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LynnS
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Re: Ellie's Journal
When The Trigger Is Pulled, Memory Awakens-Part 1
I have known Jack since high school. Over the intervening thirty years, our paths have crossed intermittently, until last fall when his marriage of twenty-two years dissolved and he arrived on my doorstep, emotionally drained, bruised and fragile. Our friendship rekindled as he tried to make sense of what had happened to his life and I became a shoulder he leaned on in the aftermath of his divorce.
Recently, Jack has been angling towards taking our relationship to a new level. At first I was ambivalent. And then I was intrigued. After three and a half years of avoiding dating altogether (an encounter with a psychopath can sour you on just about anything!), I wondered if now was not a good time to test the relationship waters. Jack is a man I trust, respect and adore. Why not tread a little more deeply into the unknown between us?
We talked about our friendship, the risks of losing what is, for what might be, and agreed to spend a little more time together exploring that dangerous place called, Getting Involved. I told him of my fears, okay, my outright terror of opening up on an intimate level with a being as scary as a man. He told me of his desire to have a partner, to be in a relationship with someone other than himself.
Perhaps it is that my hearing was fogged up by my own fears. Because in his telling of his need for a relationship, he also told me of another woman he was dating, a friend I had introduced him to. “She wants a life partner,” he said. “And I’m confused. I love you, Ellie. I love spending time with you, being with you. But I don’t know where we’re going. With Dinah, I know what she wants. And it’s what I want, but I don’t want to risk losing what you and I have.”
Now, I have always loved the thrill of 'the pursuit'. It was one of the aspects of my personality that left me at risk with the psychopath. Because on the dark side of the pursuit game is the come hither/go away dance it awakens within me. He chased me. I awoke. He withdrew. I took up the chase. Eventually, I was in pursuit of a mirage that drove me into the death zone of self-annihilation. He stood at the sidelines watching me self-destruct as my need to stay connected to him drove me deeper into the arms of his abuse.
Self-awareness is a wonderful gift, as long as I stay aware. But recently, with Jack, as I drifted into the possibility of relationship, I forgot to open my eyes and heart to what was happening on the other side of my psyche as fear of the past rose up and blocked me from seeing what I was doing in response to his actions.
It began with Canadian Thanksgiving Dinner. “Why don’t we spend the day together getting dinner ready?” he asked when I invited him to join me and my other guests for dinner. “We can take the pooch for a walk, go to the market, and spend the day as a couple.”
I took a breath. I love entertaining. Cooking. Setting the table. In particular, I love the sense of peace and quiet it bestows upon me as I go about creating a scene of harmony and joy that will be filled by the laughter and love of my guests. Sharing that space with another was a big stretch. I decided to do it.
Thanksgiving day arrived and so did Jack, with a very stiff back. It was a clear blue sky day. Crisp. Fresh. Filled with autumn leaves falling and a gentle breeze drifting down off the Rockies casting a rosy glow to our cheeks. Our walk in the hills at the edge of the city was filled with laughter, good conversation and another couple who had asked if they could join us.
Two hours later, after a stop at the market, we arrived back at my house ready to commence preparations. His back was really acting up and he didn't think he could help me much with moving furniture or starting the meal. And as it was, he didn't have much time. “I promised Dinah and another friend to go to an auction with them,” Jack informed me as we carried the purchases we’d made at the market into the house. “It’ll only take an hour. Would you like to come?”
I pushed down the fissure of anger that seared through my mind. “I have too much to do,” I said, wondering if he could detect the acerbic undertone of my response.
“Too bad,” he blithely replied as he left, with the promise to be back in an hour and a half.
I started preparations, reminding myself that I prefer working alone. But my mind was on high alert. In fact, I was downright pissed-off, but I kept it to myself as I arranged the house, prepared the turkey and vegetables for that evening’s feast.
Three hours later, when he still had not reappeared, I phoned him. Apologetically, he told me that his malingering back pain had turned into a full-blown back attack and he was uncertain whether or not he would even be able to turn up for dinner.
Upon hearing Jack’s remarks, I quickly replied, “Sorry your back is sore. Let me know what you decide,” and hung up. Quickly. Abruptly.
The tears spilled from my eyes. I tried to push them back. They kept coming. (cont.)
October, 2005
Copyright MLG
Last edited by femfree, Mar/5/2009, 10:46 pm
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"The best way out is always through."--Robert Frost
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Oct/25/2008, 11:38 am
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LynnS
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Re: Ellie's Journal
When the Trigger Is Pulled, Memory Awakens-Part 2
I stepped out onto my patio and let the warmth of the afternoon sun fall onto my face. I took a breath.
The tapes began to spin in my head. Great. See. Men are jerks. He’s an azz
Typical. How stupid can you get?
I took another breath.
I’m not stupid. And not all men are jerks.
He was acting out from his place of confusion. From where ever he was in his journey. His behaviour was a reflection of him.
What about mine?
Was it okay to silently accept his behaviour and let him off the hook? Absolutely not. Did I deserve to be treated with such disrespect? No. Did I have the right to tell someone when their behaviour has crossed my boundary and disrupted my peace of mind? If the relationship is based on trust and mutual respect, yes.
I picked up the phone and called him back.
“I need to tell you how I feel right now,” I quickly said as he answered with a cheerful, ‘Hello, this is Jack.’ “I am angry. We discussed spending today together and you have not kept your commitment. I don’t like the feeling that you are playing me against another woman. I don’t like feeling like I’m in a game where the rules can change at any time. I accept that your behaviour is a reflection of you, and I don’t accept the unacceptable and that’s what this situation is.”
Silence.
I waited.
Finally, he spoke. “I apologize,” he said. “You’re right. I’ve been very confused and I did not keep my commitment. I won’t do it again. I’ll be right there.”
“Your apology is accepted,” I replied. “Your confusion does not give you an excuse to use me, or Sheila for that matter, as the vehicle through which you bulldoze your way to understanding. Whether or not you do it again is not a guarantee it won’t happen again, but I do know it won’t happen again with me because I do not accept this behaviour. And I don’t want you to come over right now. I’m angry. I want my anger to dissipate, and spending time with you might help you feel less guilty, but it won’t help me find my peace of mind.”
He didn’t come for Thanksgiving dinner. But I did find my peace of mind.
My response to his actions was justified. My understanding of the trigger gave me the power to face myself and see where pain lay buried deep within me.
Now, one of the elements of the psychopath relationship was that he had a continual string of health crises that left me feeling insecure about voicing my own needs. I mean, how could I tell a man who was supposedly dying of a rare heart disease that I was upset with him for constantly not turning up when he said he would? What if the last words he heard from me were angry words of condemnation? And so, I held my tongue and lost my way.
In hearing Jack’s excuse for why he might not make dinner, the trigger was pulled. Memory leapt into action as I felt the pain and horror of that time. Jack’s behaviour was unacceptable. But my tears were not about his behaviour. They were about my deeply buried response that said, “See, you’re less than. Unimportant. Not worthy.”
Baloney.
I am all that I am meant to be when I turn up for me with dignity and grace and speak my truth. I am important, to me and those who love me. And I am worthy. No one can take that from me, unless I give them the power to keep me from being all that I am meant to be.
It was a powerful trigger. In pulling it, I found my voice when I turned up, paid attention and spoke my truth without fear of the outcome.
Will I forgive my friend? Yes. He is coming from his own place of unease, acting out his own fears, confusion and needs. Will I step further into a relationship with him? No. Because once awakened, I know where my desire to move into closeness with him came from. It did not come from a place of wanting him as more than just a friend. It came from my place of fear. As he moved into a zone where he began to explore his options with other women, I circled that sore spot within me that loves ‘the hunt’. That place where in the yin/yang of male/female relationship, I hate feeling like a loser. My response to his desire to have a relationship came not from a belief in what I want, but rather from fear of losing the thrill of being hunted.
I don’t want a deeper relationship with this man. He’s wonderful. Kind and caring, but we have different perspectives of what we want in relationship. I know this. Have known it for a long time. But in thinking he might find another woman attractive, I took up the hunt to ensure he stayed connected to me, not because I want him, but simply because I did not want to lose.
In letting go my need to win, I embrace my freedom once again and soar with delight into the truth that my life is mine to lead, exactly the way I want it.
Thanksgiving dinner was a joyous night of laughter, good friends, good food and wine. It was a reflection of my life today. The life I have created for myself as I live in love with my family and friends, in harmony with the world around me.
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"The best way out is always through."--Robert Frost
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Oct/25/2008, 11:39 am
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LynnS
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Re: Ellie's Journal
What I Fear I Create
Every Saturday morning I take my golden retriever, Sadie, for a walk at a park on the edge of the city. It is a quiet time, a time for reflection, for musing, for dreaming. This morning the world was blanketed in a white veil of fog. There was no city view, no vistas of the grandeur of the jagged ridge of the Rockies marching along the western skyline. Sound was softened by the denseness of the air around me and my vision was limited by the marshmallow-like mist of the world surrounding me. It was a magical grey on white landscape of misty hills rolling into nothingness dotted by the stark relief of naked trees holding their ground against the fog swirling around their frost laden branches.
It had been a blustery September day the last time Sadie and I had walked this particular trail. Late afternoon sunshine cast long shadows across the ground as we walked from the car up the hill to the top of the bluff. At one point as we moved upwards, Sadie stood still, spun around and started barking, her ears lifted, her body alert as she barked at some unknown person, place or thing at the bottom of the trail. I stopped and looked towards where she was barking and saw a police cruiser parked at the gate blocking access to the park. We were far enough away that I couldn’t see what was happening but, in all the years I’ve walked in this park, this was the first time I’d seen a police car anywhere in its environs. I felt a fissure of fear searing my peace of mind. Police cruisers were not welcome companions on my walk.
I tried to brush away the cobweb of fear spinning across my mind as I started walking again. I consciously let my wonderings about the police cruiser go as I turned back towards the top of the hill. But it was a losing battle. Goaded by the past, triggered into fear of the unknown meaning of a police car’s presence, my mind slipped out of cruise control into overdrive.
Fear drives up when I’m not looking
Police cruisers meant scary events. Since the psychopath who wanted to kill me had been arrested just over three years ago, police cruisers were synonymous with his presence somewhere on the periphery of my life. He’d been released from prison in August and since then I’d often felt a slight anxiety overriding my calm as I watched the shadows to see if he was lurking. Seeing a police cruiser at this park plucked the chord of anxiety that had been struck when I’d been informed a few weeks before that he was back in the city where I live. Sometimes the timing of events collide with my fears and drive away rational thinking. I knew the police cruiser had nothing to do with the man or with me, yet, my thinking spun in tight little circles avoiding the central truth of what was real in my life today as it ripped into my fear of the past coming back to haunt me.
I shoved my fears aside and pushed myself into the moment in which I was walking. Sadie bounded ahead of me into a patch of autumn leaves scattered across the ground. They rustled beneath her feet and joyfully she flopped her body down upon them, rolled onto her back and with her paws pummeling the air above her, she began to wriggle her body on the ground. I laughed. She kept wriggling, her every movement filled with the delight of being alive in this moment. I ran up to her, picked up a handful of leaves and threw them onto her exposed belly. With a leap, she jumped up and began running circles around me as I threw leaves into the air. What a wonderful moment to be alive!
And then, suddenly the moment evaporated. Sadie stopped running and stood at full alert. She started barking. From around the bend, the police cruiser sped toward us. In a spray of dust and gravel it careened past, crested the hill and sped out of view.
Fear is a river when I swim against it
I watched the empty space where the car had been. Sadie stopped barking and watched me closely. I dropped the handful of leaves in my hands and called her to my side. The sun no longer shone so brightly, the colour of the leaves were no longer crisp. I stood rooted to the ground as anxiety rose within me. I looked ahead towards an outcropping of rock and saw a figure sitting on the edge of a large boulder. Was it a man? Was it a coyote? I wasn’t sure. I’d walked past this point a hundred times in the past and knew this wasn’t a normal part of my surroundings. Fear rippled in a continuous river through my veins. I called Sadie back from where she’d run off to explore in the long grasses. “We’ll go the other way,” I told her as I gave one last furtive look at the figure sitting on the rock. I could feel my blood pounding, hear the beating of my heart. I had to get away.
Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. Fear tightened its grip on my breathing. I wanted to run away. I wanted to head back down the hill, get in my car and drive away. To go anywhere but here. But I kept walking. This is my park. My place to find solace. And Sadie needed the time and space to run freely. I couldn’t disappoint her. I couldn’t give into my fear. I kept walking in the other direction. From a distance, I occasionally caught a glimpse of the police car cruising along the trails, until finally, it turned around and headed back down the hill to the road below.
I tried to still my fears. I told myself the police cruiser’s presence was a normal circumstance; the police keeping the area safe. It didn’t matter what I told myself, my fear kept drowning out rational thoughts. After only half an hour, I headed back down the trail, got in my car and drove home.
Magic in the morning mist
This morning as I walked, the mists swirled around me but my anxiety was at rest. I passed the outcropping of rock that had caused such fear within me the other day. In the misty morning, the outline of the seated figure could be clearly seen. It wasn’t a person or a coyote, it was simply a slab of rock that, in certain light, appeared to be something it wasn’t.
I laughed. There had been nothing to fear but my imagination. My perceptions had deluded me into believing an inanimate object was a presence waiting to pounce. Triggered by the police cruiser, my mind had immediately shut down rational thinking and leaped into fearful premonition.
What I fear… I create
As the fog began to lift Sadie and I walked into the sunshine seeping through the grey clouds above. I didn’t need different glasses this morning to see that what was before me was not something to fear. I simply needed to open my eyes to the reality of the moment. A rock is just a rock, unless I look through fear-filled eyes and let my thinking override my common sense.
In acknowledging my fear of the unknown this morning, I walked into the reality of the moment. Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the ability to step into the moment with confidence, grace and dignity. Had I stopped the other day to ask myself what was real versus my imagination, I would have been able to enjoy my walk without the oppressive feeling of the past haunting me in every step I took.
The past cannot be changed. Nor healed. It no longer has a place in time. It is not time that heals wounds, it is the ability to lovingly look at what is and know that what was will never be again as long as I have the courage to turn up and pay attention, speak my truth and be responsible for myself, every step of my journey. As long as I face my fears and walk through them I am able to step with confidence into each moment of my life and create more of what works and less of what doesn’t.
I walked in the fog this morning and saw clearly the fear that had pulled me from my peace of mind. I feared the unknown and created a monster out of a piece of rock. The rock hadn’t changed but my perspective had. The magic of the morning settled joyfully within me as I continued walking. What a wonderful day to be alive.
Copyright MLG 2006
Last edited by LynnS, Oct/27/2008, 6:43 am
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"The best way out is always through."--Robert Frost
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Oct/25/2008, 11:41 am
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