Friday, September 20, 2013

Shame Over Pie



[Prereq for this story is me entering my well-liked pecan pie into our department wide “recipe contest”. There were 15 total entries and my pie didn’t win anything. I struggled immediately after the announcements with the public humiliation I was feeling and shame over feeling that way. It must have shown because the head judge came over to personally tell me how much he appreciated my entry being “Reduced Sugar”.]

Chest pounding, ears ringing with bloodflow, eyes watering I held on for the last award announcement. Who knew a simple contest would be so important? Doubt was taking a hold, even as my chances of winning seemed to increase – that insidious feeling of utter shame. “What are you even doing here, you blethering little idiot! You submitted a poor example of work and just expected your huge reputation to carry you through and save your skin!
Shame over a pie.
Shame over not only the pie but my abilities, my choices and my entire history/experience with baking.
Shame over being seen – being present in that room.
Shame over my bodily functions, things beyond my control.

Am I blinking too much? I need to unfold my hands – it’s making me look defensive, and drawing attention to my stomach (I feel fat). Did I already look at her too much? Wait, look at the floor – that’s safe. No, that looks childish – look at the dishes on the table. Try to look introspectively at them. DANG IT! Stop blinking so much – you look like you’re about to cry over the cucumbers!
Can’t you just me a normal girl for once?! 
You don’t fit in this room, so young and insecure. 
You need pats on your back about your half ***ed little pie and everyone knows it. Now they feel sorry for you…

So I walked in the room proud with my head held high, and I nearly crawled out feeling shamed and defeated, practically in tears and shaking.


I’m sitting here thinking about this near-meltdown over this pie, in a contest that I didn’t think meant that much to me. Ah how wrong I can be. Through this intense waterfall of shame I’m feeling, old thoughts and memories return of my past life:

“You’re too needy.”
“I can’t give you all the ‘strokes’ you need.”
“You’re emotional: read idiotic when you’re passionate about something”
“If we can just fix these problems with you, you’ll be normal again and my life will be easier.”
“You’re neurotic.”
You’re selfish – grow up.”
“Something is wrong with you because you need a pat on the back for every little thing.”
“you’re too needy”…

I don’t remember how many of these messages I received as a child, but I sure remember getting them as a lonely, abandoned 18 year old.I got the above words and implications when all I really needed was love, affirmation, affection and someone to listen.

I rant and writhe with myself over why I can't enter a simple contest without falling apart over not winning. The answer becomes crystal clear though - I'm still searching for affirmation from people who really owe me nothing.

I'm still a mess. Always will be, but maybe I need to settle down and become more aware of my motivations again.


Had I done so I think I’d have caught this beforehand. Self-awareness is a beast of a battle sometimes…

The take home message for me today was that of shock though. Emotional abuse takes a lot of work to reverse and heal from. Avoid it at all costs.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

I'm Gonna Keep on Dancing

I was riding home in the dark, radio playing at an average volume, after a truly terrible week and weekend. Truly. I have struggled and wrestled with life in a way I really was not prepared to (am I ever?). Suddenly a song comes on that I know so I turn the nob up alittle... but my attention is directed away from the beat I enjoy and pretty soon the lyrics are making it hard not to run off the road...
<paraphrased below, note I know some of these are probably not correct, I tend to hear what I want to hear with music lyrics>



The waves keep on crashing on me for some reason  (no kidding!)
But your love keeps on coming like a thunderbolt  (..eh..true *humble*)
Oh, come here a little closer
'Cause I wanna see you...real close up  
 
You hold me like you should  (truth)
So I'm gonna keep on dancing
You hold me really good so let's just keep on dancing



A reminder in the dark times. No Doubt. He's always watching out for me.


In the meantime I guess we'll keep on dancing...

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A Blip of Faith



It’s funny how everything can be going along like normal and then suddenly things change. I guess one should expect that, but for some of us, “expecting” that would leave us in a disaster-paranoid mindset all the time, ridden with anxiety.

I was riding the nasty Twin Towers elevator up to the parking bridge. I do it atleast 3 days a week if not more. Have for the past year since I got lazy about the stairs. All alone, I was watching the parking levels pass me by through the glass. One floor, two floor… only 3 total. Not a long ride. We get to 5 and I’m ready to step out – I look over at the door… and nothing happens. I look at the floor through the glass to make sure it’s centered right at level 5. It’s not – something is off. I start to breathe heavy but the rest of me isn’t panicking yet. THEN the elevator starts dropping down (and I start panicking, imagining it’s going much faster than it is). I think surely I’m just going back to level 3 because someone down thee pushed the button. Level 3 passes me and I watch it ascend above me in claustrophobic terror. I grab the handrail – far too many action movies are flitting through my head with worst case scenario scenes. There has to be a bottom… but what’ll it be like when we get there? We get there. I wait, terrified. The doors ding and open and I jump out, then turn around and survey my surroundings. I’m alone in a dank, dirty basement I’ve ever been in before. The lighting is an eerie yellow, eerie especially because it’s 4:15pm in the afternoon and this reminds me of night time down here. I listen and hear nothing, no people. The elevator closes. In front of me is the stairway I could have taken to begin with ad avoided all this.

I have a choice again now (as my knees still quiver slightly from my previous ride). All this happens within a few seconds: I walk over to the second elevator next to the first and punch the button thinking surely this one will work properly. I look up: level 4. I wait, and secretly hope others are on this one. No one is. I get on and we go up, and then come to a halt at 3 again. A lady bustles in with her cart full of files and papers and notebooks. Flustered in her own hurry she thanks me for holding the door and then goes to town on her smartphone in the corner. She has no idea the terrible images that just flashed through my mind  minutes ago, the fear, the feeling of being in a cage dangling by a string, being dropped into a dungeon for some unknown reason. My legs are still stiff, though not trembling. We arrive at 5 and I step off – quickly. 

As I walk down the bridge it hits me: what gave me the impression that second elevator would behave? Why did I choose that instead of the safe and known reliable stairs? Because I knew it would be ok? No. Because somehow I believed it would be ok? Yes.

 Is that the definition of faith?