I've been working with a life coach for about six months now. It's a lot like therapy, but rather than just bitching, we actually try to change things. Of course, in the midst of trying to make things better, you have to dig through your personal garbage and address what is not working. If you've been to a therapist (and if you're reading this blog, I'm gonna assume that you have (and if not, you should probably go)), you know it's exhausting. Lots of tears, stops and starts, shame spirals...you name it. Parts of it are dark. Super ugly, shameful... nasty dark.
The upside to discovering these dark parts -- that you much, much (much!) rather keep hidden away -- is that you realize what motivates your actions (rather than pondering, "why the hell would I do that?" ...which I do...particularly when alcohol is involved). In fact, the "dark digging" has literally taken on a persona of its own -- and it struck a cord with me because I have so desperately tried to disassociate with this title... (wait for it)... the White Trash Orphan.
As a grown-up, all I have tried to cultivate in my world involves sophistication. Some days I'm successful. ...some days I'm not (lazy enough to go to leave the house in overalls -- or even better, socks and flip-flops -- equals "not"... those are the days I pray Stacy and Clinton don't catch me). But the "white trash" struck a deep, deep cord because it is definitely something I pretend I don't identify with -- and try to run from at all costs. ...but it's there ... it's soooo there. My mother's family is from Mississippi (yup) and my father is from Toledo -- so out of the gate, I definitely relate to white-trash. In my baby-book, I learned that my first birthday was spent going to car races with someone named Emma Mae (and she's not even on the Mississippi side). I've always run from this persona. Even as a child I would explain that I was not actually from Indiana, but rather was born in Chicago. But when I left for DC and a prestigious political internship, my roots and lack of sophistication were obvious. I felt nothing but inadequate. My JC Penney's wardrobe and my humble ignorance about politics, big cities, and summers in the Hamptons, did not a sophisticated grown-up make.
I don't understand why we do this, but like most people, I have always looked at my own inadequacies rather than my strengths. (Why do we do this? As Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman, "it's easier to believe the bad stuff.") I realized in the recent self-discovery process that I have a desperate, fearful, shameful persona inside of me that forever fears she is not enough (which maybe I should have explored a little more last summer during my divorce, but hell -- I'm a little slow on the uptake). Then again...the other side of me -- the side I've tried to cultivate -- loves the theatre (I even majored in theatre), is drawn to uppity New Englanders (how I do enjoy the phrase, "We're staying with my husband's family in Brookline," or, better yet -- "at my boss's home on the Cape") and grew up to be a Democrat despite being raised in Dan Qualye's Congressional District. (This is a large part of why I believe in past lives...I mean, seriously... how would I beat those odds otherwise?)
I've forever felt like these pieces of me do not go together -- I sure as hell don't want them to go together. I run -- flee, sprint -- from the fact that they do, in fact, go together and are able to exist in one person. But I've realized, too, that one drives the other --who do you think clawed her way into that prestigious political internship and sent me to law school? Not the uppity New Englander. Yup...the insecure, white-trash girl desperately trying to prove that she could be so much more.
None of us are one-dimensional. (...actually, let me take that back, because I'm in Southern California.) I'm not one dimensional. I can be a saint one day and a mean, mean selfish bitch the next. Do I like that dark, bad side? No. I hate her. She's gotten me in a lot of trouble and cost me much. But what I have learned is that one aspect of myself cannot exist without an opposite. Where there's light there is dark. Where there's good there is evil. Where there is fear there is hope. And where there is an insecure, ashamed white trash hick from rural Indiana, there is a uppity, controlling New England ice queen waiting in the wings. ...hopefully, most days...I meet somewhere in the middle.
I'm human. I'm three dimensional. And I'm learning that in order to love myself, I have to love all of me -- failures, flaws, inadequacies, shame-spirals, alcoholic rampages -- the bad stuff, too. Belief me, it's a tall order. Some days I think I might fail at this task. But I know deep down that the cliche is true -- you've got to love the one you're with. And for me... well, I'm not goin' anywhere.
The upside to discovering these dark parts -- that you much, much (much!) rather keep hidden away -- is that you realize what motivates your actions (rather than pondering, "why the hell would I do that?" ...which I do...particularly when alcohol is involved). In fact, the "dark digging" has literally taken on a persona of its own -- and it struck a cord with me because I have so desperately tried to disassociate with this title... (wait for it)... the White Trash Orphan.
As a grown-up, all I have tried to cultivate in my world involves sophistication. Some days I'm successful. ...some days I'm not (lazy enough to go to leave the house in overalls -- or even better, socks and flip-flops -- equals "not"... those are the days I pray Stacy and Clinton don't catch me). But the "white trash" struck a deep, deep cord because it is definitely something I pretend I don't identify with -- and try to run from at all costs. ...but it's there ... it's soooo there. My mother's family is from Mississippi (yup) and my father is from Toledo -- so out of the gate, I definitely relate to white-trash. In my baby-book, I learned that my first birthday was spent going to car races with someone named Emma Mae (and she's not even on the Mississippi side). I've always run from this persona. Even as a child I would explain that I was not actually from Indiana, but rather was born in Chicago. But when I left for DC and a prestigious political internship, my roots and lack of sophistication were obvious. I felt nothing but inadequate. My JC Penney's wardrobe and my humble ignorance about politics, big cities, and summers in the Hamptons, did not a sophisticated grown-up make.
I don't understand why we do this, but like most people, I have always looked at my own inadequacies rather than my strengths. (Why do we do this? As Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman, "it's easier to believe the bad stuff.") I realized in the recent self-discovery process that I have a desperate, fearful, shameful persona inside of me that forever fears she is not enough (which maybe I should have explored a little more last summer during my divorce, but hell -- I'm a little slow on the uptake). Then again...the other side of me -- the side I've tried to cultivate -- loves the theatre (I even majored in theatre), is drawn to uppity New Englanders (how I do enjoy the phrase, "We're staying with my husband's family in Brookline," or, better yet -- "at my boss's home on the Cape") and grew up to be a Democrat despite being raised in Dan Qualye's Congressional District. (This is a large part of why I believe in past lives...I mean, seriously... how would I beat those odds otherwise?)
I've forever felt like these pieces of me do not go together -- I sure as hell don't want them to go together. I run -- flee, sprint -- from the fact that they do, in fact, go together and are able to exist in one person. But I've realized, too, that one drives the other --who do you think clawed her way into that prestigious political internship and sent me to law school? Not the uppity New Englander. Yup...the insecure, white-trash girl desperately trying to prove that she could be so much more.
None of us are one-dimensional. (...actually, let me take that back, because I'm in Southern California.) I'm not one dimensional. I can be a saint one day and a mean, mean selfish bitch the next. Do I like that dark, bad side? No. I hate her. She's gotten me in a lot of trouble and cost me much. But what I have learned is that one aspect of myself cannot exist without an opposite. Where there's light there is dark. Where there's good there is evil. Where there is fear there is hope. And where there is an insecure, ashamed white trash hick from rural Indiana, there is a uppity, controlling New England ice queen waiting in the wings. ...hopefully, most days...I meet somewhere in the middle.
I'm human. I'm three dimensional. And I'm learning that in order to love myself, I have to love all of me -- failures, flaws, inadequacies, shame-spirals, alcoholic rampages -- the bad stuff, too. Belief me, it's a tall order. Some days I think I might fail at this task. But I know deep down that the cliche is true -- you've got to love the one you're with. And for me... well, I'm not goin' anywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment