I'm sure you've probably noticed, but you've already gone farther than you used to dream of going.
Please tell me you've noticed.
Awhile ago I signed up to receive daily inspirational messages from The Universe. (I only get them Monday-Friday, apparently the Universe is off-duty for the weekend.) I look forward to them in my inbox each day, even though I believe that everyone who has signed up for these notes gets the same one. When you first sign up, you are asked some questions and led to believe that the daily messages are tailored to your individual life and goals, yet on many occasions my sister and I have received the same message. At first I was discouraged by this reality, but then I realized that it doesn't matter because every person will make meaningful connections and what is most important, what is The Secret, is that I believe in these messages and to do so I believe in myself.
Today's message is very personal. Finally graduating with my BA, and at the top of my class, is testament to this message from my friend, the Universe. Just the other day I was thinking about how far I have come and how I finally gave myself the chance to meet and exceed my capabilities. Ten years ago I would have never felt confident enough to walk in to a college classroom, and even if I had, and for many reasons I wouldn't have totally applied myself. I wasn't in a supportive environment. Now I have a partner who stood on the sidelines, rooting for me all along, and often got right in the heat of the game with me, supporting my every move. If I were the quarterback, he was my whole offensive line. Ten years ago my priorities were all screwed up. Having a supportive partner now gave me the chance to sort out my priorities because he wants the best for me, which makes me want to achieve my best. Although I had an interest in going to college a decade ago, I never did anything about it. I never looked into colleges and believed I needed to know why I was going in order to justify spending all that time and effort on something productive. When I went back to school four years ago, I had one direction: forward. How I would get there, why I wanted to be there, and what it would look like when I achieved success didn't matter.
Like any journey, this most recent one suffered casualities, and there were times while I was in college that I had no idea what I was going to do when it was all done. There were times I searched for definition of what my future would hold. I searched for tangible proof that my efforts would pay off. Other times I took all that negative energy and put it towards my coursework, which truly paid off. The whole time, when asked why I was so hard on myself, why would I have to get an "A" like my life depended on it, I always had once response: The "A" was my paycheck. I was putting in all this work, and I was banking on succeeding, no matter what.
Ten years ago my dreams were hopeless. The dreams I had ten years ago are now nightmares to the person I am today. I am so glad I never wished on a star for any of those dreams to come true. The reality is, I truly have come farther than I ever thought I would. I think deep down I always knew I was capable of being who I am now, of this type of gratifying success, but back then I vehemently denied myself the chance to let the person I am today to surface out of fear. The feeling of power you gain from realizing your own success, measured by your own standards, is intoxicating, and I feared being drunk on myself.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Trouble with Re-Writing
What are you supposed to do when a character in your story won't, or can't, be written out? When you have tried to force an exile but such an act is beyond your control? Fictional writers talk about their characters taking shape and having a mind of their own, but I think this is especially difficult when you are writing about the past, present, and future of real people. And when the future can't be controlled, yet it seems as if there is one thing for sure - that the character will be in that part of your story too - you feel frustrated.
I have been writing an autoethnography, something I hope to one day turn into an actual memoir to help others who were in volatile relationships. I don't believe my story is that different of others who have succumb to the violence that can erupt between two people, yet we all have our own pasts, presents, and futures that frame our stories. I may have experienced some of the same things as someone else, yet they are unique to me. I am also told that I am in a unique situation because my ex-partner has resurfaced within the past year. For five years he has been gone, completely and easily written out of my story, without any effort on my part. Then, last year, when I decided to begin physically writing this story, he returned with his wife and child. We have mutual friends, friendships that cannot be broken, not even through loyalty to one of us over another. Making a claim of loyalty practically impossible is my own reluctance to have told the truths of our relationship during the time we were together and after. Even now I write my stories and tell them to an audience I intend to never meet or barely know. I don't necessarily want to tell these stories to people within our inner circle. I have often wondered if this is a form of loyalty to him, or if it is a way to avoid all the questions, or if it is a way to protect those I love from having to make a choice that I have come to realize I can't expect them to make.
What my ex-partner did to me was just that, he did it to me. This doesn't make it right and this doesn't negate the pain I had felt and still sometimes suffer. This doesn't relieve him of his responsibility to what happened during our relationship. I want to avoid the stereotyping and the question: What part did I play in the tumultuous relationship? Those who know about some of the facts and who are close to me have asked me, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, to consider my actions and responsibility in the relationship. Did I ever engage in the violence, in the screaming? Of course I did. Not many people will let someone take blow after blow - whether physical, emotional, mental or verbal, without some type of protection for themselves. But, for a while, I was definitely the weaker player of the two of us, the one who suffered the most, and I know he would admit that as well. I regained strength when I left him.
The problem now is my inability to author my own story the way I'd like to see it written. He is a presence I can be surrounded by at any moment. For the past year since his return I have been fatigued trying to find a way to reconcile and deal with his presence. I do not want to be around him, but often that would mean denying myself of attending a friend's party. I do not want to engage with him, and on all but one occasion have been able to succeed in that. I am frustrated that he is a character in so many other peoples' stories, stories that intertwine with mine.
My therapist tells me not to let him control my behavior. I try not to. I have finally (I think) moved beyond hatred towards him, I am too strong for forgiveness, and I won't ever forget. I have moved into a place where I wish I just never met him at all. I wish we were strangers. I have decided that is how I will treat situations in which we are both a part of. There are many times you go to a party and don't know everybody there. I don't have to know him. I won't know him. How do I do this while also writing my story? While knowing in some ways I am still very much engaged with him, likely without his knowing?
There are constant reminders too. Not just with our friends, but even in popular media. I remember the first time over this past summer I heard Rhianna and Eminem's Love the Way You Lie. I was driving home after a drink and some confessionals to my sister. I had opened up to her about some things I experienced in that volatile relationship and couldn't believe my ears. As the lyrics penetrated my mind, I saw clips of our relationship. In the days that followed I wished there were a way I could contact Rhianna or Eminem and tell them how I thought the video should be created. I knew the experience so well. Then, a few weeks later, I was paralyzed when I watched the music video. It felt like the director entered my brain and took out all my experiences and put them out there for millions of people to see. I felt comforted knowing that whoever made this video got it right, and knew enough about relationship violence to portray it so accurately.
As the summer passed and the leaves started to change, I began to feel less victimized. I had never dealt with or even acknowledged this relationship, and seemed to be going through all the emotions I felt I should have experienced when I first left him. But, I had tucked them deep inside, preoccupied with the love of my life and not ready - or willing - to give my ex any more of my time or energy. I moved from feeling victimized to feeling victorious for getting out, but I also felt very angry and discouraged. Then I heard Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts. I wondered how another artist could publish something that felt so familiar. Despite the fact that I never loved him the most as the singer proclaims in her song, the lyrics that go along with that idea, "You lost the love I loved the most," means more to be about the nature of love. I loved love. I thought I could give him my love, but he lost it. I lost my ability to love him unconditionally, therefore he lost the love I loved the most, unconditional love. She has lyrically put down what I am experiencing. I have learned he is asking about me, trying to dig and find a way to get into my head.
The second half of the song is so powerful to me. It's the way I feel now. I wish we never met, I wish I didn't have to write this story, I wish I knew the end. But, as autoethnogrpahy and narrative theory would predict, we live within the stories we tell and living and telling are a cyclical relationship. I don't know that I will ever find an end to my story, I will have to learn to live with this new stranger in my life. It's all part of living in this smokey glass, I suppose.
I have been writing an autoethnography, something I hope to one day turn into an actual memoir to help others who were in volatile relationships. I don't believe my story is that different of others who have succumb to the violence that can erupt between two people, yet we all have our own pasts, presents, and futures that frame our stories. I may have experienced some of the same things as someone else, yet they are unique to me. I am also told that I am in a unique situation because my ex-partner has resurfaced within the past year. For five years he has been gone, completely and easily written out of my story, without any effort on my part. Then, last year, when I decided to begin physically writing this story, he returned with his wife and child. We have mutual friends, friendships that cannot be broken, not even through loyalty to one of us over another. Making a claim of loyalty practically impossible is my own reluctance to have told the truths of our relationship during the time we were together and after. Even now I write my stories and tell them to an audience I intend to never meet or barely know. I don't necessarily want to tell these stories to people within our inner circle. I have often wondered if this is a form of loyalty to him, or if it is a way to avoid all the questions, or if it is a way to protect those I love from having to make a choice that I have come to realize I can't expect them to make.
What my ex-partner did to me was just that, he did it to me. This doesn't make it right and this doesn't negate the pain I had felt and still sometimes suffer. This doesn't relieve him of his responsibility to what happened during our relationship. I want to avoid the stereotyping and the question: What part did I play in the tumultuous relationship? Those who know about some of the facts and who are close to me have asked me, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, to consider my actions and responsibility in the relationship. Did I ever engage in the violence, in the screaming? Of course I did. Not many people will let someone take blow after blow - whether physical, emotional, mental or verbal, without some type of protection for themselves. But, for a while, I was definitely the weaker player of the two of us, the one who suffered the most, and I know he would admit that as well. I regained strength when I left him.
The problem now is my inability to author my own story the way I'd like to see it written. He is a presence I can be surrounded by at any moment. For the past year since his return I have been fatigued trying to find a way to reconcile and deal with his presence. I do not want to be around him, but often that would mean denying myself of attending a friend's party. I do not want to engage with him, and on all but one occasion have been able to succeed in that. I am frustrated that he is a character in so many other peoples' stories, stories that intertwine with mine.
My therapist tells me not to let him control my behavior. I try not to. I have finally (I think) moved beyond hatred towards him, I am too strong for forgiveness, and I won't ever forget. I have moved into a place where I wish I just never met him at all. I wish we were strangers. I have decided that is how I will treat situations in which we are both a part of. There are many times you go to a party and don't know everybody there. I don't have to know him. I won't know him. How do I do this while also writing my story? While knowing in some ways I am still very much engaged with him, likely without his knowing?
There are constant reminders too. Not just with our friends, but even in popular media. I remember the first time over this past summer I heard Rhianna and Eminem's Love the Way You Lie. I was driving home after a drink and some confessionals to my sister. I had opened up to her about some things I experienced in that volatile relationship and couldn't believe my ears. As the lyrics penetrated my mind, I saw clips of our relationship. In the days that followed I wished there were a way I could contact Rhianna or Eminem and tell them how I thought the video should be created. I knew the experience so well. Then, a few weeks later, I was paralyzed when I watched the music video. It felt like the director entered my brain and took out all my experiences and put them out there for millions of people to see. I felt comforted knowing that whoever made this video got it right, and knew enough about relationship violence to portray it so accurately.
As the summer passed and the leaves started to change, I began to feel less victimized. I had never dealt with or even acknowledged this relationship, and seemed to be going through all the emotions I felt I should have experienced when I first left him. But, I had tucked them deep inside, preoccupied with the love of my life and not ready - or willing - to give my ex any more of my time or energy. I moved from feeling victimized to feeling victorious for getting out, but I also felt very angry and discouraged. Then I heard Christina Perri's Jar of Hearts. I wondered how another artist could publish something that felt so familiar. Despite the fact that I never loved him the most as the singer proclaims in her song, the lyrics that go along with that idea, "You lost the love I loved the most," means more to be about the nature of love. I loved love. I thought I could give him my love, but he lost it. I lost my ability to love him unconditionally, therefore he lost the love I loved the most, unconditional love. She has lyrically put down what I am experiencing. I have learned he is asking about me, trying to dig and find a way to get into my head.
The second half of the song is so powerful to me. It's the way I feel now. I wish we never met, I wish I didn't have to write this story, I wish I knew the end. But, as autoethnogrpahy and narrative theory would predict, we live within the stories we tell and living and telling are a cyclical relationship. I don't know that I will ever find an end to my story, I will have to learn to live with this new stranger in my life. It's all part of living in this smokey glass, I suppose.
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