Triggers – a series – Part 2
Infact, Triggers, is becoming a series of posts.
It takes time for me to work through things and join the dots, so I can move on. So writing helps me process my thoughts and take action on healing and improving my life.
You see to me its not just as easy as forgive and forget. I really feel that if an issue made such a negative impact on my life, that I need to look deeper, find what the real issue is and then work on it. I end up a better person for it. Bottling these “triggers” or past events up, is just not cutting it. I need to keep moving forward for my own mental health, I mean retreating back into my box or hiding behind my bullet proof wall is not going to help me or my kids. If you’re a mum you will know this too…
Recently, I’ve been busy. Yeah, I know, I’ve said it before. I’ve been dealing with a load of issues, trying to get my own career on the go, I’ve followed my heart into Animal Welfare, my son being bullied, health issues, and the regular day to day chores, playing taxi you name it. The things busy moms do.
It hasn’t been easy, but its been pretty awesome to see my own little invention grow, like another one of my children.
So now that – that sets you in the picture of where I am now, here’s what’s bothering me.
When you are doing all these things it isn’t easy to “fit everyone in”, let alone roll out the metaphorical red carpet for seemingly needy people. Doing all “these things” doesn’t mean that I am excluding people either. It purely means that I am living!
Am I expecting too much from people, to simply understand when I say, “hey, I have a couple of school functions to attend.” or send a multiple person email to tell people about news or events. Especially after I’ve repeatedly explained what I’ve been doing.
Getting a reply from genetic family, that it is only “my words” that we are family, really pushed me over the edge. Actually the words haunted me.
Haunting is a very appropriate word here.
When my mom got divorced, we moved in with my grandparents. My Gramps, my hero, was really ill. He had forgotten I had grown up, because of altzheimers, and asked where I was, in the mean time I was standing right there in front of him.
My mom was spending a lot of time with her friend, trying to get a career on the go, but also socialising more. I fully understand now, that this was her way of coping. Her coping mechanisms aren’t the same as mine, and that has to be respected. There’s never a clear cut BLACK and WHITE when it comes to coping. You go through the motions, you mourn and every person is different. Its important to realise that there are GREY areas.
I may have been 22 and “expected” to understand, but it was a tumultuous time for me, a partial blur, and not a time that I fully understand either.
I really should have opened up then about a lot of things. Once again it comes down to GREY areas, and circumstance always plays a big role. It can make you or break you down further.
I was more concerned about my hero’s life ending and I realised clearly that no one noticed how I was falling apart inside due to bruises and scars, literally and metaphorically speaking. Talk about pulling together as a family in hard times – this just divided us up even more.
To cut a long story short, while I was coping with starting a new job, working though the end of an abuse cycle, and my Gramps’ deteriorating health I got told that I wasn’t welcome in my childhood home.
So now that my safe haven was taken away from me, I thought I had no family.
It hurt me so deeply that when my Gramps passed over, I felt so disassociated from “my family” I couldn’t bring myself to sit with them. You see in Jewish tradition the family of the deceased sit in the front row of the Shul. My empty chair was there. Did anyone notice that I instead sat with my long time friend and cousins ex husband in the back row of the Shul? No.
I was heart broken.
Tradition at the end of the service sees the family walking out first, but because I was at the back of the Shul, I had to wait.
On arrival home, once again according to tradition, family are supposed to do nothing, you are not supposed to lift a finger. Friends of my mom’s had organised to pour tea and set up cakes and eats for the continued memorial.
I was putting on the kettle and serving mourners.
That broke me inside, especially when “my family” were so intent on honouring tradition. Unspoken words, the blatant exclusion tore me down further.
I moved out that weekend.
My greatest supporter was no longer there, my hero, my grandfather, my father figure, my friend.
The faces who never showed up or showed up in small doses when I single handedly nursed my grandparents through illnesses, greedily stole my moment to mourn.
Life went on, I married, I had children, I didn’t have the beautiful wedding I had dreamed of, the kitchen tea’s, or baby showers. I was forced to simplify, little special moments spent with few people became the way of things. It seemed that my happiness or memorable moments were set aside by “my family” for more important moments in their lives. I realised that all they were ever there for in the past was the food.
In a way, I’m thankful for that.
It taught me to hold moments with my children dear to my heart. It has most probably aided my decision to put myself first, which has proven to be a good thing.
Those words and actions that tore into my soul can haunt someone else now.
Although I will never forget, I will heal, because I have more good memories and treasured moments with my hero than those who hurt me will ever do.
It was because of him, that I was not excluded but rather included. It is unfortunate that his passing proves how little “my family” learned from a truly inspirational man.
What triggers you off?
How are you coping?
I want to hear from you.
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Posted on September 11, 2012, in Di's Articles, Family, Healing, Relationships and tagged anger, family, genetics, grandfather, grandparents, healing, hero, hurt, inspiration, love, motions, release, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 12 Comments.