My First Memory

I have a bizarrely good memory. I'm not sure why, I just do. Not quite photographic, but I can remember a lot of incidents from when I was very, very young. Which is something I've always liked, most of my early memories are happy so i enjoy reliving them. My family was much more "normal" when i was little. I was loved, treasured, enjoyed, and encouraged to be myself. My family was not without problems, my parents fought a lot, my Dad was a partier and heavy drinker, and my Mom was very unhappy in their marriage, but like most small children, I was completely oblivious to all that, I was the center of my own little world. 

I've heard a theory that memory is tied to language, and that makes sense because I was also an early talker. My parents tell me that before I turned two I was talking in full sentences, and loved to tell people that my Mom and I were going to take a trip "to Sausalito to see Grandma Petrivoski*" 

And it was actually a small part of that very trip that I remember.

The airport was huge, the tiled floors seemed to stretch forever in every direction. The floor was mostly whitish, but there were black squares here and there, so I was jumping from black square to black square. Mom was with me, but she seemed kind of distracted. Finally we reached a counter that seemed as tall as a cliff. Mom talked to another grown up up there, while I looked around at all the people and the tall, tall glass windows. Finally, a pretty lady in a blue uniform came around the counter and crouched down to my level. She said I was really cute. Then she gave me a present! It was a little white vinyl pencil box, with a symbol of the airline on top. It had a funny clasp that you could twist, then pull it through a slot, to open the lid. I thought that box was the most fascinating thing ever. I say there in the waiting area for a long time, twisting and untwisting the clasp, opening and closing the lid, putting things in, and taking them out. 

And that's all I remember. I don't remember anything at all about the actual visit, although I have some treasured photos of little me and my Grandma together. Maybe the reason I remember that so well is because I kept that pencil box for years. I even used it for my pencils in first grade. I have no idea what eventually became of it. Most likely it fell apart and was thrown away. But I will never forget that nice airline employee and her kindness to a little child. 

I turned two on that trip, while visiting my grandparents. To this day, I will look at little toddlers and shake my head in amazement that I can remember being so small. But it also reminds me to always be kind to little children. You never know whose first memory you may be a part of! I want to do my part to make sure to give kids good memories! 

*name changed to protect my anonymity. But the real name was just as long and complicated to say, lol! 

A Conversation With My Inner Child

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bClMK5rNBSc&list=PL33340B61AAE91ED3&feature=c4-overview-vl&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbClMK5rNBSc%26feature%3Dc4-overview-vl%26list%3DPL33340B61AAE91ED3

I just watched this video and the first part as well (this is part 2) and its really excellent. I think I have a lot of work to do with my inner child. I am very visual, so I was able to see clearly. John, the guy in the above video, said to picture your child walking toward you. Immediately I was in a cool, mossy forest. I have always loved forests and felt most at peace there. I saw a little girl, about nine years old, slim and petite and a little elfin looking, with shoulder-length light brown hair and big hazel eyes. She was walking through the forest as I used to love to do... Leaving the path frequently to climb trees or balance as she walked on logs, pausing to check out mossy hollow trees and other interesting things. Eventually she reached my adult self, and she pulled out a picture to show me, a snapshot of a traumatic or hurtful event. At first I wasn't sure which event to choose for this, but eventually settled on one during my last year of school before my parents started homeschooling me, which was fourth grade, when I was nine. It was the first time I had a severe hypoglycemic episode. The child me and the adult me stepped into the photo and started reliving the memory.   

I started feeling sick and weak on the playground during noon recess, so I walked all alone, all the way to the school office. None of my friends took me seriously or would go with me, no adults noticed, no one seemed to care. I felt sicker and sicker, in kind of a daze, and the office seemed to be so far away. When I finally got there, I don't remember what I said, because I fainted. When I came to, everything was confusion, teachers and office people were fluttering around all worried. My mother was there, I think she was holding me, but her focus was not on me other than to try to get me to eat an apple (I was so weak and nauseous still I didn't feel like eating anything) but mostly she was trying to explain to the other adults that I must have hypoglycemia, like she herself had, and that this was just a low blood sugar episode, nothing too serious, but she would be taking me to a doctor... Etc. I felt invisible. No one really talked to me or addressed my feelings or how terrifying the whole episode had been to me. I don't remember if I went home with her and skipped the rest of the day of school, or if I just rested in the office and ate and then went back to the playground. But I remember the very next time I saw my two closest friends, either that same day or the next day, they looked at me with suspicion and disgust in their eyes. It was obvious they had been talking about me behind my back, because they said "We think you were faking being sick, just to get attention". I remember feeling so shocked, hurt, betrayed... I was staggered that my closest friends would think that of me. I think I cried and said that wasn't true, that I really had been sick with hypoglycemia (which probably sounded like a made-up word to them) and my Mom was taking me to a doctor and all. They finally, grudgingly, said ok, they believed me and they were sorry. But I could see in their eyes that they were still suspicious. 

I think this incident is at the root of my deep sense of shame about my health problems, plus the idea I've always had that everyone around me thinks I fake my symptoms. Especially as more and more health problems cropped up and i was diagnosed with reactive hypoglycemia, asthma, multiple food and environmental allergies, and epilepsy. It didn't help that in several incidents in later years, my parents did accuse me of faking or exaggerating my symptoms because I was "lazy, and just trying to get out of work". But I've always felt ashamed of being sick, and also like I am all alone. Like no one else really cares how I feel. No one was there to comfort me when I was nine and had this terrifying situation, I was alone in the fear and sickness.

After reliving that memory with my inner child, who I have nicknamed Baby Bird, my adult self stepped into the memory to comfort her. I picked her up and held her in my arms and validated her feelings, saying it was very scary what happened, and letting her cry about it. I told her it was ok, it was ok to have health problems, lots of people do, and that she would grow up strong and healthy in spite of having some health challenges. I told her it was wrong for her friends to act that way, that they should have trusted her and been kind and understanding and supportive. I held her and hugged her and told her that I loved her and would always be there for her and believe in her, no matter what, that I was her Fairy Godmother and loved her and would take care of her. 

This felt really amazing and healing, and that painful memory has a little less bite to it now. :-) 

Voices in my Head

An acquaintance once told me that everyone hears voices. But only crazy people believe everything the voices say. We all have voices from people in our pasts, telling us things... Some good, encouraging, supportive. Other voices are derisive, dismissive, and tear us down. For most of us, for better or for worse, our parents' voices are among the loudest in our heads. 

I am getting better, with practice, at ignoring those voices. But they are still there. And the messages they tell me conflict, and add to my sense of confusion. They tell me, when I am sick (which is often, with my chronic health issues. I have adrenal insufficiency and Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, which cause fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue) that I am faking or exaggerating my symptoms and I need to stop being so lazy and learn to use my time wisely. Even though I am married with no kids and only work very part time, due to the health problems... So many days, it really doesn't matter if I do anything or not. But I still hear those voices saying I'm lazy if I don't work all the time. I ignore them most of the time, but I still hear them. I hear my Mom criticizing me for wasting money and "no wonder you are sick" whenever I cook anything that's not from scratch. No matter if its carefully chosen to be organic and free of chemicals, and I'm so tired that if I had to cook from scratch I just wouldn't eat. 

Don't get me wrong, the voices aren't all bad. Sometimes I bust into giggles because I know exactly what funny one-liner my Dad would say in response to something that happened, or something someone said. 

But for the most part, they are critical and depressing, a heavy burden to bear. An excellent book I am reading, "Trapped in the Mirror, Adult Children of Narcissists in  Their Struggle For Self" by Élan Golemb, Ph.D., called these voices a "negative parental interject". And pretty much the only way to heal seems to be to learn to talk back to that internal parent, to "rebel" in a way. Sometimes I do that. Other times I just roll my eyes and ignore the voices. Which is also a form of rebellion I guess.