Watching out for the Weasels

[Warning: really bad vacations followed by a mom-style rant]

Now, most of you know, I am not a psychologist in a professional sense. However, even with my lack of formal training, I possess a certain certainty about many things psychological, a gift of giftedness? Perhaps! Don’t ask me!

People tell me things, even when they don’t necessarily want to do so. This is not true of my own kids much of the time. Some of them resist telling me easy things, like “Happy Birthday.” It’s fine. Honestly. I’m not bitter. I’m sure they are just keeping secrets of great import and don’t want to be tempted to spill the beans.

So, yes, while I have not trained in interrogation or psychology, I do have a certain facility with collecting data, recognizing patterns and condensing concepts into tasty nuggets. So, cozy up with me for just a few minutes here.

Terrible things happen to all of us if we live any length of time at all. It’s one of those uncomfortable facts that we try to ignore: on every parade a little rain must fall, or something. It is not ironic any more than an ironing board is ironic.

Hardship is the only ship we get.

That is not a real a problem, but a condition. It’s not a problem to be a dolphin in water. The big problem comes in when we deny the water, as a dolphin.

Many years ago, I was assaulted on vacation. Please don’t let that information upset you, not even a little bit. I may have been upset at the time, but, in fact, I really don’t recall having any feelings about it at all. American women from my generation can be matter-of-fact about such things; it’s not great, but it is simply the way we adapted to routine cruelty. We moved along, smiled and some of us made jello salads.

Because I didn’t understand how to properly face the feelings, I did what a lot of us do with traumatic events. I constructed a box, put my experience in that box, and shoved it into a corner. I proceeded to pile things on top of that box, and the bigger the pile, the more remote the experience felt.

It’s an amazing protection device. In some circumstances, denial may be the best strategy for the short term. It is never healthy in the long term, however.

Of course, as I explained already, hiding the box is the real problem. Something bad happened, it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t make it un-happen. All these things are true at the same time.

The fact that I had hidden a huge jack-in-the-box in the corner of my mind eventually resulted in the box doing what it had to do.

You can try to defuse the box, flip it over, or maybe throw it at a dolphin. None of these will work. The box is there. It’s yours even though you didn’t ask for it.

I would like to ask all of you to put some time and effort into at least looking at your own boxes, too. Don’t neglect the collective boxes, either. The United States of America has a very old and very cruel box demanding your attention right now. Do not look away.

There are anarchists and communists in the mix. Yes, and BLACK LIVES MATTER.

There are media distortions. Yes, and BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Looting is wrong. Yes, and BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Someone told me that not all our police are sworn to protect citizens lives. Really? Why not?

If a public employee can murder a black person, it is horrible injustice. Who was he protecting? Who was he defending?

We are all in danger, not just in danger for our souls, but the exact same danger. I have been approached by a police officer who un-holstered his weapon, in a black neighborhood. My car was a thug car, he explained.

All lives matter. Yes, and BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Handle each other with care. Be brave in front of the boxes. Don’t pretend you don’t hear the music. It’s not going to go away. You know.

Love,
yermom

I’m still trying to figure out which resources are best and where to donate. My dollars are dwindling. Honestly, I think I need to start with therapy. BUT, consider Campaign Zero.

Obligatory linky things: Books!! Newsletter!!

Don’t let the bastards get you down!! Get on top of the bastards with love!!