The little girl sat on the step with her denim overnight bag and her Mrs. Beasley doll in her lap. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she sat patiently waiting for the car to come down the street. She didn’t really want to go, but understood that these were the adult rules that she had to play by. She sighed and admired the new miniature Dr. Scholl’s sandals that she had so desperately wanted. She waited and waited and waited…and after awhile an adult came out, spoke quietly to the little girl, took her hand, and together they went back inside and shut the door.
And that dear Readers, is the last memory I have of my biological mother; as you may have already deduced I was the little red haired girl. I suppose that that is not even really a memory of her, but it’s a memory of my experience with her.
I always think of my mom on my birthday. I wonder if she remembers that it’s her eldest daughter’s birthday, if she wonders what I’m doing, how my life turned out, what my journey has been like, if, in fact, I’m even still alive. By the same token, I wonder those things of her.
You see, my mom left when I was about 4. Both my parents were barely out of high school themselves when *surprise* there I was. My dad cancelled plans for college and set about getting a job to provide for this immediate family. He was away a lot for his job and my mom clearly struggled with being on her own and having a toddler. So she met someone else, climbed over the back fence in our yard (taking me with her) and skedaddled out of town. Imagine my father’s surprise when he got home and we were gone, baby, gone.
That could very well have been the end of the story (after all, my dad was only about 22 yrs old), but clearly you don’t know my father. Headstrong, stubborn, and thoroughly pissed off, he literally chased my mom and her boyfriend for a period of about 18 months all over the United States. At the same time, they (mom and boyfriend) were seriously rethinking the idea of hauling a toddler around (indeed I remember being told that I was not wanted…ouch). Obviously, the emotional scars lasted for years.
There is, of course, much, much more to this tale, but it’s way too long for a blog post 🙂 and of course, I do have a point in telling you this story.
You see, for many, many years I considered myself a victim. Not in an overt, woe is me kind of way, but more in an angry, stunted kind of way. I closed myself off from risk, vulnerability, and making mistakes; because if you’re perfect then there is no excuse for anyone to leave you, think badly of you, and ultimately leave you. Right?
What a crappy way to live. And even crappier that it took me so long to figure it out; when I finally did (only about 10 yrs ago), it was like the light bulb turning on and growing brighter ever since.
Because ultimately, here’s the thing that I’d like to pass on to you: I (you) do not have to let my (your) past control my (your) here and now. I get to choose for myself how I’m going to be, act, and think.
Exposing those toxic thought patterns and those tired old looping beliefs and letting them go like so much dandelion fluff in the wind is liberating, scary, exciting, and unbelievably empowering.
WOW…if you don’t think that that is profound, well then you haven’t really tried it and I highly encourage you to put on your big girl panties and start doing it.
Is it freakin’ frakin’ easy? Oh hell no; as with anything worthwhile in life, sometimes it’s hard. But walking on the edge of the box is so much more amazing than just sitting in the box playing it safe.
Perhaps you recognize some self limiting beliefs that are holding you back, but you’re not sure how to move past them? Maybe you need a wee bit o’ help getting from HERE to THERE or support in getting that deep soul-satisfying work out into the world? Maybe you just want to learn how to walk on the edges of the box?
Let’s talk about it.