Most parents, presumably medically employed parents in particular, used this term for the physical aches of, well, growing. As a kid, I remember random body aches right around the time I hit growth spurts.
The physical aches, though, were never what Daddy was referring to. I have him to blame/thank for my utter inability to ignore the fact that the miserableness is part of a process of growth. Plenty of people don't see this, I know. I learned this about the time I realized I was the only one I knew who said things like "I don't know what this is supposed to teach me, but I don't like getting there."
I don't handle change well, and I think now is one of those times when that's what's happening.
As a teenager, I was told my behaviors and emotions were out of my control, and was taught quickly to attribute them to a list of diagnoses a mile long that would be, much later, completely debunked. I spent ages eleven through a couple months before my twenty-first birthday not taking responsibility for my actions, believing that I was a burden, and different, a flawed human being who could never function as others did, and who would inevitably scar the lives of those she burdened. Thankfully my husband (circa 2005-2007, anyway) saw fit to take me out of the place where I had learned this and try to show me better. While it was a process, and much of it came during and after the divorce and still later, he believed in me and that opened the door to, well, everything. He taught me how to take responsibility, he was the first person to hold me accountable for my actions.
I am twenty four now. Lord, it's been a long road since that day. We divorced, I moved around the country a couple times in a few months, I met some pretty jacked up people who believed I was every bit as flawed as I'd been told, and others who couldn't imagine me being less than capable of changing the world. I joined the Army, got injured, survived a hellacious time in basic training, completed medic training and got shipped to Korea. I've been in Korea for two years, and am preparing to return home in about a month. There is a mirror on the door at the end of the bed I'm sitting on right now, and all I can think is: Who is that?!
I remember being thirteen years old and hearing adults talk about going to work and how grown-up and important it sounded. I remember being so excited to finally get a job when I was fourteen. I remember looking at maps and globes and being amazed at all the places in the world I'd probably never go, most of which I'd never heard of before. I remember seeing women with long, beautiful hair on the reservations and wondering if I'd ever be as beautiful or as peaceful as them.
This woman staring back at me in the mirror has spent two years living in and traveling a country on the opposite side of the world from where she was born, only three years after she'd never driven 2 hours by herself. She can hop on a train in South Korea and not worry about the fact that she's in a foreign country. Her dark hair reaches past her waist. She's able to keep her calm when people begin to yell, she can hide the tears when she wants to cry, and she can be the rock when someone needs to lean. She is tattooed and tough, and very aware of the fact that she still has much to learn, despite all the stories she has to tell. She can make friends with anyone, attracts animals and children, and can carry on conversations with strangers in public that most people are afraid to have with their own offspring. She doesn't drink or smoke, and is trying to stop swearing. She's not scared to live or to fall or to hurt. She has been a leader, and has taken responsibility for the actions of others junior to her, and has refused to blame others for things that were partially their fault. She has taken control, taken the lead, and taken her whole life in her hands and made it better for her and everyone in it. She's not afraid.
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