Thinking Journal: When I was in 8th grade, I guess I was 13, one of my best friends, who had been one of my best friends since she moved to my town in 2nd or 3rd grade, got mad at me. Really mad at me. And, she began talking to others about me, and subsequently getting others mad at me. From what I remember, my contribution was that I was getting clingy and desperate. I got insecure about getting invited to a party or something like that. I was feeling left out, and that was probably the worst thing in the world for me to feel at that time. I depended a lot on my peers. My home life wasn’t really stable, and I looked to my girlfriends to help me understand and navigate the turmoil of being a teenager. So, while I don’t know exactly what I did or said to turn her off, I’m pretty sure I offended her by being overly concerned with my “popularity” or my respect among our friends. Anyway, she started talking – a LOT – to other people. From what I could tell, it was to get everyone on “her side.” And, it worked. People stopped talking to me; they started avoiding me like the plague. Even worse, they would all stop talking when I walked by, then they would all giggle and make noises behind my back.
It was about the most hurtful thing I’ve ever experienced. My parents were a dysfunctional mess, but they didn’t work hard to be mean to me. I would try making new friends. But, pretty soon my ex-friend and her entourage would somehow turn them off to me, and I would be alone again. It was incredibly hard for me to walk through the halls with my head up. I never knew who would be mean to me or who would just pretend I didn’t exist. I had no one at home to talk about it with. Everyone there had there own problems. This treatment lasted for the rest of the year.
I feel sad. . . God, it STILL makes me SO sad to think about that time in my life. I feel sad that I was so alone and terrified. I feel sad that I had no one to turn to about it. I feel so sad that I had come to depend on my friends so much that I could be devastated so completely by their treatment of me. I feel so sad that it was so hard for me to hold my head up when I was feeling so much shame. I feel so sad that I blamed myself for causing them to be mad at me. I blame myself for making such stupid mistakes that would make them mad at me.
Which makes me angry. I’m so angry that one girl could cause my whole grade to want to spit on me. I’m so angry that that bitch could so easily spend all her time talking trash about me and seem to enjoy it so much. I’m so angry that I wanted to strangle her, but there was nothing I could do. I’m so fucking disgusted that after all our years of friendship it became her hobby to smear me and humiliate me and hurt me to anyone who would listen to her. I’m so angry that I knew even then that if I let out my anger at her, I would end up in such a completely uncontrollable rage that I would further incriminate myself – I would probably get even the teachers and parents angry at me, too. I’m so angry that I knew I couldn’t do anything – so I didn’t.
Which makes me so sad. I felt trapped by own bad mistakes with no solution. I blamed myself for all of it. And, I hated myself because my tendency to rage trapped me even more. I’m so sad for that little girl who hated herself and seemed to have no options but to take the abuse in silence and alone. I feel so sad that I honestly contemplated killing myself that year.
I feel afraid. . . I feel afraid that I’m still haunted by that year. I feel afraid I’ll always be scared of making people angry with me. I’m afraid that I really haven’t forgiven myself. I’m afraid that I walk on eggshells so people I depend on won’t get mad at me, won’t hate me. I’m afraid that I’m doomed to be a victim when people get mad at me. I’m so scared that people will get mad at me. I’m even more scared that when someone gets mad at me, that they’ll make everyone else mad at me, too, and there will be nothing I can do about it but pick up and leave – alone.
I feel guilty . . . I feel guilty that I blamed myself for making people mad at me that year. I feel guilty that I continue to beat myself up whenever someone gets mad at me. I feel guilty that I still don’t know how to handle it. I feel guilty because I don’t stand up for myself when I’ve done nothing wrong – or even when I make a simple, human mistake. I shouldn’t be abused for making mistakes!
Which makes me really angry! I feel angry that I allow everyone else in my life the freedom to make mistakes – to say and do stupid things – and I don’t get mad at them. I feel angry that I’m too scared to get angry at people. I feel angry that I expect no one to forgive me when I make a mistake. I feel angry that I end up being abused or made to grovel in repentance when I make a simple mistake. I feel fucking enraged that if I make a mistake, I will probably pay for it for the rest of my life.
Which makes me so afraid that I’m too scared to take the risks I need to take to live the life I really want – the life I’m INTENDED to live. I’m so afraid that I’ll always take the “safe” route because the risks of making a mistake are just too great. I’m so afraid I’ll never accomplish what I want to accomplish because I’m so damn frightened of pissing people off, of hurting people, of making mistakes that I’ll never be forgiven for, that I’ll always be despised for –among huge groups of people. And, these people who hate me will go on to make sure everyone THEY know despises me, too.
Phew. I was just crying quite a bit, and then I had to give a little smirk at that last line I typed. It’s kind of silly – but it’s a very real, very deep-rooted fear. It’s from my childhood, so it makes sense it would be a little childish. The most important thing is that it came up – from a very deep, very dark spot in my soul. Like I’ve found in previous cycles, at the point I have nothing left to write, I feel calm and kind of tired in my body. I was typing like a mad woman; now my fingers are having a hard time finding the right keys.
I’m going on the Limits part of the cycle, so I can begin to climb back up to feeling good:
Are my expectations reasonable? As a 13 year old child, yes, the expectations I developed from this traumatic time in my life were very reasonable. I had seen all my childhood friends turn on me just from whatever this one girl told them. I felt like I was insane. I developed the expectation that people would turn on you en masse if you said or did something stupid – or even if it wasn’t so stupid, just desperate or fearful. It also reinforced my belief that depending on anyone or needing anyone is a bad move –and makes you way too vulnerable. It also showed me that even to ask for help carried enormous risks. It is completely reasonable that I would become very frightened and very wary of potentially getting people angry with me.
What is a reasonable expectation now? A reasonable expectation is that I expect the people I love and respect to love and respect me. I expect that if I make a mistake, I will not be abused and tossed away for it. I expect that I can apologize if needed and that I can communicate rationally with rational people to come to an understanding. A reasonable expectation is that the people I love would not engage in such childish games as to work to make everyone mad at me if they are mad at me. A reasonable expectation is that I will not crumble if people are mad at me. A reasonable expectation is that I will continue to pursue the things that are meaningful to me in spite of how others treat me. A reasonable expectation is that, in the absolute worst case scenario, I will not allow myself to continue to be abused. I am an adult now, and I can remove myself from any untenable situation. I expect that I can seek out and create a loving, forgiving environment with reasonable, rational people.
What is the essential pain? The essential pain is that people, even adults, aren’t always rational. The essential pain is that people will get angry with me – sometimes for my own mistakes, and sometimes because they’re not emotionally healthy people. The essential pain is that people may be mean to me and may even try to injure my reputation or get other people to be mad at me; they may even hate me.
What is the earned reward? The earned reward is that I will never again listen to irrational people who are mad at me. The earned reward is that I trust that I can communicate well and straighten things out with rational people. The earned reward is that I no longer have to walk on eggshells around emotionally unhealthy people. The earned reward is that I will be freer to take risks – because I will no longer have this particular fear. The earned reward is that I will feel safer with the people I love and trust. The earned reward is that I hold myself in higher regard than the people who judge me.
Then, I stay on a roll with the good feelings:
I feel grateful . . . I feel grateful that I finally (!) did this cycle after over a week of feeling crappy about my work situation (where one woman caused a couple others to get mad at me and my entire department to have to listen to her ranting about what an awful person I am – more on that later). I feel grateful that I am finally getting rid of this emotional garbage – this fear, these irrational beliefs, the blame I put on myself for that year. I feel grateful that I feel safe enough here in my home to be able to do this emotional cycle while Todd entertains himself for the evening. I feel grateful that I feel the pressure in my back finally loosening up after a bad week and a half.
I feel happy . . . I feel happy that I can do this cycle for me and also to share with you. I feel happy that I can go into work tomorrow with my head up and secure in myself again. I feel happy that I’m finally learning how to feel good about myself even if everyone else is mad at me or even hates me (but, I would need a lot of practice to master this new skill, and I admit I would really prefer to not have to practice it ever again!). I feel happy that I’m learning now how to let others’ meanness and manipulation roll off my back. I feel happy that I never learned to “play the game” and talk badly about people behind their backs, because I don’t respect that behavior, and it would just make me feel worse about myself.
I feel secure . . . I feel secure that tomorrow I’ll begin to feel cheerful in my office again – no more hiding in my office, no more insecurity about saying hello to people, no more fear at who might be in the kitchen when I walk in there. No more feeling intimidated, no more feeling embarrassed or ashamed. I made a mistake, but no one gave me the option to apologize; they just judged me someone worthy of abusing and gossiping about. That has nothing to do with me – it’s their choice. I won’t let it affect me anymore.
I feel proud . . . I feel proud that as I write this, I’m beginning to realize that I want to own up to my mistake, even if they have already decided I’m an awful person. I’m beginning to accept that I will have to acknowledge it and apologize for it (perhaps in an email . . .) in order for me to really feel I’ve done what I could to salvage my relationships in my department. After that, it’s totally their choice. But, I feel proud of myself for realizing that what’s important is my self-respect, and I have to do this to feel the most respect for myself – even if they abuse me more for it. It’s the right thing to do, even though it's going to be hard, and I might wait another day or two to gather up some more courage. This realization alone makes me feel really proud of myself.
**Update 10/3: you know what? I want to add some things here. After sleeping on it, I realize I'm also damn proud of myself for dealing it with it as best as I possibly could when I was 13. I continued going to school every day, though I was full of fear and shame. I continued to do my school work even though just surviving the day was completely draining (of course, after loosing my peers as a support system, I turned to my teachers to support me and the way to do that is by getting good grades). I'm proud of myself for seeking out positive interaction with my teachers who never once made me feel bad or shameful. I'm proud of myself for continuing to reach out to my peers, even though I knew they could turn on me at any time. I ended up with the 3 best friends I could ask for. They are still my very good friends now, at age 35. I'm proud of myself for pushing through the fear and functioning as best as I possibly could at such a young age. I'm going to give my inner little 13 year old a big fat hug and a LOT of respect. :-)
And, as expected, I feel good. I feel happy that I have a plan of action that will make me feel even better about myself. I feel more free and physically lighter.
I was just reading in Laurel’s book last night that our first cycles will be all over the place – we’ve got lots of trash in us, so it comes out in bursts that are not necessarily all in order or relating to the same issue. I can that in this cycle. I realize I need to do more cycles on my fear of getting people mad at me (I know this was a big problem in my relationship with my dad) and being abandoned. Laurel assures me in her book that in time, the cycles will naturally become more focused. For now, it’s ok to just let them go wherever they lead. Just as long as you complete the Limits part of the cycle, you will feel much better afterward – even if they uncover more dirt you’ll have to explore at another time.