The lotus is born amid mess and muck. I try to remember that when stirring up the still waters of the past. The muddy murkiness that results often gets me into trouble for making such a mess, but sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Or some bullshit we tell ourselves to make sense of the hurtful.
Lately I’ve been analyzing things, questions that have arisen over decades of patterns that I’ve only recently seen with a keener sense of such long-range arcs.
Why have I always felt so uncomfortable around my family?
Why have I always sought out mother figures?
Why did my most consistent drinking happen during family events?
Why does the both-sides framing of things trigger me so much?
Why does injustice feel so personal?
I’m beginning to detect answers as I look over my family history, and see the ways in which we have established, confirmed and exacerbated dysfunctional patterns. I’ve seen where the problem child gets the help and aid, and felt the cool shadow of neglect for doing what is right and expected. I’ve returned rebellious behavior thinking it will turn things in other ways. I’ve brought things up to burn them down and only ever gotten hurt in the telling of truths.
After some extensive talking in therapy, I see that perhaps stepping back a bit is best for my own self-preservation, and when I look over the past I see that all my behavior has been done with an instinct for survival. Whenever there have been moments of confusion, when things didn’t make sense or felt off, I usually attributed it to me, rather than the systems in place that may have resulted in my predicaments. My default was self-blame, reinforced by guilt and generations of family tradition. Maybe we all fell into those patterns, and took up those roles because they were all we knew. I don’t ever believe anything was intentionally malicious; that doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve been the one consistently hurt, over and over and over again.
Untangling decades of such confusion isn’t going to happen overnight. It’s also likely to be a one-man-show, as this hasn’t seemed to bother anyone else. Another sign of confirmation, as the only journey over which I have any sense of control is my own.
