I love this time of year. I love the winds, the walking in the woods, the sight of leaves spiralling down to the ground like the snowflakes that alas must follow. Took Chutney for a walk through out ravine this morning and the beech leaves were floating around in circles, dancing with delight. We really are so fortunate to live where there are four seasons. Chutney loves it, too. His open wallowing in the enjoyment of it all, even the drenching rains, helps me see the good things.
I’ve been having a contemplative time of late. It must be the fall. Or the wind, which I always find thought-provoking. Like my own restless spirit, it pushes past, busily on its way, little looking back to see where it came from, little looking ahead to see where it goes. But, with the help of some thinking and guidance, I’m beginning to see some patterns of my life, some things I want to put right.
I’ve realized that certain relationships have done me lasting harm. That I’ve spent my life thinking I was not worthy to be called a friend, that I had nothing to offer except my hard work and sense of humour and perhaps some other attributes that shall go unnamed here to bring to a relationship. So I ended up in the position of supplicant. In my marriage, which had its good points, I must add, I was last on the totem pole a lot of the time. I ran into a colleague of my ex’s recently who told me he hadn’t realized he was married during the time they worked together. Ouch. We had even had our second child at that time, and I guess the ex didn’t mention that either. Hurtful, that. Perhaps I was embarrassing. Perhaps I was something to be ashamed of. But I don’t think so. Most of the time. Although I do know I have my moments.
I have other “friends” who treat me as a bother, too. They screen my calls, they refuse any suggestion I make for getting together, yet they call me their friend. It hurts like hell. I feel confused, and the sore bits left over from the rare evenings when my ex would curl up on the couch with me watching TV only to stand up and say, “Another evening wasted!” get pounded again.
It’s not that I’m needy. I’m busy with my own life, I have multiple interests, I enjoy solitude as well as company. But approach/avoidance love is too hurtful for me to take now. I’m going to have to stop trying to make contact.
Of course, it’s been eye-opening, realizing this. Like the typical abused person, I’ve passed on my experience to others, doing the “I’m in control” treatment to people who really don’t deserve it. Instead of dealing with things face on, I do the push away treatment. I’ve been just as guilty as my friends. Fortunately, some people have put up with me as I come to terms with the lifelong damage I’ve had from always being not quite good enough. Ever. (Maybe if I’d just grown another 2 inches? Been skinnier? Knew more? Been more polite? Listened better? Ate less chocolate? Dated less?)
I love my gang, I do. I know that some people just have to be in charge of the parameters of the relationship for their own reasons, and I am working to be good with that. It’s part of loving someone to accept their being the way they are. But maybe, like the autumn leaves, I should enjoy just watching them as they blow by on their own course, and not seek to hold their beauty in my hand.