A Different Feeling

When I was a child, my home life was chaotic and unpredictable. It depended very much on my mother's mood. I never knew when or whether I would be hugged or beaten. At the time, I thought everyone's life was like that. I believed that delusion until well into my adulthood.

But even as a child, I knew when I felt safe. I would seek those feelings - even though I had no name for them - in the company of adult neighbours, or other relatives who were within walking distance, or even in solitude. I made sure (learned the hard way) to let my mom know where I was going and how long I would be there. And I would set out to visit these people. Back then, someone was always home; women stayed home to keep house and keep the home fires burning, so to speak. And I would visit folks who always smiled when they saw me coming. 

I remember going to see my grandmother (my mom's mother) who lived about a half a mile away. I would enter the yard and the first place I'd go was to see the animals - perhaps a dog who had puppies, or the hens and chicks in the yard, or a litter of kittens with their mother cat in a box in the large, enclosed porch. I didn't know it at the time, but I was feeding my soul. 

Free photo from Pexels at Pixabay.com

And then I'd go into the house. I don't ever remember having to knock. Grammy would be there in the kitchen. Something would always be baking or roasting. She'd hug me and ask me if I was hungry. She'd offer to make me some pan-fried hash - to which I agreed - and it always tasted SO good! 

She'd let me talk about what I wanted to talk about, happy or sad, it didn't matter. And I hated to leave. She'd hug me again and say that we'd have another 'time' another day ... and left it open for me to feel free to come back. She never asked me to do any chores, she just poured love into me with focused attention and an accepting spirit. 

And I would leave there filled - physically and emotionally - knowing I could return. 

It was a different feeling than the one I got with my mom. I always felt less-than, a disappointment, a burden, and thoroughly ashamed for having feelings, an opinion, or desires of my own. It drained me. I can say that now, but I didn't have the words then. 

 When I started healing from the trauma of my childhood - not all that long ago - it was filled with emotional upheaval. And after I was into the healing and learning how to live life healed, I noticed that I felt kind of "flat" - like I was sort of floating through life without really making traction with my world, unable to get motivated for things like deadlines, duties, and such.

And then, this morning, I realized what that was.

I was grieving.

I was sad for that little child, the one who lived her whole existence looking for any kind of love and affection she could, never finding it where she should have: at home. The one who was never allowed to be a child and experience (read: SHOW) her feelings of sadness and anger. I was / am grieving the childhood that she never got to have.

Finally my emotional feet touched bottom. Once I knew what to call it, I could give it space to be, and work through it, at different times and at different levels. 

Understanding that process through experience is different than just studying it in a book. I find that going through the process allows me to be more patient and empathetic with my clients, and to "get" what they are experiencing, acknowledging that it is hard, and that it is necessary.  And that it is NORMAL.  That realization is very liberating.

For me AND for them.