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opalmothnightingale · 6 years

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Childhood,... The Place Where I Can Fall Apart Safely

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Not children, not my own child, not my own real childhood, but the ideological or mythological or spiritual, magical, psychological maybe realm of childhood found, when it was lost or when it was never lived the fullest, childhood, inner childhood, inner teenhood...

Which has been brought to life and innocence through a variety of factors all coalescing... My daughter, raising her, homeschooling her, too, being a stay at home mom, her behavioral “disorders”, which are like clear bells of truth to me,... Reality unflitered and undistorted, sympathy untainted and unrestrained, wildness, creativity and impulsiveness, sensory integration needs, unrestrained, unstifled...

And my memories of my childhood, and healing the pain of the memories and the pain of the memories of my teenhood, young adulthood too... and even the ongoing adulthood that is not “young” anymore, but continues the abuse and entangled distorted embroidered and imprinted patterns,

...which were begun in my childhood and teenagerhood years... And the abuse and the shame and the pain, all layers and tendrils and tentacles, of childhood pain and lostness and layers and frozen and all this torment... All this denial... Lack, repression, negation, choked voice... of my inner child, inner teen, weaving huge wefts, through all of it.

But now I have found the ways and the wonders, the patterns and the skills and tools and resources, to gradually heal it... And also, contributing...

Is the imagination, dreams and ideas, books, resources, art, others’ creativity and beauty, joy, liveliness and freedom, a childhood found, childhood that I’ve never had.

My unique inner child that never got to be all I was, never got to feel those parts of my self that were either not encouraged or else downright stifled and scorned or suffocated and killed off,...

But now are rising to life and weren’t really dead, Snow White, arisen,...

And Sleeping Beauty, centuries old yet young and alive once more, Rumpelstilskin, sleeping forever but I’m awake and even if I missed and was dead and wasted for my life for decades, I’m awake and I feel renewed, a spring arising, and I will make it what it is, can be, and I see...

Out of all of this I sense my inner child and teen and my daughter’s role also, is to show me how to be a person I am not, to span the bridge, the huge and glaring, striking gap, as she is...

So many things I never was and never will be, but that I need so much more of, a contrast to my own personality... My gentle, retreating, introverting, closing up, oversensitive self,... Clamped shut, wrapped in layers of denial, repression, silencing, turned to a mute, numb caricature of confusion and emptiness and longing and lack of knowing what to do,...

Even how to express myself...

Because my conformist, neat and orderly, well behaved family made me that way, took my compliance and sensitivity and strangeness and confusion, took advantage of it to form me into a misshapen being, unable to thrive,... Until now, I am gradually learning to thrive. Not that they intended to be like that, to hurt and kill my life force,... they thought they were raising an upstanding, resilient, clear headed, level headed, thriving...

Being,.. A being, just... being, but they did not know that my personality simply could not conform to their standards without being rotted away and atrophied. It was my husband who in some sickening sense “saved” me and without him I’d have been an addict and maybe a prostitute or a young age suicide or homeless, nearly for sure... Because that was where I was hurtling at full speed, it seems,...

before he tried to intervene, in his clumsy, misguided, save the world, save the damsel in distress, over confident way which did still do me lots of good...

even if it too would become a constrictive box and he would shut down to all my deeper, more sensitive, creative and dreamy and spiritual expressions, my inner child, inner teen...

And he would become like so many adults, conformist, and orderly, serene, practical, self assured, small, predictable, same day in day out bore me to hell numbness and callous self assured control over all extraneous outside the lines things (even his own wife, in some ways).

But now I find my inner child of self, inner childhood, is the ground in which I can make my container, from which to fall and piece together, grow and rise back up and heal and be, simple and strange and beyond the pale of most of the adults... Beyond them, not needing them, them also not needing and wanting me.

Happy and fulfilled and overflowing, finding and embracing friendship and love when and where I honestly find it...

And there from there I will find if I can have love as an enriched element in my world, not essential but only a more beautiful thing to add, as long as it doesn’t control or kill my inner childhood world...

The childhood/teenhood that learned as well, how to break, and how to have faith in the god’s game that is harrowing and unsure yet has blessings and promises for those who know how to play it honestly and well, ...

A grown up child who contains breaking and heartbreaking faith too, like Abraham willing to sacrifice Isaac (or was it Isaac and Jacob?

some others? ... Oh well my bible memory is flawed, but you know the story...) Job tried endlessly. Jesus sacrificing his life for the cause or guidance he believed in... These kinds of stories... These pull me even though I don’t always like them.

I feel there are times when unthinkable things might have a greater purpose we can only describe with mystery, and not really understand.

Just to understand... That maybe they have to be, and we aren’t to judge,... and point the finger of blame, pour our sweet advice over all like a condescending patronizing charity,... as if we have all the answers to all others’ problems and can say if they couldn’t have another better choice than to suffer, suffer, suffer, to lay down and suffer, and to suffer again...

But knowing the promises, the miracles and the blessings as I do, as they are, I think gods’ game will not let me suffer endlessly and sensibly in a way I can only call mystery... I think that it will be reborn into something, a broken illusion, the in between of illusion and reality, turned into something gracious and growing, beautiful, whole and no longer the pain repercussions, reverberating through...

I think maybe it’s time for my daughter and me to be freed and given to a higher road... But if not, then maybe her or my souls are on a different path, still needing to learn other things, or maybe the pain and lack has been set into such a groove that it can’t be escaped this life, no turning back now, too late...

How can I say? But what looks as pain and torment can be lessons in wisdom for hardheaded souls with bad predilections,... Teaching them to stop making bad choices,... Just look at the supposedly blessed lives of wealthy, happy families and their kids... many kids in those families still end up lost and unhappy. Many who live in broken families heal and feel better and do well with their lives, over time, maybe even early in youth onward. My failure would not necessarily be a bad thing for my daughter.

Either she or I might be hardheaded, and need to separate onto another path because we’ll only butt heads and hurt each other. Or maybe our service, our assignment this life, is over, and it’s no failure, but lesson learned, time to move on,... The end of the movie...

Next movie, next world, in the world that’s a stage only... And when the curtain draws to a close, we’ll laugh and party, saying what a good performance, and feel no regret for a life lost “early” when it was all on time and just as it was meant... And all those who point the finger at our suffering are in the wrong,... for trying to withhold and blame...

Lessons that have to be learned or are better learned the hard way... Like living firsthand suffering to empathize with suffering people and heal them... This life is just so much slower and stronger and braver and more unknown than all these high vibrating cloudy people... Sitting on their clouds, surrounded by clouds, blowing clouds of smoke and smoke and mirror philosophies, like a drug... Drink the kool aid, and ignore the inconsistencies...

But I can find healing in childhood, through death, suffering, unknown, uncertainty, inconsistency and illness... And the joy and newness and wonder and beauty of childhood makes it worth the while and alive and new and growing, even as things are dying, because there’s no dying...

And it is how I felt, when my daughter was a toddler, so full of laughter and wonder,... And my life was falling apart and I was lost entirely so much of the time...

And now as she gets older and smarter too, and less totally immersed in senses, newness and laughter... More growing up, intellectual a bit more... But still so young and lively and wondering and still things quite new for her...

Even though I went through reactions of boredom and living death, I won’t paint it in prettier colors, often, far too much, not knowing if I’d make it... Went through all that, in her toddlerhood,...

quite dulled down and not able to feel the wonder of her childlike perspective by any stretch of the imagination, at all times... But it was often a door of newness and life, and it still is, as she grows older,... And I grow happier, with my own life and mind and understanding that is growing, and with her,... And as she grows more relatable to me,.. Yes, I’ll be honest,... less mind-numbing and annoying to me, ... sorry to say, as I never said I was a baby person... But yes... And so...

Childhood, childhood found, child at heart forever, is where I can break and stay whole too, one and the same... I have to find this and build it and if I’m too strange for anyone to be friends with, I just don’t care... Because a part of me feels its my own childlike nature that keeps me apart from all them..

And I’d like to keep my childlike nature, however incomprehensible, and however strange a childlike person they’d see me as and even if they don’t see me as being childlike and innocent... because I know I am childlike even if they don’t see it, don’t see how my mess and profusion is childlike even as it is blended with my pain and dark faith and my breaking strong sort of expressions...

But it’s childhood, and I should know, having spent almost all of the past 6 plus years totally immersed with raising my child.

I know childhood and this is the me I’m finding and building myself from, becoming,... and simply, piece by piece, day by day a bit at a bit at a time,... I’m growing this...

It is just me, and ... I grow from the pattern imprinted into my cells, and or my soul... And so ...

So, I’m growing a life and world around to last into old age, or as long as I may live at least... Without fear of death, eternal child no matter what fate, not resisting death or disease, so just like an animal in this manner.

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