The Climb

When I was six or seven, my sister and I were having an argument in front of our mother, aunts, and grandmother around Christmastime. My sister was probably four, and she said something nasty to me. "I don't have to listen to this!" I hissed, and whirled around with intentions of making a dramatic exit. Grandma and my aunts all burst into laughter, and my mother grabbed me and set me back in front of my sister, saying, "Oh yes you do!"

I didn't know how to respond to my mother's action then, and I have no idea what she was trying to teach me now. Was I supposed to be nice to my sister because she was younger? Was I supposed to apologize for standing up for myself?

I responded by freezing and feeling helpless.

I learned that my feelings don't matter, and that other people have the right to be mean to me, and that it's funny when other people are mean to me.

I don't remember what happened next, but those lessons, and that response, stayed with me all my life. I am 29 years old now, and I still freeze and feel helpless when someone says something mean to me. Despite telling myself that I am valuable, and despite my friends telling me that they love me and are happy to have me in their lives, I still feel worthless and like my feelings don't matter.

Growing up, it was normal for me to feel worthless, powerless, and helpless. These feelings were enforced every time I was spanked, made to endure other forms of pain or humiliation for disobeying my parents, every time I was punished for expressing my feelings. I can't tell you how many times I was spanked because I couldn't stop crying. Or how even as a teenager and a young adult, just by mocking my feelings, my Dad could still crush me and send me into a spiraling funk that could take me weeks to escape.

Worthlessness, powerlessness, helplessness...these were my normal. These were the feelings underlying every thing I ever did, thought, and believed. They were the lens through which I saw the world, and the other people in my life. If people were kind to me, I didn't recognize the kindness because I didn't believe I deserved it. If things were going good in my life, I made friends with someone who was suffering and immersed myself in their drama, because drama was comfortable. I understood misery. Happiness, peace were scary and unknown.

Imagine being trapped in a huge cavern so far below the ground that even though there is an opening revealing the sky directly above you, you still can't see any light. All you can see is shades of darkness, all you feel is the cold void, all you hear is the echoes of your own sobs and cries for help.

You find your way to a narrow passageway that spirals up toward the light, a light that you know exists deep in your heart, but you still can't see it. Onward you climb, a little higher every day, carefully feeling your way in the darkness, aware that a wrong step could send you hurtling over the precipitous edge, back to where you started, or even to death...you don't know, you can't tell how high you've managed to climb.

One day, you feel a warm breeze, and smell wonderful, comforting scents that spark vague memories of peace and comfort.

Another day, you hear a child's laughter faintly in the distance, and you know you are getting closer to the light.

Time passes, and then suddenly you realize that you can see your hand in front of your face! You ascend more quickly now, less carefully, knowing the light is not far. But in your eagerness, you slip on some loose gravel, and slide to the edge.

You barely manage to grab the edge, and hang on with sheer force of will. You pick yourself back up, and begin your ascent again, slowly, carefully, longingly.

Time passes.

And one day, you step into the light.

It blinds you, but it's warmth reminds you of a time before memory, of absolute comfort and security, a time before you knew coldness.

As you eyes adjust, you realize you still have a long, long way to climb before you reach the surface. But now you are starting to remember the light, and what awaits you on the surface, and you are determined to get there.

The cavern is always below you, ready to catch you every time you slip or stumble. There are times when your struggle toward the light is scary, frustrating, overwhelming. At those times, it feels comfortable to close your eyes and step into the shadows, embracing the darkness. But at those times, you can't help but relive the pain, loneliness, and desperation. Those feelings and patterns of behavior are familiar. You don't like them; you thought you'd overcome them, but they are always a part of you, always waiting for you. It's up to you to decide whether you will seek the comfort and familiarity in their embrace, or if you will bravely trudge upward, into the unknown, the promise of joy, love, and peace.

I can't tell you where I am on that spiral, except that I can still see the light. I can tell you that I recently slipped, that now I am pulling myself back up, and considering climbing the face of the damn cliff because this long slow trudging is just taking too long!

Acts of Love - Cleaning

What would happen if, every time you took your family to a public park, you spent the first five minutes of your time there racing to see who could pick up the most trash?

What would your kids, and other people observing, learn from this game?

How would you feel the first time you went to a favorite park and couldn't find a single piece of trash to pick up?

When I was a kid...heck, up until I had a kid, I had no idea why I should clean up a mess I didn't make. Especially if no one asked, especially if no one would know I'd done it. What was the point of doing work without being paid, or at least recognized for it?

But since I gave birth, I've had to clean up after a little person who has no idea how to wipe his butt, and has yet to master the concept that bodily fluids are NOT suitable for use as paint. He can't clean his vomit out of the carpet, or do his laundry, clean his dishes...he still thinks it's more fun to dump all his toys on the floor and scatter them throughout the house than to put them away.

I don't resent him, or feel like I'm being cheated because I'm cleaning up his mess without pay or praise. (Okay, I may resent society a bit for not valuing the work I do in raising him, but that's a whole other post...)

It's funny how having a kid puts your whole world into perspective and teaches you things about yourself you never would have thought about otherwise.

Now I understand that cleaning is an act of love. When I pick up trash at the beach, I'm performing an act of love for myself, for my son, for all the people and creatures who visit the beach, for Mother Earth.

I love it when my son emulates me by throwing cigarette butts in the trash bucket. It reminds me that he is observing and internalizing every thing I say and do, and that so far, I'm doing good. <3