Someone's post a while back inspired me to ponder friendship and cause me to wonder what bring us together in the first place? Sure, there's the obvious answer--common interests, common workplaces, common experiences, shared history... Such friendships, however, often develop over time and may or may not be continued once one of you leaves the shared setting.
What I'm wondering is, what is it that brings people together and instantly bonds (or repels) them for life? I met my best friend at work, but it was more like a reunion than a first meeting, the bond was that immediate and that intense. Such people are those I can't imagine living without.
Another form that bond may take is not as intimate. You may share it with someone you don't necessarily fit with, someone you've never been able to have a proper conversation with. You don't even move in quite the same circles but for a bit of overlap. And yet, you feel this accord, this sense of metaphysical attachment. You are each glad for the other's existence in the world, even if you are not meant to move through it intimately, and there is always a hug or a smile for the other. Nothing concrete holds you within each other's affinity, and yet there each of you are with this unmistakable ribbon of kinship between you.
Why is that?
Some may shrug their shoulders and not desire an answer. Others might posit that brain chemistry and hormones are the cause. But if you're like me, you might instead be asking yourself another question: What roles have we played in each other's past lives? What have we shared in the past that has carried through to our present selves? How have we helped and loved--or even hated--each other then, so that we are still aware of our bond? Wouldn't it be interesting to find out, if there was a great big Oxford Encyclopedia of Past Lives you could flip through and say, "Ah yes, of course. That makes perfect sense. I think I remember now..."?
Friday, February 23, 2007
Just who, exactly, is the Tooth Fairy?
My son lost a tooth the other day, and of course we put it under his pillow and he got a dollar for it. As I listened to him prattle on about the Tooth Fairy, I realized something funny...
He thinks the Tooth Fairy is a man...
Had to smile.
He thinks the Tooth Fairy is a man...
Had to smile.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Living Under the Influence
We like to think of ourselves as autonomous beings, that our personalities are our own, independent of others and their influence on us. But really, we live under the influence of everyone around us. Did your mother ever tell you that you were playing with your best friend too much and were behaving too much like her?
As fallible human beings with malleable psyches (albeit some less malleable than others and stubborn as mules), we tend to adopt the characteristics of those we spend time with--coworkers, parents, friends, significant others, spouses, lovers. We all steal verbal, physical and even psychological mannerisms from each other, and so our personalities are not purely our own. We are molded by the people in our environment.If you're involved in healthy relationships with healthy people in healthy environments, then you're cooking with gas. But if you find yourself entrenched in an unhealthy relationship or marriage, immersed in an unhealthy environment, then, even if you are a strong, stable individual, your odds of coming through the other side of that relationship unscathed are ZERO.
I often hear myself say, "I don't like who I become when I'm around my husband. This isn't me. This isn't someone I want to be." But it wasn't until recently that I began to suspect just how deeply his behavior and our mutually created, unhealthy relationship has affected me. In addition to a certain degree of PTSD I've recently struggled through (and there's more to come, I'm quite sure, once I take the leap and divorce the man), I've noticed that some of the habits I've picked up from him are creeping into my relationships with those I care deeply for.
For example, after a weekend of defensiveness and bickering, I may begin my Monday seemingly well. But while IMing a dear friend and things are starting to get tense between us, I'll quickly realize I'm bringing my weekend behavior into a treasured relationship I want to nurture. I often step back at that point and say to my friend--a gentle, tender soul I never want to hurt and who I've just stung, a person who truly makes me want to be a better person--I say to him, "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I had a bad night/weekend, and I'm carrying that over to you." And then I can more or less turn it off, while I ponder just how insidiously learned behavior can corrupt our lives.
Somtimes, I see my husband's behavior reflected in my son's, and it stops me in my tracks. I'm quick to point out the undesired behavior, and for good or bad I link it directly to my husband.
"Do you like it when Daddy does that?"
"No, Mommy."
"Then why are you doing it, too?"
That solves the problem very quickly.
It scares me how deeply my personality has been altered, in that negative way. It my not be a dramatic change, but the change runs deep. I know that, if I don't leave this relationship, I will continue to morph into the part of me I don't like. And I will lose that other relationship I treasure so deeply. And likely others, as well. Contentiousness will become my modus operandi, and I will become profoundly lonely, bitter and unhappy. I might even become a woman very much like my mother-in-law, a thought that makes my blood run cold.
Equally prevalent is the knowledge--and the dread--that once I do leave this relationship behind, I will experience PTSD very likely more intense than what I've already been through. (The first was brought on by leaving Germany--a place where I survived alone and with only remote support from my mom by phone--and returning to the US, a place of safety and security, and within easy reach of my entire support system.)
It's a struggle, sometimes, to keep that negative influence at bay. But at least I recognize it when it makes me ugly, and that's half the battle.
As fallible human beings with malleable psyches (albeit some less malleable than others and stubborn as mules), we tend to adopt the characteristics of those we spend time with--coworkers, parents, friends, significant others, spouses, lovers. We all steal verbal, physical and even psychological mannerisms from each other, and so our personalities are not purely our own. We are molded by the people in our environment.If you're involved in healthy relationships with healthy people in healthy environments, then you're cooking with gas. But if you find yourself entrenched in an unhealthy relationship or marriage, immersed in an unhealthy environment, then, even if you are a strong, stable individual, your odds of coming through the other side of that relationship unscathed are ZERO.
I often hear myself say, "I don't like who I become when I'm around my husband. This isn't me. This isn't someone I want to be." But it wasn't until recently that I began to suspect just how deeply his behavior and our mutually created, unhealthy relationship has affected me. In addition to a certain degree of PTSD I've recently struggled through (and there's more to come, I'm quite sure, once I take the leap and divorce the man), I've noticed that some of the habits I've picked up from him are creeping into my relationships with those I care deeply for.
For example, after a weekend of defensiveness and bickering, I may begin my Monday seemingly well. But while IMing a dear friend and things are starting to get tense between us, I'll quickly realize I'm bringing my weekend behavior into a treasured relationship I want to nurture. I often step back at that point and say to my friend--a gentle, tender soul I never want to hurt and who I've just stung, a person who truly makes me want to be a better person--I say to him, "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I had a bad night/weekend, and I'm carrying that over to you." And then I can more or less turn it off, while I ponder just how insidiously learned behavior can corrupt our lives.
Somtimes, I see my husband's behavior reflected in my son's, and it stops me in my tracks. I'm quick to point out the undesired behavior, and for good or bad I link it directly to my husband.
"Do you like it when Daddy does that?"
"No, Mommy."
"Then why are you doing it, too?"
That solves the problem very quickly.
It scares me how deeply my personality has been altered, in that negative way. It my not be a dramatic change, but the change runs deep. I know that, if I don't leave this relationship, I will continue to morph into the part of me I don't like. And I will lose that other relationship I treasure so deeply. And likely others, as well. Contentiousness will become my modus operandi, and I will become profoundly lonely, bitter and unhappy. I might even become a woman very much like my mother-in-law, a thought that makes my blood run cold.
Equally prevalent is the knowledge--and the dread--that once I do leave this relationship behind, I will experience PTSD very likely more intense than what I've already been through. (The first was brought on by leaving Germany--a place where I survived alone and with only remote support from my mom by phone--and returning to the US, a place of safety and security, and within easy reach of my entire support system.)
It's a struggle, sometimes, to keep that negative influence at bay. But at least I recognize it when it makes me ugly, and that's half the battle.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Biding my time...
Every day of our marriage, when my husband was working and I stayed at home, I met him at the door with a smile on my face and a hope in my heart that he would be in a good mood and stay that way through the night. Most of the time, he was pretty Jekyll/Hyde, and every night started out pleasant enough, but quickly deteriorated. I eventually realized that I couldn't expect more. So I didn't. And I dealt with it.
Now that we're stateside again, we're both working. As a sourcing agent for some large European companies, he works overnight to coincide with the European work day. That means he is already home when I get home from work and, for reasons unknown to me, still wide awake. Only twice, however, has he met me at the door with any kind of greeting. Or even greeted me from wherever in the apartment he's roosted. So, when I get home today, he is sitting at the computer in the living room, his back to the door I've just walked through, and he says not a word to me until I greet him as cheerfully as i can manage. "Hi! I'm home!" I think I sound pretty convincing. "Unh," he says in return. All right, fine. Can't expect anything more. And I don't. So I move on.
I go right to the bathroom, then change my clothes and head immediately for the kitchen to get dinner ready. Beef stroganoff from the slow cooker. I make the salad, cut the bread, set the table and call everyone to dinner. As usual, he waits until that moment to get ready for dinner. It takes several minutes for him to get to the table, and we have to wait. Can't expect more from him. And I don't. So I grumble a little because it still irritates me after all these years, and then we move on.
My husband begins to fill his belly and starts talking. Just a little verbal jab toward me at first. One easily ignored. But that isn't enough. We bicker. That's pretty status quo. I can't expect more. And I don't. So I deal with that, too.
But he keeps on, digs a little deeper and my tolerance is broken and I give him what he wants. I call him an asshole. He kicks me in the butt. I kick him back. He kicks harder. I throw the bread at him. He slaps at my face. We have a little face-off (haven't had one of those in a while), and I flinch when he raises his hand as if to hit me. I'm more angry than I am afraid and I call him a baby and that he needs a mother, and that I won't be one for him anymore. He says I'm dumber and weaker than he is and a product of my culture, so therefore beneath him. I said, "If that's so, what're you doing kicking me in the ass?" I say he may be smarter than me, but he is uneducated, and it shows in the garbage that comes out of his mouth...
See what I'm reduced to? It used to be much much worse between us, but this still sucks. This isn't me. This isn't me, at all. I don't like being like this. I don't like being around people who bring out this side of me. And I don't like how it influences my relationships with other people.
But just you wait. I'm only biding my time...
Now that we're stateside again, we're both working. As a sourcing agent for some large European companies, he works overnight to coincide with the European work day. That means he is already home when I get home from work and, for reasons unknown to me, still wide awake. Only twice, however, has he met me at the door with any kind of greeting. Or even greeted me from wherever in the apartment he's roosted. So, when I get home today, he is sitting at the computer in the living room, his back to the door I've just walked through, and he says not a word to me until I greet him as cheerfully as i can manage. "Hi! I'm home!" I think I sound pretty convincing. "Unh," he says in return. All right, fine. Can't expect anything more. And I don't. So I move on.
I go right to the bathroom, then change my clothes and head immediately for the kitchen to get dinner ready. Beef stroganoff from the slow cooker. I make the salad, cut the bread, set the table and call everyone to dinner. As usual, he waits until that moment to get ready for dinner. It takes several minutes for him to get to the table, and we have to wait. Can't expect more from him. And I don't. So I grumble a little because it still irritates me after all these years, and then we move on.
My husband begins to fill his belly and starts talking. Just a little verbal jab toward me at first. One easily ignored. But that isn't enough. We bicker. That's pretty status quo. I can't expect more. And I don't. So I deal with that, too.
But he keeps on, digs a little deeper and my tolerance is broken and I give him what he wants. I call him an asshole. He kicks me in the butt. I kick him back. He kicks harder. I throw the bread at him. He slaps at my face. We have a little face-off (haven't had one of those in a while), and I flinch when he raises his hand as if to hit me. I'm more angry than I am afraid and I call him a baby and that he needs a mother, and that I won't be one for him anymore. He says I'm dumber and weaker than he is and a product of my culture, so therefore beneath him. I said, "If that's so, what're you doing kicking me in the ass?" I say he may be smarter than me, but he is uneducated, and it shows in the garbage that comes out of his mouth...
See what I'm reduced to? It used to be much much worse between us, but this still sucks. This isn't me. This isn't me, at all. I don't like being like this. I don't like being around people who bring out this side of me. And I don't like how it influences my relationships with other people.
But just you wait. I'm only biding my time...
Read here nothing worth writing about...
How do I get back into the habit of writing?
What do I do with all those writing lists I've re-enlisted for and just don't have the time to read? What about that writing-prompt list?
Why aren't I writing anymore?
Well, the answer to that, I suppose, isn't hard to guess.
But even if I write drivel about not writing, it seems that's enough for now.
Just let the words flow, and maybe something worthwhile will come forth...
What do I do with all those writing lists I've re-enlisted for and just don't have the time to read? What about that writing-prompt list?
Why aren't I writing anymore?
Well, the answer to that, I suppose, isn't hard to guess.
But even if I write drivel about not writing, it seems that's enough for now.
Just let the words flow, and maybe something worthwhile will come forth...
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