Shit. Fuck. Poop. Piss.
I'm really happy about noticing the shift in my writing since being here. I've written about 35,000+ Β words so far, which seems like a lot. But whatever it takes, is good with me, to find a more authentic voice of mine. For who I am now.
One thing that is obvious is that I use so-called swear words some. I have used them most of my life in private conversations, but, always avoided them in public writing and public talks, conversations. I do respect my audiences and there are times when fuck or goddam is not energetically appropriate. I am aware of and LOVE the power of words β that power is often over-looked. At the same time, there is me. And who I am. This writing, here and now, is for me. I don't imagine anyone is even reading it. But if you are, you've opted in - no one hired me to be here and make people feel good or educated about anything.
I have struggled a lot growing up with the pressure to be the daughter my parents wanted and expected and created. I incorporated so much of their intentions into my being. I've written many times before about my extreme codependency, my desire to please and be of use and to not make waves. These habits really reinforced the parent protocols. So much so, that a lot of it became unconsciously embedded in my psyche, in my actions, in my thoughts.
I suppose this is a similar process for many growing, For me, though, I believe the parent protocols were especially intense. As were my desires and my own goals. As is my current desire to be free of their influence without rejecting the parts I like. So that's meant I've been involved in this 40+ year process of turning over every stone in my path, to ask: Is this me or is this someone else's version of me? To be honest, my ease at incorporating the parent protocols led me to adopt all kinds of other people's protocols.
it was my default: What do you want and how do you want it? I aim to please! Much of this led me to be a well-loved consultant. Funny, though, how it suffered from the law of diminishing returns in personal relationships. This is the codependent's dilemma: you spend so much energy making others' happy that when you can't do that or choose not to do it now and then or expect reciprocity, well, the shit hits the fan. And it sprays all over. The codependent will often do the cleanup. But these bags of poop ferment into foul resentments.
So now I swear in public. It's part of who I am. I love the word fuck and being a body-aware and body-positive person, I'm not offended by the things the body does or the things it produces.
:-)
Shit. Fuck. Poop. Piss.
Where does goddammit fit into this lexicon? It's not body-related on the surface. My first response is that religion failed me and is a construct I don't buy into. I was raised Catholic. Though imagine this: my mom was Catholic and my father was not. I did got to Catholic schools through 9th grade. They taught religiously that non-Catholics would not go to Heaven. At best, they might make it to Limbo.
"So, umm, that includes my father?" I don't recall ever asking that question. I do recall having my knuckles rapped by a yard stick plenty of times. I repressed then finally recalled the years my father molested me. So, maybe he doesn't belong in this place called Heaven. Of course, now, I don't believe in Heaven and Hell, but they sure were powerful ideas that circled my head continuously, in place of a halo, as I was a child in Catholic school.
I suppose it's good news that I repressed so much. From this current perspective, knowing what I know about my fear of authority, desire to please, avoidance of wave-making, how could I possibly have done anything but forget the night time abuse in time to go to school each morning. I actually consider it an amazing skill Now to move my attention onto things that matter. I'm proud of having really developed my Ignoring Muscle, so I can preserve my energy, my sanity, my life force.
So here's my transitional take: nothing is bad or good. It's all about the energy, it's about context. It's about here and now. It's about self-preservation and doing whatever it takes, for that. I've never thought it was bad for me to hide the incest, to erase my unpleasant memories, to highlight and emphasize my happy memories. My co-dependence and people-pleasing gave me something concrete to focus on so my brain didn't have room to think about the horrors. Oh, the horrors. Closets are quite useful in this context and I'm glad I didn't have to deal with them as a young girl. I've been much better suited to deal with it as an adult.
To those who complain about adulting, I say this: Adulting for me has been a serious of painful yet liberating experiences that have resulted in more joy than I thought was possible. I don't want to go back to childhood.
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