land of disassociation disorder.

    Where you have the ability to slip into a portal that takes you out of this world, into a pretend place where life is beautiful all the time.

    Escape, until it is safe to return, failing to record the happenings while we hid in the closet of our minds.

    This gives us a blackout affect or an on and off again visual of reality’s time line. What happed as we slipped through the portal?

    The past 6 years I have been dealing with all the stuff that went on while I was frolicking in my far away land, trying to go back through feelings and emotions.

    This reminds me of what I heard, “Emotions are time travelers.” So I use them as my vehicle to transport me back in time.

    Mostly it is to see what I missed, what spaces I left out, where I built myself without these crucial points.

    It’s like I had sculpted a life based on the land I escaped to.

    A very overbright rendition.

    Now I am bringing into my magical space all the stuff I ran from.

    Adding the dark patches and smashing the sunshine pretend images of love and kindness.

    It’s to find myself standing in the portal between both worlds, the dark and the overbright and re-creating what is real.

    On this pinhead in time, I have to sort everything from both sides holding them up to reality’s discerning eye, leaving behind my ability to turn straw into gold, and weaving the most plausible story.

    I am now without a magical closet where I can leave things on the shelf untouched.

    In the portal, the space or second between the two worlds, I live there now minus all magic.

    A convergence of both into one.

    Combinations of old fantasies and stark bare reality.

    The fantasies allowed me to survive, but in the end they were still fantasies.

    I now see the land, the brightness, and the fluffy white clouds of escape and thank it for welcoming me in as a child, for protecting me when I couldn’t protect myself.

    A space of refuge in a storm, I lived there for 46 years.

    6 years ago to this day, my magic closet stopped working, the darkness flooded my bright world, shattering all the fantasies in its wake.

    Flinging me into reality and slamming the portal shut, locking me out of the closet naked and terrified.

    Alone in the cold truth, everything I ever ran from came home to roost in that one second in time.

    All my fears were realized, all my feelings were validated, my mind’s disassociations clashed into one bang, fantasy met reality, and it was all wrong.

    Horrified I died as me.

    Dead but alive, another wonderful oxymoron!

    In order for me to live, I had to rewire and unravel and re-write the history of me, dissolving fantasy after fantasy, to find the me I had run from.

    I had to begin the long walk back to me.

    Uncovering and unwrapping the entire pretty pretend fantasies and sit with reality.

    Some pieces were harder to unwrap and see.

    Knocking on each door in my fantasy only to hear,

    “Love doesn’t live here anymore.”