ON BEING UNIQUE
A friend is assisting me in organizing my blog into a book. She asks me rhetorically, "What makes you unique," and, "How did you become the person you became."
I thought about it for a bit and tried to answer her, but I knew this would not result in a one-line answer. I was going to have to dig for that one. I keep falling back on the fact that we're all unique. 'That won't do,' she told me. So, here I go...
I have alluded to my background in numerous threads throughout the many stories I've written, but I've never put it into one piece.
I was born and raised in a remote area in the Panhandle of Texas. The Panhandle is about 3600 feet above sea level and east/south of New Mexico and the Colorado mountains. We had brutal winters, but the perception of those not from the Panhandle was that we were a hardy bunch to have endured harsh winters. My father got a job with Phillips Petroleum Company shortly after serving in the army during WWII. He met my mother, a waitress, at the local cafe. She was 17 years old and living with her uncle after, according to her, 'getting tired of raising my Mother's babies.' My parents married 3 weeks after meeting and had their first child about 13 months later. Seventeen months after the first child was born, along came yours truly. My younger brother was born six years later. It's funny how life turns out sometimes.
Our community was composed of company houses on land owned by a local rancher. We had a population of approximately 3500 when I lived there. We had a small grocery store, a dry cleaning establishment, a Phillips 66 service station, a convenience store, and for a while, a barbeque place. There were two churches; one was for the Southern Baptists (the larger of the two), and one was for the Methodists. Our lives centered around the public school, grades 1 through 12, various sports and music activities, and the church's weekly services and programs. I went through all 12 grades with most of my 82 classmates. We knew each other well. However, even in a small school like Phillips, there were cliques and social groups. In one of my stories, you will read about the social clubs that required an invitation to join, which I never received.
Many of our teachers held master's degrees. Since Phillips Petroleum Company provided revenue for the school, they could pay higher salaries. We had excellent teachers with very high expectations for our performance. Most of us obtained at least Bachelor's degree. I thought undergraduate school was tedious due to the many required courses, but graduate school was a breeze. I was very fortunate to have several teachers who believed in me and served as mentors. Several of them knew what was happening at home due to frequently seeing bruises on my legs. Girls were required to wear skirts or dresses. It was difficult to hide my shame.
Homelife was very difficult with a bully for a father and a distant mother. The merest infraction of his rules resulted in beatings. Sometimes, it was because he was angry about work. We were always walking on tiptoes in that house. My mother just froze. When he wasn't around, she used me as a sounding board for the hate and resentment she held for him. I thought she'd love me if I listened long enough.
We were in church twice on Sundays and every Wednesday night. If there was a week-long revival, we were there every night. Looking back on that time, I wonder if my father was trying to exorcise his demons by attending church every chance he got. We had to participate, too. I remember being around age 6 when I rejected the church's teachings. I thought it was a sham. I didn't know it then, but I'm confident now that what I felt was that my parents didn't act loving at home, yet men on the pulpit kept talking about God's love. Where was it in this little girl's world? It was a total disconnect between what we were supposed to believe and reality. As a young girl, it's impossible to reconcile the two worlds.
I don't remember ever being happy at home. My world was primarily internal, with fantasies of being part of a happy family. I read voraciously and lived in those books. I had a couple of friends who knew my situation and let me hang out at their houses, where their parents welcomed me. I'm confident those parents knew about my home life but did not know what to do about it. One of my teachers told me they feared reporting it would make it worse for me at home.
Mostly, I felt invisible as a child. It was as if I didn't really exist. And even now, I've been socialized to hold my own in a crowd, give speeches, or have attention drawn to me, but it's not my preference. Our country doesn't value older people. Ironically, as one becomes older, one becomes invisible to the world. So, I'm rapidly returning to feeling invisible again, but this time, it's real. At least it's a familiar feeling.
When you come from suffering, you are acutely aware of other people suffering. Pain cannot be measured by degrees because it's subjective. You just can't compare your grief to someone else's. You just know how it feels to go daily without relief. Being able to dissociate isn't enough. When you read my story, 'Teenage Suicide,' you will understand that sometimes hope is lost, and the pain has gone on long enough.
I was born with fierce determination and an intense curiosity about the world. I also knew that no matter how much pain I was in as a child, I would never experience again be in as much pain because, as an adult, I had control over my life. That determination, more than a significant amount of intelligence, drove me to work nights while putting myself through three degrees. Not surprisingly, I majored in psychology. After all, I had spent my childhood as my mother's therapist. And I wanted to figure out who I was. Later, I realized my narcassistic mother had manipulated me, and I suffered from severe chronic depression due to physical and mental abuse. After receiving counseling for several years along with anti-depressants periodically, I felt the cloud lift in my late 40s. Seeing the world's beauty without the fog that used to accompany me has been an enormous relief.
My mother gave me The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan shortly after it was published in 1963. I was in my mid-teens. It made a profound impact on me. I realized then that the traditional role of wife and mother would not be my focus. I'm sure my mother resented that this was an expectation for women of her generation. She was married and had children, but that's not what she really wanted to do or to be. When I was around age 10, she began working at JC Penney in various roles, as she felt it was in her best interest to learn everything about the multiple jobs. Later, she worked in advertising for the local radio and newspaper until retiring in her early 60s. She was very good at her job. Her example of working hard while raising children showed me what a woman could achieve. To this day, I'm proud that we have both been supporters of women who want to make a difference in the world; women like Hillary Clinton, Barbara Jordon, Molly Ivins, and Ann Richards. A woman can succeed in her job, be an activist, and raise children. It's not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it is possible.
My father was someone I gradually began to understand as we both grew older. Aging gives a perspective you can't get when you're young and trying to figure things out. I was in my early 50s when my parents moved closer to Dallas to escape the harsh winters of the Panhandle. We played golf most weekends for several years. He was an excellent golf partner; he was a good golfer and patient and praised me when I occasionally did well at the game. It was a sad day when I told him I would move to Florida for a job. I promised to return in three years, but I wasn't able to keep that promise. I miss those days, but I'm grateful we had them.
Determination plays a significant role in a prosperous professional career. I was a psychotherapist for a short time, but I eventually moved into hospital management, which I did for many years until my retirement two years ago. I had the privilege of helping patients and their families, but I also looked at my job as a coach rather than a "boss." It was a very stressful job. I'm glad I did it, but even happier that I'm retired. This period of my life is proving to be my favorite.
Out of this background came someone who feels great compassion for those unable to care for themselves. I've become very politically active as the country, led by a seriously mentally disturbed President, has turned its back on the elderly, the disabled, and disadvantaged children. What has been even more astounding are the people who describe themselves as Christians and are condoning his behavior and that of the Republican Congress along with our Texas Republican-led legislature...all while claiming themselves Christian. The legislation they keep passing is not for the benefit of those soon-to-be-forgotten groups. It's for the wealthy supporting their campaigns and lining their corrupt pockets. My personal experience with parents who were not what they appeared to be while calling themselves 'Christians' led me to be skeptical. It gave me the ability to detect bullshit when I smell it.
In a nutshell, what makes me unique is the road less traveled. I am a survivor. I'm a survivor of a long, sometimes challenging, road.
I thought about it for a bit and tried to answer her, but I knew this would not result in a one-line answer. I was going to have to dig for that one. I keep falling back on the fact that we're all unique. 'That won't do,' she told me. So, here I go...
I have alluded to my background in numerous threads throughout the many stories I've written, but I've never put it into one piece.
I was born and raised in a remote area in the Panhandle of Texas. The Panhandle is about 3600 feet above sea level and east/south of New Mexico and the Colorado mountains. We had brutal winters, but the perception of those not from the Panhandle was that we were a hardy bunch to have endured harsh winters. My father got a job with Phillips Petroleum Company shortly after serving in the army during WWII. He met my mother, a waitress, at the local cafe. She was 17 years old and living with her uncle after, according to her, 'getting tired of raising my Mother's babies.' My parents married 3 weeks after meeting and had their first child about 13 months later. Seventeen months after the first child was born, along came yours truly. My younger brother was born six years later. It's funny how life turns out sometimes.
Our community was composed of company houses on land owned by a local rancher. We had a population of approximately 3500 when I lived there. We had a small grocery store, a dry cleaning establishment, a Phillips 66 service station, a convenience store, and for a while, a barbeque place. There were two churches; one was for the Southern Baptists (the larger of the two), and one was for the Methodists. Our lives centered around the public school, grades 1 through 12, various sports and music activities, and the church's weekly services and programs. I went through all 12 grades with most of my 82 classmates. We knew each other well. However, even in a small school like Phillips, there were cliques and social groups. In one of my stories, you will read about the social clubs that required an invitation to join, which I never received.
Many of our teachers held master's degrees. Since Phillips Petroleum Company provided revenue for the school, they could pay higher salaries. We had excellent teachers with very high expectations for our performance. Most of us obtained at least Bachelor's degree. I thought undergraduate school was tedious due to the many required courses, but graduate school was a breeze. I was very fortunate to have several teachers who believed in me and served as mentors. Several of them knew what was happening at home due to frequently seeing bruises on my legs. Girls were required to wear skirts or dresses. It was difficult to hide my shame.
Homelife was very difficult with a bully for a father and a distant mother. The merest infraction of his rules resulted in beatings. Sometimes, it was because he was angry about work. We were always walking on tiptoes in that house. My mother just froze. When he wasn't around, she used me as a sounding board for the hate and resentment she held for him. I thought she'd love me if I listened long enough.
We were in church twice on Sundays and every Wednesday night. If there was a week-long revival, we were there every night. Looking back on that time, I wonder if my father was trying to exorcise his demons by attending church every chance he got. We had to participate, too. I remember being around age 6 when I rejected the church's teachings. I thought it was a sham. I didn't know it then, but I'm confident now that what I felt was that my parents didn't act loving at home, yet men on the pulpit kept talking about God's love. Where was it in this little girl's world? It was a total disconnect between what we were supposed to believe and reality. As a young girl, it's impossible to reconcile the two worlds.
I don't remember ever being happy at home. My world was primarily internal, with fantasies of being part of a happy family. I read voraciously and lived in those books. I had a couple of friends who knew my situation and let me hang out at their houses, where their parents welcomed me. I'm confident those parents knew about my home life but did not know what to do about it. One of my teachers told me they feared reporting it would make it worse for me at home.
Mostly, I felt invisible as a child. It was as if I didn't really exist. And even now, I've been socialized to hold my own in a crowd, give speeches, or have attention drawn to me, but it's not my preference. Our country doesn't value older people. Ironically, as one becomes older, one becomes invisible to the world. So, I'm rapidly returning to feeling invisible again, but this time, it's real. At least it's a familiar feeling.
When you come from suffering, you are acutely aware of other people suffering. Pain cannot be measured by degrees because it's subjective. You just can't compare your grief to someone else's. You just know how it feels to go daily without relief. Being able to dissociate isn't enough. When you read my story, 'Teenage Suicide,' you will understand that sometimes hope is lost, and the pain has gone on long enough.
I was born with fierce determination and an intense curiosity about the world. I also knew that no matter how much pain I was in as a child, I would never experience again be in as much pain because, as an adult, I had control over my life. That determination, more than a significant amount of intelligence, drove me to work nights while putting myself through three degrees. Not surprisingly, I majored in psychology. After all, I had spent my childhood as my mother's therapist. And I wanted to figure out who I was. Later, I realized my narcassistic mother had manipulated me, and I suffered from severe chronic depression due to physical and mental abuse. After receiving counseling for several years along with anti-depressants periodically, I felt the cloud lift in my late 40s. Seeing the world's beauty without the fog that used to accompany me has been an enormous relief.
My mother gave me The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan shortly after it was published in 1963. I was in my mid-teens. It made a profound impact on me. I realized then that the traditional role of wife and mother would not be my focus. I'm sure my mother resented that this was an expectation for women of her generation. She was married and had children, but that's not what she really wanted to do or to be. When I was around age 10, she began working at JC Penney in various roles, as she felt it was in her best interest to learn everything about the multiple jobs. Later, she worked in advertising for the local radio and newspaper until retiring in her early 60s. She was very good at her job. Her example of working hard while raising children showed me what a woman could achieve. To this day, I'm proud that we have both been supporters of women who want to make a difference in the world; women like Hillary Clinton, Barbara Jordon, Molly Ivins, and Ann Richards. A woman can succeed in her job, be an activist, and raise children. It's not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it is possible.
My father was someone I gradually began to understand as we both grew older. Aging gives a perspective you can't get when you're young and trying to figure things out. I was in my early 50s when my parents moved closer to Dallas to escape the harsh winters of the Panhandle. We played golf most weekends for several years. He was an excellent golf partner; he was a good golfer and patient and praised me when I occasionally did well at the game. It was a sad day when I told him I would move to Florida for a job. I promised to return in three years, but I wasn't able to keep that promise. I miss those days, but I'm grateful we had them.
Determination plays a significant role in a prosperous professional career. I was a psychotherapist for a short time, but I eventually moved into hospital management, which I did for many years until my retirement two years ago. I had the privilege of helping patients and their families, but I also looked at my job as a coach rather than a "boss." It was a very stressful job. I'm glad I did it, but even happier that I'm retired. This period of my life is proving to be my favorite.
Out of this background came someone who feels great compassion for those unable to care for themselves. I've become very politically active as the country, led by a seriously mentally disturbed President, has turned its back on the elderly, the disabled, and disadvantaged children. What has been even more astounding are the people who describe themselves as Christians and are condoning his behavior and that of the Republican Congress along with our Texas Republican-led legislature...all while claiming themselves Christian. The legislation they keep passing is not for the benefit of those soon-to-be-forgotten groups. It's for the wealthy supporting their campaigns and lining their corrupt pockets. My personal experience with parents who were not what they appeared to be while calling themselves 'Christians' led me to be skeptical. It gave me the ability to detect bullshit when I smell it.
In a nutshell, what makes me unique is the road less traveled. I am a survivor. I'm a survivor of a long, sometimes challenging, road.
Protesting at the border
you are a survivor and a damn good one................... so happy you have found your 'happy' place...........
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Luni, for your kind words of support!
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