Reclamation
On rediscovering truth.
When I was a small child, They asked me what I wanted.
I told them my dreams. I told them my hearts desires. I told them who I was now, and what I wanted to be “when I grew up”. My face shone with excitement as I shared my truth.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile adults get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
Foreheads frowned. Lips pursed. Noses crinkled, as though I had inadvertently released a noxious odour along with my wishes.
“Not that.” They commanded. “Want something else.”
I was just a child. Innocent. Uncomplicated. Ignorant.
I was honest about my wants and desires, my imagination as yet unrestrained by adult concepts of “reality”, unfettered by “sensible” restrictions and limitations.
I wanted what I wanted, I liked what I liked, and I knew who I was.
“No.” They told me. “You cannot want that. You cannot have that. You cannot BE that.”
“Why?” I asked, confused.
They sighed, in the manner adults so often do when they are having, yet again, to explain the “facts” to another foolish child.
“Because.” They said. “It’s not realistic.”
When I was older, but still a child, on the verge of adolescence, They asked me again, what I wanted.
I had already learned a great deal about what was expected of me, but I was still young and optimistic. I told them my more “acceptable” dreams. I told them some of my hearts desires, leaving out the things I had already come to accept were unavailable to me. I told them who I believed I could be, “within reason”, and I told them what I thought I might be allowed to do “when I grew up”. I watched their faces carefully, controlling my own expressions so as not to be caught off guard.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile adults get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
Brows furrowed. Eyes narrowed. Mouths pinched shut, as though I had tried to force feed them something unpalatable.
“Not that.” They commanded. “Want something else.”
I was a child. Dependant. Reliant. Observant.
I was uncertain about the attainability of my childish wants and desires, my vision of my future now blunted by adult concepts of “reality”, my spirit of adventure already bridled and broken, corralled by cultural and social restrictions and limitations.
I only dared to want what I thought I might be able to get. I allowed myself to like what They approved of my liking. I still knew who I was, but I tried not to let it show, because I already knew that person was not who They wanted me to be.
“No.” They told me. “You cannot want that. You cannot have that. You cannot BE that.”
“Why?” I asked, uncertain, but curious.
They sighed, in the manner adults so often do when they are having, yet again, to explain the “facts” to a recalcitrant child.
“Because.” They said. “It’s not sensible.”
When I was a teen, They asked me again, what I wanted.
By this time I understood the limitations imposed upon me, by the society I lived in, the family I was raised in, and the broader culture of my time. I told them I didn’t have any dreams. That I didn’t really want anything, in particular. I told them I was content flying under the radar, I had no particular ambitions to speak of, and I hadn’t yet decided on what I would do in adulthood. I was already hyper vigilant for signs of disapproval, so my face betrayed nothing.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile adults get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
The lines on their faces deepened. They stared at me, suspiciously. Their lips were a thin line, turned down at the corners.
“Not good enough.” They announced. “You MUST want what you are supposed to want.”
I was just an adolescent. Resistant. Insecure. Reluctant.
I was already ashamed of my inadequacy. Certain that my mere existence was an inconvenience. Humiliated by my perceived failure to live up to expectations.
I never admitted to wanting anything, if I could help it. I allowed myself to like only what I could safely like without risk of ridicule or criticism. I knew in my heart that I was a misfit, always in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
“No.” They told me. “You MUST choose something. BUT you can choose only from what is acceptable. You have to fill the role you have been assigned to.”
“Why?” I asked, resentful and mistrustful.
They sighed, in the manner adults so often do when they are having, yet again, to explain the “facts” to an incorrigible youth.
“Because.” They said. “It’s just the way things are.”
When I was a young adult, They asked me what I wanted.
I dutifully told them what I had been taught to tell them. I told them my “sensible” beliefs and “reasonable” expectations. I told them who I had been taught I had to be, and who I expected to become as I grew older. My face was solemn as I revealed my indoctrination.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile people get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
Eyebrows raised. Mouths opened and closed, wordlessly. They looked down their nose at me, as if I was a talking parrot, unexpectedly repeating the unsavoury language of its uncouth previous owner.
“Not that.” They commanded. “Want something else.”
I was just a young woman. Cautious. Uncertain. Unprepared.
I no longer had any real conscious awareness of my own wants and desires, my persona forever conditioned and constrained to be the “good girl”, the “nice girl”, the “responsible one”. Even when I might have yearned for something that others seemed to acquire easily, I lacked the self-confidence and self-worth necessary to pursue it for myself.
I wanted what I thought I was supposed to want, I liked what I believed everyone else liked, and deep down I knew only that the “real me” was simultaneously “not enough” and “too much”, and could never, EVER be revealed to the world.
“No.” They told me. “You cannot want that. You cannot have that. You cannot BE that.”
“Why?” I asked, perplexed.
They sighed, in the manner people so often do when they are having, yet again, to explain the “facts” to an ignorant young person.
“Because.” They said. “You are meant to PLAY THE PART of a strong, independent, modern woman.” Then they added: “But only until you meet a man to marry, at which point you will then be expected to immediately suppress your own needs, have a family, and become a martyr, in the service of being all things to all people.”
When I was a wife and mother, They asked me what I wanted, but I knew they weren’t really listening to the answers.
I told them my husband’s dreams for “our” future, and our dreams for our children. I told them my husband and children’s hearts desires. I demurred when asked about my own life, and changed the subject. I averted my face, because I had buried my own truth so deeply I could barely remember I had one.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile people get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
“Hmmphh.” They said, and turned to talk to someone more interesting.
I was just a wife and mother. Insipid. Compliant. Depressed.
My only conscious wants and desires revolved around other people, my unacknowledged anxiety levels propelling me into high-functioning co-dependency. I spent all of my time endlessly “helping” my family, constantly “rescuing” people from their responsibilities, and forever wondering what on earth was so terribly, horribly, wrong with me, that I couldn’t make everyone else happy all the time.
I wanted nothing more than that everyone else would suddenly become self-aware and capable, and not “need” me to constantly come to the rescue. I suffered from both anhedonia and apathy. I was a shell of a human being, dressed in the garb of the long-suffering daughter, wife, mother, sister, aunt.
“No.” They told me. “You cannot want that. You cannot have that. You cannot BE that.”
“Why?” I whispered, exhausted and despairing.
They sighed, in the manner other people so often do when they are having, yet again, to explain the “facts” to yet another delusional woman.
“Because.” They said. “You’re being UNGRATEFUL. You’re meant to be HAPPY and THANKFUL for everything you have. Look at how LUCKY you are !!! How DARE you complain!!”
When I was a menopausal woman, They stopped asking me what I wanted.
But it was then that I finally started to tell them the truth, regardless.
I told them my rediscovered dreams. I told them my burgeoning hearts desires. I told them who I was right now, in this moment, having worked so, so hard, over the past few years, to become a whole human being again. After years of not recognising myself when I looked in the mirror, I can truly say that I see my true Self, I love Her unconditionally, and I accept her EXACTLY as She is!
I enthusiastically shared what I want to do with my life, “now that I have grown up”. My face shone with excitement as I shared my truth.
They stared at me, faces frozen in that half-smile people get when you fail to give the “right” answer.
Foreheads frowned. Lips pursed. Noses crinkled, as though I had inadvertently released a noxious odour along with my wishes.
“What?” They asked, querulously, petulantly. “What do you mean you’re not playing the game anymore? What about us?”
I am, finally, coming into my own. No longer allowing myself and my own needs to be subjugated by anyone else’s wants or expectations. After a lifetime of being co-dependent, I now have strong, healthy boundaries, guiding me as to how I will, and will not, allow others to treat me, and how I treat myself.
I am, finally, able to be honest about my wants and desires, both with myself, and with the wider world. I have rediscovered my imagination, and it is on fire…. no longer limited, and unrestrained by foolish beliefs about what women -particularly “older women”- can and can’t, or should and shouldn’t, do, once again unfettered by acquired beliefs and trauma-induced survival behaviours and responses.
I am learning to own the power that is mine to own, and I am handing back to others the responsibilities and burdens that were never mine to carry.
I am, finally, going after what I want. Every day, I am figuring out a little more about what I like. Finally, after over half a century, I am becoming the person who I was ALWAYS meant to be. The person I have always been, deep down, even though she has been so well hidden I tried to pretend she didn’t exist for much of my life, because it was so painful to think about who I truly was, versus who I had learned to be, in the name of “expectations”..
“No.” They told me. “Why do you want to go disrupting things NOW?? What about us? What if WE don’t want to have to change our habits, just because you have stopped playing the old role?”
“Too bad” I replied, confidently. “I only have one short, precious, life, and I intend to fully live what’s left of it. And you can complain, if you wish, of course. But I am far more afraid of dying without ever having lived, than I am of you being annoyed at me just because you will not be able to take me for granted anymore.”
They sighed, in the manner adults so often do when they are, for the first time, having to come to terms with having to pull their own weight, and no longer being allowed to take someone else’s goodwill and care for granted.
“Oh” They said. And life went on.
And nobody died.
And nobody hated me. (There were definitely moments when certain people were a little unhappy here and there, usually when faced with the consequences of their own actions, but, also, I didn’t take it personally anymore…)
And the world didn’t explode. (At least, not my little corner of it, and not because of me..).
And you know what? I learned something really, really, important.
There’s no “right” way to do this.
I could spend time berating myself for not getting the help and support I needed to overcome my childhood programming earlier.
Full disclosure: It’s a challenging process, and it requires you to be ready to really honestly face up to your own experiences. It not easy, but it’s absolutely 1000% worth it.
I could kick myself for not being the type of person who was able to figure this shit out in her thirties or forties.
I could waste a lot of time on regretting what I imagine I did NOT get to do. I could be envious of those who seem to have worked out the secret and balanced their lives decades ago.
Or I could simply accept that, for whatever reason, I’m one of the people who had to come the long way round.
And that getting here, even if it’s a little later than I might have liked, is immeasurably better than never getting here at all.
And in that acceptance, is a kind of peace I have never known before.
I’m no longer worried.
The question is no longer, “Who might I have been?” The question is “Who am I now? Who might I become?”
I have spent most of my life hiding, playing small, trying to be inoffensive and unobtrusive, afraid to stick my head up over the parapet in case it got shot at.
Constantly worrying about what They might think….
Little Me learned she wasn’t able to trust Them to give her the unconditional love she deserved. She believed Love was conditional and could be taken away as punishment for transgressions. But Adult Me knows different, and she is loving on that little girl SO hard right now…
Little Me learned to placate and to people please in order to survive, because she didn’t have a choice. She lived her life in constant fear and anxiety. Adult Me knows she does have choices, and she’s not letting Fear drive anymore.
By telling MY story, I hope that maybe, just maybe, if you are, or know, someone else who has spent her life feeling trapped and helpless, you might find the strength to recognise that YOU ARE NOT ALONE, and YOU CAN FIND YOUR WAY to wholeness.
Just like me.
Much love, and I hope that you find your own Truth sooner rather than later. xx
N