This paper was written in response to the following questions: What is your reaction to the question “Is suicide an ultimate choice or the ultimate cop-out?” If you found out you had one week left to live, how would you spend that time? Be specific. What do your choices say about your values and what is important to you? How does that compare to how you live your life now? Knowing what you do, what changes would you make in how you live your life now, if any? When do you feel most alive? When do you experience life the most fully? What happens, if anything, to blunt this feeling of aliveness?
It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.
Don't Fear the Reaper
When I was 20 a friend of mine from high school chose to end her life. In the years that I had known Leslie she was dealing with an intense internal struggle. She felt lost, alone, and seemed to be hurting terribly. She had secrets and was certain that sharing them would be worse than keeping them inside. She tried therapy, she tried alcohol, she tried self-mutilation, and none of it freed her from the pain she felt inside. After exhausting all of the options she felt comfortable considering, she had one more idea, and that was to end her current existence. I was saddened that Leslie felt death was the only path left for her to take, but at the same time I felt a huge sense of relief.
My feelings regarding Leslie’s death (and suicide in general) may be considered callous by some. I don’t believe that suicide is a selfish decision. On the contrary, I think the survivor’s of suicide are most often the selfish parties. I remember being at Leslie’s funeral and hearing people ask “How could she do this to me/us?” and all I could think was, “This had nothing to do with you, it was her life and her choice.”
I think people typically kill themselves because they feel that they have no other options. Sometimes the idea is considered for a long period of time, sometimes it’s a choice that is made in the moment, but that’s how all big decisions are. They’re either thought out with great intensity or are made in a split second, and we will experience the consequences regardless of how the decision was made.
Suicide, for me, very much resembles the concept of moving to another state. It removes us from our current life and takes us somewhere new where the people we see everyday can no longer see us or touch us. How practical of a decision this move might be is all a matter of perspective, but the only person whose opinion really matters is the one doing the moving.
When I told my friends I was moving from Utah to Oregon no one was very enthusiastic about the idea. I was hoping people would respond positively, getting excited that I finally had the courage to go somewhere I had always wanted to go. It felt freeing for me to be doing something that had appealed to me for so long. Rather than supporting me, most people whined about how I was leaving them and how selfish/unfair that was. While it was nice to know I would be missed I was hurt that I had so little support. My move had nothing to do with the people I was leaving behind. I wasn’t running away from anyone or trying to hurt feelings; I was simply doing what I felt I needed to do for myself. I left one existence in hopes that my next experience would be a better one. My leaving resulted in the actual demise of some friendships. There are people I have loved dearly whom I may never see again. I may still be breathing, but my absence in these people’s lives is not unlike death: I left them, there was nothing they could do about it, and my absence in their lives may be permanent.
Regardless of whether or not a suicide has been thought out, the decision is generally based on the desire to leave one existence for something better. For most of us life is more desirable than death, so we choose to continue living. However, for some of us life just isn’t the journey we were looking for and death seems like a better option. Because no one knows with any certainty what happens after we die we have no way of knowing if death is a positive or a negative experience for the deceased. Maybe death is simply a passageway to a new life. Perhaps all of the people we have lost in our lives are just hanging out, having a great time, making new friends, and just living in a world similar to our own. Maybe there is no pain in that life, maybe there is. It’s also possible that nothing happens after we die, that we simply cease to exist. My own personal belief is that death will be whatever experience we desire. For some the concept of Heaven and Hell will be a reality. For others the beauty of reincarnation will grant them the opportunity to experience life in a whole new way. I do not assume that a new existence will be easier (though it may be) but it is a chance to do things again and do them differently, hopefully with more positive results than the previous experience.
I should mention that I am more comfortable with suicides that came about after the person had tried finding other methods of dealing with their current existence versus it being a quick decision. I think it’s normal for people to make quick, irrational decisions during times of emotional transition, but for most of us those irrational decisions will become regrets or opportunities for change. I think we all have the right to re-evaluate the choices we’ve made and correct the ones we view as mistakes and feel that suicide deprives us of that re-evaluation.
As I ponder this topic more deeply I am finding that the only problem I really have with suicide is when the deceased parties leave a note indicating that someone else is to blame for their decision. I consider that rude. Blaming other people for one person’s decision has always irked me a little (though I will admit I have been hypocritical with this belief at times). I remember being in Ninth Grade and I had invited a friend of mine to a party where she proceeded to flirt mercilessly with the boy I liked even after I let her know it was bothering me. She chose to disregard my feelings and continued to flirt with my crush. I was angry and hurt, but I knew it wasn’t the worst thing that would ever happen. Regardless, I needed a few days to calm down and gather my thoughts before I would be comfortable talking to my friend about the incident. She was relentless and began harassing me, completely ignoring my desire to cool off before having a discussion. About two days later I came to school and felt like I walked right into a witch hunt.
Everyone in my social circle was calling me a bitch and no one would say what I had done. I later found out my friend had taken a bottle of Ibuprofen in an attempt to end her life, apparently because I was angry with her. Even then I didn’t understand how I was responsible for her suicide attempt; I wasn’t there when she tried to kill herself and I certainly didn’t force a bottle of pills down her throat. The fact that anyone would hold me at fault was frustrating to me as the decision had solely been my friend’s choice, and she certainly had other options for dealing with her emotions about the situation.
We each have the option to choose our own feelings or behaviors. That may be a difficult reality for some people to accept, but I believe it to be true. I could have killed myself in my adolescence; I even tried a few times. I was a depressed, angry teen. I blamed a lot of other people and situations for my misery. But my misery was always just that, my misery, and how I responded to that misery was my decision, no one else's. With this being the way I view my own life, I also hold others accountable for their choices. We may be influenced by external factors but ultimately how we deal with our circumstances is our own personal choice and our choice alone.
While I would not consider myself to be suicidal I do feel that it is entirely possible that at some point in time I will choose to end my own life. I’ve never really had the desire to live well into old age and I think there’s a possibility that I’ll get bored with life at some point. I do not have set plans to kill myself; I just consider it one of my options. I would not want the people I leave behind to think there was something they could have done, or view my death as some tragedy. I would hope that my decision to move forward into a new existence would be supported, just as I hoped that my moving to a new state would be.
If I knew I was going to die in the immediate future it would be difficult for me to inform people of my fate. I wouldn’t want to hear the disappointment or fear in their voices. I wouldn’t want them to focus on the short time we had left together. I would want them to focus on how much we’ve enjoyed our journey together, and to remember that there is still so much beauty in the world even if I’m not there to share it with. Despite my nervousness, I would want people to know that I was dying. It seems like every time someone dies people think about all of the things they wish they’d said. I don’t want the people I love to regret anything when I’m gone, so I would tell them I was dying and I would throw a party in lieu of my funeral.
Ideally this party would start out with The Roast of Ajé, where everyone who wants to can take turns laughing, joking, or being serious about why our journey together was an eventful and beautiful one. There will be laughter and tears, and no subject will be taboo, just good old-fashioned honesty and emotions. After my friends had finished sharing what they felt they needed to share I would then take the time to tell everyone how much they have meant to me. I imagine this party would probably need to last at least one full day as I have been blessed with many people who have come into my life and made it more amazing than I ever thought it could be.
When all thoughts had been exchanged it would be time to just hang out and mingle. In my life I’ve introduced many people to one another and some beautiful, amazing friendships have blossomed from those introductions. At my party everyone has to leave with a new phone number and a potential new friend. I will also be giving away my possessions at this party; this will be done as outlined in my will. If something I own was a gift from someone else they can have it back if they so choose. Everything else will pretty much be up for grabs, however if multiple people really want the same thing there will be a Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament to decide who gets what. These material possessions and newly formed friendships will be one of the many ways in which my memory will live on.
In the few days prior to my party I would do whatever sounded exciting in the moment. I would actually go rock climbing or adventure searching with my friends instead of doing homework. I would finally get around to checking out the swinger’s club because I’ve always been curious about that type of place. I would do stand up one more time without caring if the audience was put off by my vagina jokes.
I would try my best to make sure everyone knew that love is my life’s philosophy and that there was no hatred in my heart for anyone, including those who have wronged me. I would try to shout from the rooftops that we all make mistakes, but that nothing we do makes us unworthy of love. I would hug every person that was willing to accept my warm embrace.
This final week would probably be the most alive I will ever feel because I will be doing everything I can that appeals to me. As it stands currently I sometimes feel so alive that I’m quite certain I invented the very idea of living. I have these moments where I’m up for anything and every second has the potential to be a new adventure. It’s an intense natural high, and it gets more intense with every laugh, smile or hug that is exchanged.
I really enjoy the idea of living in the moment. If someone presents me with an idea that sounds even remotely fun and I’m not committed to any obligations I want to enjoy the ride and see where this random adventure might take me. Maybe it will only last an hour, maybe I’ll be gone for three days. It doesn’t matter because all that matters is the moment as it is happening.
This natural high gets blocked by my mind finding things to worry about. I’ll convince myself that if I go to a party with someone I won’t be able to get home if I want to leave before they do. Or I worry that I’ll be overwhelmed with fun and my having-a-good-time tears will leak out and everyone will respond to me like I am freaking out. Sometimes I go for days without having my mind get in the way of things, but often I go for weeks with it bringing me down. When I try to pull myself out of a slump I run into obnoxious obstacles. For example, it took me a long time to get the courage to karaoke. Singing in front of people has always made me super nervous and I get a psychosomatic frog stuck in my throat. But I finally decided “who cares?!” and decided to start going regularly. Within one week I got a cold and wasn’t able to sing for over a month.
What I should do when being faced with these obstacles is find something else to focus on that is equally satisfying, but I generally just get pissed off and annoyed. I’m not sure if this is because I am easily frustrated or if it’s because these obstacles seem to happen with 90% of the things I feel excited about doing. I sometimes wonder if this is just the way the Universe is trying to help me discover my true passions, because if I really love something little obstacles shouldn’t get in my way.
This assignment, as well as this class, has had me thinking in a different way. I am still a bit frustrated when obstacles present themselves, but over these past few weeks I’ve been trying to ride every wave I can catch. If one plan fails I’m looking for another option. If there are no other options that sound appealing I’m working harder at appreciating what’s right in front of me. I’ve also been re-evaluating my priorities. In the last few years that I have been in school I have sacrificed my social life almost completely. I very rarely make time for the people and things that make my life worthwhile because I’m so concerned with homework and grades. I think it’s important to take school seriously, but not so seriously that the other areas of my life suffer. My grades are good enough that taking a break from assignments to nurture the rest of my world is an okay thing to do. I’m trying to realize that getting a B won’t kill me, and that if I were to die next week I’d rather have spent at least a little time with the people I love instead of all my time in front of my computer. This is my life, I may only have one shot at it, and I want it to be the most exciting experience I could possibly have.
Friday, May 27, 2011
I'm Loved Because I Love
This paper was written in response to the following questions: Discuss what is lovable about you, providing specific examples. Why would another person want to love you? Why are you a “great deal” for the right person? What is your most lovable quality? What are some ways you could change to become more lovable? What are some important barriers within you that prevent you from loving others fully? What about the barriers that prevent others from fully loving you? What can you do about both of these kinds of barriers? What are you willing to do?
It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.
I’m Loved Because I Love, or at Least I Try
For as long as I can remember I have noticed the little quirks I have, thinking, “If someone loved me they would think this is so cute.” Like the way my sneezes always seem to come in pairs or groups. Or the silly way I run that looks more like a waddling shuffle. When I’m concentrating really hard my tongue sticks out of my mouth and to the side. And when my loose hairs fall out in the shower I stick them to the wall until I’m finished. I can say the alphabet backwards, I dress in a way that some people call ‘extreme’, and I sometimes combine words when I speak because I’m thinking too far ahead. I don’t think any of these things make me more or less loveable, but I know if I was in love with someone I would notice those things about them and smile. Perhaps me noticing my own quirks is proof that I have loved myself all along, despite what my illusions made me think.
If my quirks are loved because a bigger love for me already exists, what caused the bigger love? That is a question I have asked myself more times than I can count. I have allowed myself to be in relationships that were built on conditional love. Men that loved me as long as I followed their rules and refused to think for myself, friends that loved me because they had something to gain. I have also had love for which I felt undeserving. A lover that cared enough to hold my hand when I felt too weak and scared to be alone, and later loved me enough to let me go because it was the only way I could stand on my own two feet.
A few years ago I decided to really look at the trend in my adult relationships and realized that except for my ex-husband I had never felt fully loved by another person. I have been in relationships with some really wonderful people who cared for me deeply. However, in most of these relationships it seems both myself and my partner were having a difficult time loving ourselves. This caused us to only show parts of ourselves and despite our best efforts we were only able to love part of the other person. This realization led me to ponder the type of partner I would want in a romantic relationship, and also what kind of a partner I would want to be. So I’ve learned about my boundaries, and I know what my cute, little quirks are, but I’ve never asked myself “why should someone love me?” and now seems like a good time to ask.
I feel like the best way to do this would be to bake a cake out of myself, eat it, and then critique the flavor. For this experiment I will use the following recipe:
Ingredients:
2 cups: Compassion, Honesty, Love, Communication, Strength of the soul & Fascination with the Universe
1 ½ cup: Desire to grow, Frequent reality checks, Independence, & Self respect
1 ¼ cup: Humor, Confusion, & Intelligence
1 cup: Various hobbies, Fear, Morbid fascinations, Inner child, & Wit
½ cup: Insecurity, Hopelessness, & Anger
1 dash: Evil
3 high-fives
Random dollops of Awesome
Directions:
Mix all ingredients together. Pour into a heart shaped pan with slight imperfections. Bake at 300 degrees. There is no need to set a timer; it will come out of the oven when it’s ready.
I know that not everyone will like my cake. Some people won’t even want to try it. But I also know that for some folks my cake will be the most delicious cake they have ever eaten. With every bite they will love my cake just a little bit more. Even if they get a bite with a little too much anger they’ll keep eating, knowing that the good stuff is only a few crumbs away.
There’s enough compassion, honesty, and love in my cake to ensure they’ll always get at least a little taste, even in a fear filled piece. I spent years letting fear get in the way of my ability to communicate and I’ve worked very hard to be able to tell the people I love how I really feel about any given situation. I’m able to do this even if there’s a hint of insecurity on my end. My ability to be honest and communicate my feelings makes it so that my partner doesn’t have to guess how I’m feeling or what I need from them. They know exactly what kind of cake they signed up to eat and are aware that each piece varies slightly.
There have been many people who have eaten portions of my cake, but few people could handle a lifetime supply. Therefore, if I am to accurately evaluate why I am loveable my best source of information would probably be my current relationship, as my current partner has eaten more Ajé cake than anyone else. This cakeaholic is named Eldon; we have known each other for almost six years and have been in a relationship for eighteen months. He is best friends with my little brother and has been considered a part of my family for years now. I even considered him my ‘other brother’ for a long period of time, so I never felt any reason to put up walls. Because I felt no need to impress him I was free to be myself completely.
We started working together a few years ago and ended up hanging out all the time. He would come over while I watched movies and did homework or made crafts. We talked about anything and everything. Sometimes we made dinner or went on adventures. We gave each other advice about dating and living. We never got sick of each other and we got along great. It took almost a year to realize we were in love-ten days before I moved 800 miles away.
Fortunately the physical distance between us did not affect his craving and appreciation for Ajé cake. He has since moved here and, despite obnoxious differences in our schedules, our relationship is doing fine. I think I know most of the reasons why Eldon fell in love with me and continues choosing to nurture that love, though I don’t sit and think about it very often. In fact, I think it’s the first love I’ve been able to simply accept.
Eldon loves me because I am a compassionate person. I feel intense empathy for people around me who are suffering in any way. I care so much about people that I have to limit my exposure to their difficult circumstances because it is so easy for me to get lost in them. I am lovable because I care so much about everyone feeling loved that I could spontaneously combust into hug sprinkles at any moment.
I think my most lovable quality is that I am always striving to grow and learn more about myself. I’m aware that I am always changing and feel it is my responsibility to know where I stand and what I need in any situation (or at least be trying to know those things). I think it is important to let him know when I am feeling particularly strong or insecure. There have been times where I have questioned our relationship and if this is the path I want to be taking. I have always been verbal and honest with him when I am evaluating my journey. My desire to know myself and my honesty with what I discover are also reasons why I am loveable.
Sometimes the way I contradict myself contributes to my lovability. For instance, I claim to dislike children because I don’t want any of my own, but when I’m around kids I will lose myself in their world and play with them until we have to part. Or the way I can be so happy that it brings me tears, sometimes to the point that I ache because there is so much joy in me that it can’t be contained. In the movie American Beauty the character Ricky comments, “Sometimes there is so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it and my heart is just going to cave in.” This is one of many phrases that could be used to describe me, and while it can be overwhelming at times I believe this is one of my most loveable characteristics.
Among the other things mentioned I am also a very creative person. I enjoy making all sorts of things, from clothing to home décor. When I create something new, or just get a good idea, I get ridiculously excited and somewhat resemble a happy child on Christmas morning. I’m also a super huge movie buff and can often dominate the ‘Name that Movie’ game after only having seen the preview. I imagine these are also loveable traits considering that Eldon fell in love with me when we were mainly hanging out in my bedroom talking while I watched movies and made crafty things.
Now that I’ve established why I’m awesome and totally loveable I suppose I should take a look at the reasons why I sometimes have difficulty believing in the love others have for me. The simplest answer for me would be to just blame it on the PTSD I’ve been living with for years, but I no longer feel that I can simply blame my disorder for anything. I have worked long and hard at overcoming my stress and anxiety issues, and while my diligence and success at this endeavor is surely a loveable characteristic, I still struggle from time to time. I pride myself on being a strong person and when my stress begins to show itself I get angry and feel weak. I believe that part of being strong means allowing myself to feel my emotions even when they are undesirable, but I have a hard time remembering that in the moment. In these moments I feel a lot of shame and embarrassment and often am convinced that any witness to my behavior will no longer want anything to do with me.
In the past I’ve allowed myself to be in relationships with people who have tried to alter me via manipulation and mockery. I had a tendency of dating men who were either controlling or looking for someone who needed to be taken care of. The controlling ones started fights when I tried to nurture my independence and the care-takers threw tantrums because they felt that they were no longer needed. Basically, I have a history of being insulted or accused if I try to have a relationship with myself outside of my couple hood. I am still working on undoing the conditioning that occurred during this span of relationships and sometimes I find myself asking Eldon for permission to go to karaoke or out with a friend. He always reminds me I don’t need to ask him, and if I start talking myself out of going he does his best to talk me back into it because he knows I need to nurture myself. When I stick with my plan and go on an Ajé date he does not insult me or whine, and he’s always ready to hear about my adventure when I return.
I am working on feeling more comfortable at embracing my independent side without separating myself from my relationship. When my nerves kick in and tell me Eldon is going to throw a tantrum or be a jerk if I want to do something, I remind myself that I was independent when this relationship started and nobody involved expected that to change. Neither of us needs the other for survival and because this relationship is based on honest choices, being who we are is the best way to be. I think all I can do at this point is to continue being honest with my needs, wants and feelings (without apologizing or asking for permission) and trust that over time my mind will become reconditioned and I will no longer expect to be rejected just for being myself.
Another challenge I experience from time to time is having an intense response to stimuli when it is first introduced. If I have a plan and something changes my initial reaction is often to be upset. I can usually get myself back to a functioning state of mind within a few moments either by breathing or doing a small task that I can control (like alphabetizing movies, or walking out of the room and coming back in). However, there are times where my attempts are unsuccessful or half-assed and it takes me hours or sometimes days, to chill out. This reminds me of the person I used to be.
While I prefer to deny her existence, this old me is still one of my integrated personalities; we can call her Ashley. Ashley was/is quite addicted to depression and voiding herself of responsibility. As is typical for an addict, what is hurting her is also what comforts her and she is afraid to let go completely. She has already given up her dominance in order to let me grow this much, and if she continues to let me grow she could disappear completely. This scares us both. I have already proven to myself that I am capable of changing my thoughts and behaviors in ways that will enhance my life, and I know that taking ownership of Ashley’s thoughts and behaviors is the only way I can help her and have more control over my moods/reactions.
That level of responsibility terrifies me; it makes me feel exposed and repulsive. I remember when Ashley was my dominant personality; I was very unpleasant to be around and several people told me so. I’ve reached a point where I can take accountability for her past behavior, but when she acts out now it’s so embarrassing that I want to pretend it didn’t happen. I keep saying to myself “I am not that girl anymore” but that simply isn’t the truth. She may not be my dominant personality, but she is still a part of me. I know that I cannot help her until I can say “Ashley is a part of me and I love her.” I guess I should start saying that into the mirror when she shows her face, even if it’s hard. I’ve been meaning to hang up positive thoughts throughout my house but keep procrastinating on the delusion that Ashley needs those thoughts, but I don’t. Ashley used affirmations all the time and they helped her immensely. I’ve always given her credit for that idea, but she needed affirmations because she’s depressed. I am not depressed therefore I don’t need positive thoughts every where. But the truth is I still feel Ashley’s pain even when I ignore it, and her affirmations help me even if I’m already feeling good.
Eldon is aware of this internal struggle and accepts it as a part of me. But his love for that part of me can not grow if my own love for that part can not grow. I want to grow. I want to love myself completely so other people can love me completely as well. I want to stop hiding from myself so I can stop hiding from others. I want to start embracing the parts of me I’ve tried to leave behind. It’s time for me to take some initiative. Today I’m going to start by decorating my house with positive thoughts. Perhaps I’ll even bake a cake.
It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.
I’m Loved Because I Love, or at Least I Try
For as long as I can remember I have noticed the little quirks I have, thinking, “If someone loved me they would think this is so cute.” Like the way my sneezes always seem to come in pairs or groups. Or the silly way I run that looks more like a waddling shuffle. When I’m concentrating really hard my tongue sticks out of my mouth and to the side. And when my loose hairs fall out in the shower I stick them to the wall until I’m finished. I can say the alphabet backwards, I dress in a way that some people call ‘extreme’, and I sometimes combine words when I speak because I’m thinking too far ahead. I don’t think any of these things make me more or less loveable, but I know if I was in love with someone I would notice those things about them and smile. Perhaps me noticing my own quirks is proof that I have loved myself all along, despite what my illusions made me think.
If my quirks are loved because a bigger love for me already exists, what caused the bigger love? That is a question I have asked myself more times than I can count. I have allowed myself to be in relationships that were built on conditional love. Men that loved me as long as I followed their rules and refused to think for myself, friends that loved me because they had something to gain. I have also had love for which I felt undeserving. A lover that cared enough to hold my hand when I felt too weak and scared to be alone, and later loved me enough to let me go because it was the only way I could stand on my own two feet.
A few years ago I decided to really look at the trend in my adult relationships and realized that except for my ex-husband I had never felt fully loved by another person. I have been in relationships with some really wonderful people who cared for me deeply. However, in most of these relationships it seems both myself and my partner were having a difficult time loving ourselves. This caused us to only show parts of ourselves and despite our best efforts we were only able to love part of the other person. This realization led me to ponder the type of partner I would want in a romantic relationship, and also what kind of a partner I would want to be. So I’ve learned about my boundaries, and I know what my cute, little quirks are, but I’ve never asked myself “why should someone love me?” and now seems like a good time to ask.
I feel like the best way to do this would be to bake a cake out of myself, eat it, and then critique the flavor. For this experiment I will use the following recipe:
Ingredients:
2 cups: Compassion, Honesty, Love, Communication, Strength of the soul & Fascination with the Universe
1 ½ cup: Desire to grow, Frequent reality checks, Independence, & Self respect
1 ¼ cup: Humor, Confusion, & Intelligence
1 cup: Various hobbies, Fear, Morbid fascinations, Inner child, & Wit
½ cup: Insecurity, Hopelessness, & Anger
1 dash: Evil
3 high-fives
Random dollops of Awesome
Directions:
Mix all ingredients together. Pour into a heart shaped pan with slight imperfections. Bake at 300 degrees. There is no need to set a timer; it will come out of the oven when it’s ready.
I know that not everyone will like my cake. Some people won’t even want to try it. But I also know that for some folks my cake will be the most delicious cake they have ever eaten. With every bite they will love my cake just a little bit more. Even if they get a bite with a little too much anger they’ll keep eating, knowing that the good stuff is only a few crumbs away.
There’s enough compassion, honesty, and love in my cake to ensure they’ll always get at least a little taste, even in a fear filled piece. I spent years letting fear get in the way of my ability to communicate and I’ve worked very hard to be able to tell the people I love how I really feel about any given situation. I’m able to do this even if there’s a hint of insecurity on my end. My ability to be honest and communicate my feelings makes it so that my partner doesn’t have to guess how I’m feeling or what I need from them. They know exactly what kind of cake they signed up to eat and are aware that each piece varies slightly.
There have been many people who have eaten portions of my cake, but few people could handle a lifetime supply. Therefore, if I am to accurately evaluate why I am loveable my best source of information would probably be my current relationship, as my current partner has eaten more Ajé cake than anyone else. This cakeaholic is named Eldon; we have known each other for almost six years and have been in a relationship for eighteen months. He is best friends with my little brother and has been considered a part of my family for years now. I even considered him my ‘other brother’ for a long period of time, so I never felt any reason to put up walls. Because I felt no need to impress him I was free to be myself completely.
We started working together a few years ago and ended up hanging out all the time. He would come over while I watched movies and did homework or made crafts. We talked about anything and everything. Sometimes we made dinner or went on adventures. We gave each other advice about dating and living. We never got sick of each other and we got along great. It took almost a year to realize we were in love-ten days before I moved 800 miles away.
Fortunately the physical distance between us did not affect his craving and appreciation for Ajé cake. He has since moved here and, despite obnoxious differences in our schedules, our relationship is doing fine. I think I know most of the reasons why Eldon fell in love with me and continues choosing to nurture that love, though I don’t sit and think about it very often. In fact, I think it’s the first love I’ve been able to simply accept.
Eldon loves me because I am a compassionate person. I feel intense empathy for people around me who are suffering in any way. I care so much about people that I have to limit my exposure to their difficult circumstances because it is so easy for me to get lost in them. I am lovable because I care so much about everyone feeling loved that I could spontaneously combust into hug sprinkles at any moment.
I think my most lovable quality is that I am always striving to grow and learn more about myself. I’m aware that I am always changing and feel it is my responsibility to know where I stand and what I need in any situation (or at least be trying to know those things). I think it is important to let him know when I am feeling particularly strong or insecure. There have been times where I have questioned our relationship and if this is the path I want to be taking. I have always been verbal and honest with him when I am evaluating my journey. My desire to know myself and my honesty with what I discover are also reasons why I am loveable.
Sometimes the way I contradict myself contributes to my lovability. For instance, I claim to dislike children because I don’t want any of my own, but when I’m around kids I will lose myself in their world and play with them until we have to part. Or the way I can be so happy that it brings me tears, sometimes to the point that I ache because there is so much joy in me that it can’t be contained. In the movie American Beauty the character Ricky comments, “Sometimes there is so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it and my heart is just going to cave in.” This is one of many phrases that could be used to describe me, and while it can be overwhelming at times I believe this is one of my most loveable characteristics.
Among the other things mentioned I am also a very creative person. I enjoy making all sorts of things, from clothing to home décor. When I create something new, or just get a good idea, I get ridiculously excited and somewhat resemble a happy child on Christmas morning. I’m also a super huge movie buff and can often dominate the ‘Name that Movie’ game after only having seen the preview. I imagine these are also loveable traits considering that Eldon fell in love with me when we were mainly hanging out in my bedroom talking while I watched movies and made crafty things.
Now that I’ve established why I’m awesome and totally loveable I suppose I should take a look at the reasons why I sometimes have difficulty believing in the love others have for me. The simplest answer for me would be to just blame it on the PTSD I’ve been living with for years, but I no longer feel that I can simply blame my disorder for anything. I have worked long and hard at overcoming my stress and anxiety issues, and while my diligence and success at this endeavor is surely a loveable characteristic, I still struggle from time to time. I pride myself on being a strong person and when my stress begins to show itself I get angry and feel weak. I believe that part of being strong means allowing myself to feel my emotions even when they are undesirable, but I have a hard time remembering that in the moment. In these moments I feel a lot of shame and embarrassment and often am convinced that any witness to my behavior will no longer want anything to do with me.
In the past I’ve allowed myself to be in relationships with people who have tried to alter me via manipulation and mockery. I had a tendency of dating men who were either controlling or looking for someone who needed to be taken care of. The controlling ones started fights when I tried to nurture my independence and the care-takers threw tantrums because they felt that they were no longer needed. Basically, I have a history of being insulted or accused if I try to have a relationship with myself outside of my couple hood. I am still working on undoing the conditioning that occurred during this span of relationships and sometimes I find myself asking Eldon for permission to go to karaoke or out with a friend. He always reminds me I don’t need to ask him, and if I start talking myself out of going he does his best to talk me back into it because he knows I need to nurture myself. When I stick with my plan and go on an Ajé date he does not insult me or whine, and he’s always ready to hear about my adventure when I return.
I am working on feeling more comfortable at embracing my independent side without separating myself from my relationship. When my nerves kick in and tell me Eldon is going to throw a tantrum or be a jerk if I want to do something, I remind myself that I was independent when this relationship started and nobody involved expected that to change. Neither of us needs the other for survival and because this relationship is based on honest choices, being who we are is the best way to be. I think all I can do at this point is to continue being honest with my needs, wants and feelings (without apologizing or asking for permission) and trust that over time my mind will become reconditioned and I will no longer expect to be rejected just for being myself.
Another challenge I experience from time to time is having an intense response to stimuli when it is first introduced. If I have a plan and something changes my initial reaction is often to be upset. I can usually get myself back to a functioning state of mind within a few moments either by breathing or doing a small task that I can control (like alphabetizing movies, or walking out of the room and coming back in). However, there are times where my attempts are unsuccessful or half-assed and it takes me hours or sometimes days, to chill out. This reminds me of the person I used to be.
While I prefer to deny her existence, this old me is still one of my integrated personalities; we can call her Ashley. Ashley was/is quite addicted to depression and voiding herself of responsibility. As is typical for an addict, what is hurting her is also what comforts her and she is afraid to let go completely. She has already given up her dominance in order to let me grow this much, and if she continues to let me grow she could disappear completely. This scares us both. I have already proven to myself that I am capable of changing my thoughts and behaviors in ways that will enhance my life, and I know that taking ownership of Ashley’s thoughts and behaviors is the only way I can help her and have more control over my moods/reactions.
That level of responsibility terrifies me; it makes me feel exposed and repulsive. I remember when Ashley was my dominant personality; I was very unpleasant to be around and several people told me so. I’ve reached a point where I can take accountability for her past behavior, but when she acts out now it’s so embarrassing that I want to pretend it didn’t happen. I keep saying to myself “I am not that girl anymore” but that simply isn’t the truth. She may not be my dominant personality, but she is still a part of me. I know that I cannot help her until I can say “Ashley is a part of me and I love her.” I guess I should start saying that into the mirror when she shows her face, even if it’s hard. I’ve been meaning to hang up positive thoughts throughout my house but keep procrastinating on the delusion that Ashley needs those thoughts, but I don’t. Ashley used affirmations all the time and they helped her immensely. I’ve always given her credit for that idea, but she needed affirmations because she’s depressed. I am not depressed therefore I don’t need positive thoughts every where. But the truth is I still feel Ashley’s pain even when I ignore it, and her affirmations help me even if I’m already feeling good.
Eldon is aware of this internal struggle and accepts it as a part of me. But his love for that part of me can not grow if my own love for that part can not grow. I want to grow. I want to love myself completely so other people can love me completely as well. I want to stop hiding from myself so I can stop hiding from others. I want to start embracing the parts of me I’ve tried to leave behind. It’s time for me to take some initiative. Today I’m going to start by decorating my house with positive thoughts. Perhaps I’ll even bake a cake.
Life is a Battlefield
This paper was written in response to questions about significant turning points in my life. It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.
Life is a Battlefield, Autonomy is the Reward
When I was twenty-one I took the car my parents had purchased for me and drove it the 95 miles from Salt Lake City, Utah to my home town of College Ward, Utah. When I arrived I left the car in the driveway, unlocked, with a key and a note on the driver’s seat. The note informed them that I was cutting off all contact from that point forward. I asked them to please respect my decision as I needed to heal the emotional wounds created during my adolescence. I had attempted to heal with them in my life but we were a disconnected (71) family and I found myself falling apart whenever I would speak to them. To me it felt that I was in a battle for sanity and they were the enemy that was helping to destroy me.
I had thought long and hard about this choice. It was difficult to leave my family, but I had been contemplating the decision for years. They didn’t understand me or my emotional struggles. I was sexually assaulted multiple times in my youth and when I was around them the wounds felt fresh. A family member was one of my assailants; they seemed to care more about him than me. No one ever brought up what he did to me, but they were always talking about how I was an emotional wreck that didn’t make sense. I was the only person who seemed to understand that there was a correlation between my abuse and my psychological issues. Not only did the abuse play into my crumbling mental state, but so did their lack of understanding.
Leaving them allowed me the freedom to look within myself and find ways to heal. I didn’t second-guess myself as often and started to believe that I had a right to my emotions. I was even beginning to understand that I had a choice about how to feel. I realized that negative events in my life may have helped mold me, but who I became was my decision. At the age of 23 I finally had the courage to do something I had wanted to do for more than a decade; I moved to Portland, Oregon.
While this experience helped me grow into a more independent person there was still one thing I was really struggling with-anger. I liked the person I was becoming and felt more and more like me everyday, but when I looked at the roadmap of my life I was furious at the route I had needed to take. It seemed unnecessary to be abused and belittled over and over again so that I could struggle to appreciate my inner self. Surely there must have been an easier way that didn’t involve so much victimization, from others as well as myself. I became an expert at blaming my past, and my mother, for every inconvenience I experienced. For example, one day I was getting ready to leave work and my car was dead. I was pissed, not at the car or the current situation, but at my mother whom I hadn’t spoken to in 2 years. I knew that my stupid car wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t had to give my old car back to my mom. I wouldn’t have needed to give the car back if I hadn’t had to cut off my parents. I wouldn’t have needed to cut off my parents if they responded to me better. And they wouldn’t have needed to respond to me better if they had kept me from getting abused in the first place. (My mother knew about the abuse earlier on and didn’t respond in a nurturing way so my anger was more directed at her than my father). So obviously it was my mom’s fault that my car died when I was 23 because of things that happened to me when I was 6.
It was around this time that I realized I would never heal until I could forgive them, which I was absolutely against. Fortunately over the years I developed what I now call ‘the rope’. The rope is what I imagine some folks would call intuition. It is a pull I feel at my core that presents itself when I need to change and it seems to lead me where I need to go. I felt the rope when I cut off my parents and I was feeling it again. It was time to confront my anger, and my time was running out. I found out via my cousin that my father had been diagnosed with Melanoma and it was terminal. At first this did not make a difference to me. Everyone dies, and I shouldn’t have to reopen my wounds because of a natural event. I ignored the entire situation for months.
I underestimated the persistence of my rope. Every day the pull got stronger, and stronger, until I knew my only option was to go back to Utah and confront the demons that remained within me. My goal was to be there for one year, and to stay true to myself. I was there for me, not to prove anything to anyone. It was hard to stay focused because not only was I angry but I also had to deal with intense fear. Even though I wasn’t there to prove anything I wanted my parents, especially my mom, to know that I am Ajé Summerly and there is nothing wrong with me.
The first time I spoke to my dad it was over the phone and it was hard. I had never heard him cry before, but he was dying and it’s probably difficult to separate oneself from the feelings of loss. That was the day I found out that my dad didn’t know about the abuse from my childhood, he only knew about the abuse that happened later, which he responded well to. All of the hate I had for him disappeared in that moment, we had finally connected, and I ached for the time we had lost.
When I spoke to my mom I was terrified. Most of my family issues were with her, so I met her in a public place where things couldn’t get too ugly. I wore thin straps so she could see my tattoos, I ordered beer, and I said “fuck” more times than I can count. Looking back it wasn’t the classiest way to present myself, but at least she finally realized that I was not the little, silent, Mormon girl she had wanted me to be. Before leaving I vocalized all of my angry feelings. I allowed her one hug and then told her to her face that I never wanted to see her again.
A few months passed and I received a text stating that my father was in the hospital and they didn’t think he had much time left. With a lot of support from friends and the people at work I mustered the courage to visit him in the hospital. It had only been 4 years, but the chemo had aged him terribly. The strong, independent man I remembered was now a withered bag of bones. His mustache was still fabulous though. It was a bit overwhelming being at the hospital because many of my relatives were also there. They had also viewed me as an emotional wreck during my youth and I wasn’t sure what they had been told about my absence. But I decided it wasn’t about me anymore. I spent some alone time with my dad telling him about the crime shows I was currently watching that I thought he would like. Then I broke down and couldn’t stop apologizing for letting my issues with my mother affect our relationship. He told me something I hope I will never forget, “you have to do what you have to do in order to survive”. He had forgiven me.
As I was leaving the hospital that night I tried to converse with my mother viewing her as a woman who was about to lose the love of her life. She was scared and heartbroken and it wasn’t the place for my anger to reveal itself. I understand now that is known as mindfulness (81). It was uncomfortable, but she needed a hug and I could not deprive her of something so simple. During that embrace she told me something I had wanted to hear for years, “I am so sorry.”
I went home that night and spent a couple of days trying to soak all of this in. I made it back to the hospital the night my father died and was even holding his hand as he passed. I asked if I could speak at his funeral and found myself recalling happy memories that I had forgotten along the way. I even arranged it so that everyone could take a shot of Pepsi at the luncheon that followed, as Pepsi was my dad’s favorite drink.
If I thought leaving my parents was difficult, coming back to them was twice as scary. What I learned was worth the struggle. I realized for the first time that my parents were simply people. They may have fucked up along the way, but everyone does. I made the mistake of assuming my parents should know everything and should have been able to respond to me in the ways I needed them to. Looking back I think they would have been more willing to help me if I had been able to articulate what I was feeling. But none of us were expecting that our lives would turn out this way, and none of us had the tools needed to fix the damage. Both of my parents had grown up with injunctions (75) telling them that speaking out about emotions was wrong, so we were all just wandering around hoping that things would just magically get better. It saddens me that it took so much extra pain for us to heal; there’s a good chance I would still be avoiding my family if my father hadn’t become ill. I suppose that isn’t the issue though. As my dad used to say, “It is what it is.”
Leaving my family and coming back to them were both intense experiences that helped me grow and get closer to becoming the person I envision. Because of those decisions I gained emotional independence, also known as autonomy (71). To me, being emotionally independent means that I decide who I am and how I feel about it, and don’t depend on other people to decide those things. It also means taking responsibility for me, throughout the course of my life, including things I did/thought before discovering my independence, because those events helped lead me to my current state. It also means that I can love myself for who I am even if I don’t fit the expectations of others.
I know that I like myself, but there is still a part of me who fears that my autonomy will not last and one day I will just fall apart. Sometimes I find myself comparing my successes and appearance to the successes and appearance of others. This isn’t a daily thing with me, but when those comparative thoughts get in my head I lose sight of myself until they pass. It’s difficult to be my own person when I convince myself I am supposed to live up to the expectations of other people. I assume their opinions differ from mine and I often feel like I am required to explain myself to everybody. I know this isn’t true, and I’m getting better at dealing with my inner critic (81), but I would prefer for these thoughts to go away completely.
If there is anything I could change about my past it would be for my young self to know that I had a choice about how to feel and how to respond to any situation. I spent years living without this knowledge and made many decisions that resulted in a more difficult life. As a child one of the messages I chose to receive from my parents is that I don’t have a right to my emotions. I developed PTSD in my youth and acted out emotionally often. I was always told that I was dramatic and exaggerated things and I was never taken seriously. I still feel like people do not take me seriously, and I often second guess my opinion because maybe my views are exaggerated or wrong. When I get flustered I immediately feel like I am a giant screw up and am not capable of dealing with whatever is happening. This way of thinking is something I would like to change as it leads to insecurities and loneliness, not to mention that it triggers my inner critic and leaves me vulnerable to comparative thoughts.
When I am being truly honest with myself I can admit that I am doing a fabulous job being me. The parts of me that are still hurting are smaller than they have ever been which is even more of a reason to nurture them. It’s not difficult to overlook them when I know things are getting easier every day. Most of the people I interact with know who I am and accept/love that person regardless of how many aspects there are to my personality. It’s people I don’t know, or people I knew in my past that I get the most insecure around. My current long (but getting shorter) term goal is to go to my 10 year high school reunion next summer. Not only do I plan to go, but I intend to go as myself without feeling that I have something to prove. I’ve learned the thing I find the most empowering about being independent is that I can do what I want and be happy. Fuck society’s expectations. I want to go to my reunion and be proud of who I am.
As a child I was given a life script which taught me that success is measured by aesthetics- nice house, expensive clothes, shiny car, tons of material possessions, and a respectable outward appearance in every way. I was also taught that speaking about serious issues was not appropriate. My family has generations of silence about who knows what. If it could be ugly or look bad in any way it gets buried in the closet with all the other skeletons. Growing up I did not agree with the life script I had been given and experienced many injunctions designed to eliminate my worth as an individual and convince me that I would never be good enough unless the whole world approved of me. However, as I’ve grown I have learned that the script I was given is open to interpretation. Maybe the people I grew up with would look at my life as though I am a failure, but there are plenty of people who would view my life as a success. I do what I love, I am who I am, and I generally stay true to myself even if someone else thinks me foolish or embarrassing.
I am fairly sure that I had these same ideas during my adolescence. I remember being my own person, and feeling like that’s what we were all trying to do. It wasn’t worth it to give each other grief. But over time I was broken down. I could say I was broken by my family, my church, or my peers. I could blame it on a plethora of experiences. But in order to fully come into my autonomy I will have to take accountability for this loss. I did not know I had a choice, but I’m the one who gave up on me back then. There is no possible way that someone could take my beliefs from me. They are mine. They have always been mine. They are inside of me and cannot be stolen. I didn’t know that then, but I know it now.
I could still argue that it would have been nice to just be accepted as I was, regardless of how I differed from others. But if I wouldn’t have experienced opposition I may never have come to appreciate the person who is typing these words. I wouldn’t know that I was strong enough to survive the psychological beatings. I would rather suffer and watch my strength unfold than live a life that didn’t challenge me to grow.
Life is a Battlefield, Autonomy is the Reward
When I was twenty-one I took the car my parents had purchased for me and drove it the 95 miles from Salt Lake City, Utah to my home town of College Ward, Utah. When I arrived I left the car in the driveway, unlocked, with a key and a note on the driver’s seat. The note informed them that I was cutting off all contact from that point forward. I asked them to please respect my decision as I needed to heal the emotional wounds created during my adolescence. I had attempted to heal with them in my life but we were a disconnected (71) family and I found myself falling apart whenever I would speak to them. To me it felt that I was in a battle for sanity and they were the enemy that was helping to destroy me.
I had thought long and hard about this choice. It was difficult to leave my family, but I had been contemplating the decision for years. They didn’t understand me or my emotional struggles. I was sexually assaulted multiple times in my youth and when I was around them the wounds felt fresh. A family member was one of my assailants; they seemed to care more about him than me. No one ever brought up what he did to me, but they were always talking about how I was an emotional wreck that didn’t make sense. I was the only person who seemed to understand that there was a correlation between my abuse and my psychological issues. Not only did the abuse play into my crumbling mental state, but so did their lack of understanding.
Leaving them allowed me the freedom to look within myself and find ways to heal. I didn’t second-guess myself as often and started to believe that I had a right to my emotions. I was even beginning to understand that I had a choice about how to feel. I realized that negative events in my life may have helped mold me, but who I became was my decision. At the age of 23 I finally had the courage to do something I had wanted to do for more than a decade; I moved to Portland, Oregon.
While this experience helped me grow into a more independent person there was still one thing I was really struggling with-anger. I liked the person I was becoming and felt more and more like me everyday, but when I looked at the roadmap of my life I was furious at the route I had needed to take. It seemed unnecessary to be abused and belittled over and over again so that I could struggle to appreciate my inner self. Surely there must have been an easier way that didn’t involve so much victimization, from others as well as myself. I became an expert at blaming my past, and my mother, for every inconvenience I experienced. For example, one day I was getting ready to leave work and my car was dead. I was pissed, not at the car or the current situation, but at my mother whom I hadn’t spoken to in 2 years. I knew that my stupid car wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t had to give my old car back to my mom. I wouldn’t have needed to give the car back if I hadn’t had to cut off my parents. I wouldn’t have needed to cut off my parents if they responded to me better. And they wouldn’t have needed to respond to me better if they had kept me from getting abused in the first place. (My mother knew about the abuse earlier on and didn’t respond in a nurturing way so my anger was more directed at her than my father). So obviously it was my mom’s fault that my car died when I was 23 because of things that happened to me when I was 6.
It was around this time that I realized I would never heal until I could forgive them, which I was absolutely against. Fortunately over the years I developed what I now call ‘the rope’. The rope is what I imagine some folks would call intuition. It is a pull I feel at my core that presents itself when I need to change and it seems to lead me where I need to go. I felt the rope when I cut off my parents and I was feeling it again. It was time to confront my anger, and my time was running out. I found out via my cousin that my father had been diagnosed with Melanoma and it was terminal. At first this did not make a difference to me. Everyone dies, and I shouldn’t have to reopen my wounds because of a natural event. I ignored the entire situation for months.
I underestimated the persistence of my rope. Every day the pull got stronger, and stronger, until I knew my only option was to go back to Utah and confront the demons that remained within me. My goal was to be there for one year, and to stay true to myself. I was there for me, not to prove anything to anyone. It was hard to stay focused because not only was I angry but I also had to deal with intense fear. Even though I wasn’t there to prove anything I wanted my parents, especially my mom, to know that I am Ajé Summerly and there is nothing wrong with me.
The first time I spoke to my dad it was over the phone and it was hard. I had never heard him cry before, but he was dying and it’s probably difficult to separate oneself from the feelings of loss. That was the day I found out that my dad didn’t know about the abuse from my childhood, he only knew about the abuse that happened later, which he responded well to. All of the hate I had for him disappeared in that moment, we had finally connected, and I ached for the time we had lost.
When I spoke to my mom I was terrified. Most of my family issues were with her, so I met her in a public place where things couldn’t get too ugly. I wore thin straps so she could see my tattoos, I ordered beer, and I said “fuck” more times than I can count. Looking back it wasn’t the classiest way to present myself, but at least she finally realized that I was not the little, silent, Mormon girl she had wanted me to be. Before leaving I vocalized all of my angry feelings. I allowed her one hug and then told her to her face that I never wanted to see her again.
A few months passed and I received a text stating that my father was in the hospital and they didn’t think he had much time left. With a lot of support from friends and the people at work I mustered the courage to visit him in the hospital. It had only been 4 years, but the chemo had aged him terribly. The strong, independent man I remembered was now a withered bag of bones. His mustache was still fabulous though. It was a bit overwhelming being at the hospital because many of my relatives were also there. They had also viewed me as an emotional wreck during my youth and I wasn’t sure what they had been told about my absence. But I decided it wasn’t about me anymore. I spent some alone time with my dad telling him about the crime shows I was currently watching that I thought he would like. Then I broke down and couldn’t stop apologizing for letting my issues with my mother affect our relationship. He told me something I hope I will never forget, “you have to do what you have to do in order to survive”. He had forgiven me.
As I was leaving the hospital that night I tried to converse with my mother viewing her as a woman who was about to lose the love of her life. She was scared and heartbroken and it wasn’t the place for my anger to reveal itself. I understand now that is known as mindfulness (81). It was uncomfortable, but she needed a hug and I could not deprive her of something so simple. During that embrace she told me something I had wanted to hear for years, “I am so sorry.”
I went home that night and spent a couple of days trying to soak all of this in. I made it back to the hospital the night my father died and was even holding his hand as he passed. I asked if I could speak at his funeral and found myself recalling happy memories that I had forgotten along the way. I even arranged it so that everyone could take a shot of Pepsi at the luncheon that followed, as Pepsi was my dad’s favorite drink.
If I thought leaving my parents was difficult, coming back to them was twice as scary. What I learned was worth the struggle. I realized for the first time that my parents were simply people. They may have fucked up along the way, but everyone does. I made the mistake of assuming my parents should know everything and should have been able to respond to me in the ways I needed them to. Looking back I think they would have been more willing to help me if I had been able to articulate what I was feeling. But none of us were expecting that our lives would turn out this way, and none of us had the tools needed to fix the damage. Both of my parents had grown up with injunctions (75) telling them that speaking out about emotions was wrong, so we were all just wandering around hoping that things would just magically get better. It saddens me that it took so much extra pain for us to heal; there’s a good chance I would still be avoiding my family if my father hadn’t become ill. I suppose that isn’t the issue though. As my dad used to say, “It is what it is.”
Leaving my family and coming back to them were both intense experiences that helped me grow and get closer to becoming the person I envision. Because of those decisions I gained emotional independence, also known as autonomy (71). To me, being emotionally independent means that I decide who I am and how I feel about it, and don’t depend on other people to decide those things. It also means taking responsibility for me, throughout the course of my life, including things I did/thought before discovering my independence, because those events helped lead me to my current state. It also means that I can love myself for who I am even if I don’t fit the expectations of others.
I know that I like myself, but there is still a part of me who fears that my autonomy will not last and one day I will just fall apart. Sometimes I find myself comparing my successes and appearance to the successes and appearance of others. This isn’t a daily thing with me, but when those comparative thoughts get in my head I lose sight of myself until they pass. It’s difficult to be my own person when I convince myself I am supposed to live up to the expectations of other people. I assume their opinions differ from mine and I often feel like I am required to explain myself to everybody. I know this isn’t true, and I’m getting better at dealing with my inner critic (81), but I would prefer for these thoughts to go away completely.
If there is anything I could change about my past it would be for my young self to know that I had a choice about how to feel and how to respond to any situation. I spent years living without this knowledge and made many decisions that resulted in a more difficult life. As a child one of the messages I chose to receive from my parents is that I don’t have a right to my emotions. I developed PTSD in my youth and acted out emotionally often. I was always told that I was dramatic and exaggerated things and I was never taken seriously. I still feel like people do not take me seriously, and I often second guess my opinion because maybe my views are exaggerated or wrong. When I get flustered I immediately feel like I am a giant screw up and am not capable of dealing with whatever is happening. This way of thinking is something I would like to change as it leads to insecurities and loneliness, not to mention that it triggers my inner critic and leaves me vulnerable to comparative thoughts.
When I am being truly honest with myself I can admit that I am doing a fabulous job being me. The parts of me that are still hurting are smaller than they have ever been which is even more of a reason to nurture them. It’s not difficult to overlook them when I know things are getting easier every day. Most of the people I interact with know who I am and accept/love that person regardless of how many aspects there are to my personality. It’s people I don’t know, or people I knew in my past that I get the most insecure around. My current long (but getting shorter) term goal is to go to my 10 year high school reunion next summer. Not only do I plan to go, but I intend to go as myself without feeling that I have something to prove. I’ve learned the thing I find the most empowering about being independent is that I can do what I want and be happy. Fuck society’s expectations. I want to go to my reunion and be proud of who I am.
As a child I was given a life script which taught me that success is measured by aesthetics- nice house, expensive clothes, shiny car, tons of material possessions, and a respectable outward appearance in every way. I was also taught that speaking about serious issues was not appropriate. My family has generations of silence about who knows what. If it could be ugly or look bad in any way it gets buried in the closet with all the other skeletons. Growing up I did not agree with the life script I had been given and experienced many injunctions designed to eliminate my worth as an individual and convince me that I would never be good enough unless the whole world approved of me. However, as I’ve grown I have learned that the script I was given is open to interpretation. Maybe the people I grew up with would look at my life as though I am a failure, but there are plenty of people who would view my life as a success. I do what I love, I am who I am, and I generally stay true to myself even if someone else thinks me foolish or embarrassing.
I am fairly sure that I had these same ideas during my adolescence. I remember being my own person, and feeling like that’s what we were all trying to do. It wasn’t worth it to give each other grief. But over time I was broken down. I could say I was broken by my family, my church, or my peers. I could blame it on a plethora of experiences. But in order to fully come into my autonomy I will have to take accountability for this loss. I did not know I had a choice, but I’m the one who gave up on me back then. There is no possible way that someone could take my beliefs from me. They are mine. They have always been mine. They are inside of me and cannot be stolen. I didn’t know that then, but I know it now.
I could still argue that it would have been nice to just be accepted as I was, regardless of how I differed from others. But if I wouldn’t have experienced opposition I may never have come to appreciate the person who is typing these words. I wouldn’t know that I was strong enough to survive the psychological beatings. I would rather suffer and watch my strength unfold than live a life that didn’t challenge me to grow.
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