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Thursday, August 19, 2004 Seven All Over Again
We all carry emotional baggage. How much, and to what extent, depends upon a wide variety of factors. And, we all deal with our pasts in our own ways, ways that may or may not work for us, but ways that have become our coping mechanisms nonetheless. What may seem overwhelming to some may seem trivial to others, and vice-versa. In this fast-paced, high-tech world, where success is only limited by one's quantity of desire, ambition, motivation, aggressiveness and hunger for the power, prestige, fame, recognition or the almighty dollar, it is still amazing that out there -- somewhere -- is someone who can transform even the most self-assured, successful professional into an insecure seven year old all over again. And, who is to say what someone else's trigger may be? It could be a word, a phrase, a look, or simply a careless comment that evokes a flood of emotions. Whether the original pain came from a parent, the schoolyard, or wherever, we have to take responsibility ourselves in the here and now for how we deal with the memories those current triggers evoke. I, for one, could easily use plenty of cop-outs and place blame on others for many situations in my life. Granted, many of the situations (at the time) were out of my control but, now, I have to take control of both my emotions, as well as my emotional reactions to current situations, and deal with set-backs without reverting to that insecure seven year old who couldn't face the demons that were all around her. As a child, we were poor. And, as an only child who was described as quite gifted and precocious, frail and over-protected, artistic and overly emotional, I had to deal with over-achieving at school, although not being able to do many of the extra things that my over-achieving could have garnered, because we didn't have the money for any of the "extras." The other students in school treated me differently because I not only made straight A's, but also was very artistic. Yet, I still never met my father's standards for utter perfection. Therefore, my father was overly critical of me, as well as physically abusive (which now I understand was only a legacy reaction from his own abusive childhood, and my father and I now have a very good relationship). Living in this environment would have been difficult for any child but, as a child who was expected, even by the tender age of four, to act as an adult, the stress and disappointment of missing out on so many childhood activities still carry long term effects. I was always quiet and withdrawn, even more so once I reached my teens. At the age of fourteen, I was the victim of a gang rape at school by a group of all-star athletes. Fearing my father's reaction, I went to our youth minister at church who accompanied me to school to speak with the principal. We were told, basically, that "boys-will-be-boys," and that it would be my word against all of theirs, and the school had no plans to "ruin" the chances of these boys getting sports scholarships into colleges just because of my accusations. Furthermore, these boys were from "fine-upstanding" families, so who did I think I was to cause problems? [As a side note: a brother of one of the perpetrators was arrested in Texas a few years later (also) for rape, and the subsequent murder of a police officer who caught him in the very act. He was sentenced to death and was executed in May of 1994 - nice, fine upstanding family, indeed! As a further side note: my parents knew nothing of the rape until three years ago (many years after the fact), and they shouldn't have even found out then but … things happen] My father was also a minister ("spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child") so, in addition to these traumas which were unspoken and totally internalized, I was not allowed to date, not allowed to wear make-up, not allowed to drive, and not allowed to get a job -- basically, I was a prisoner in my own house until the age of eighteen. I guess that's where my writing truly flourished on all those lonely nights locked in my bedroom, dreaming of the day when a knight in shining armor would finally carry me away from all of my pain and sadness. Just so you know - those knights do NOT exist! Childhood and adolescence alone could be the crutch I use to whine about my life -- but I refuse to let age-old circumstances beyond my control take control of my current situations. We are all responsible for our own choices in life - our choices that we make TODAY! Each day, each choice, is merely a fork in the road -- you have two choices . . . do you take the left fork, or the right? Once you've made the choice, you travel a little farther and, once again, you're faced with another fork in the road. Each choice building, one upon the other, forming and transforming your life, making you uniquely the person that you are and, ultimately, the person you will become. Good luck on your journey . . . perhaps I'll meet you somewhere along the road . . . Originally published Monday March 17, 2003 (bw) 2003 © Copyrighted Materials - All Rights Reserved. Susan Reno-Gilliland A Southern Belle's Life # posted by Kitty : 11:14 AM
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"a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma" --- Miss Kitty, an Irish lass, a true Southern Belle; writer, photographer, artist, interior designer, animal-lover, dreamer, stargazer, cop-groupie, 70's junkie, cbc, slightly obsessive iNFp with stories to tell! ... (fascinated by forensics, human behavior, pushing all the right buttons of men she finds interesting, and seeking utterly-sweet revenge without any repercussions. ) --- "Darlin', don't ever take a Southern woman for granted!" [tm] Feeling the uncontrollable urge to shower me with gifts?!? Check out my Amazon 
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