I love this time of year; hanging with the kiddos, seeing generosity and random kindness on the street, dwelling on gratitude, the overall wind-down of yet another year and the reflection and memories that come with that, and the anticipation of a bright, shiny new one. Man, those are the things I live for.
But I am beginning to be oh-so-tired of some of the parts of this season.
Holidays are celebrations, to me, ceremonies to mark the passage of another chunk of this great big ball of life. This hasn't been the best year in the casa de Vanci, on the surface. We've had lots of sickness, lots of issues to deal with, lots of pain (both the good, growing kind and the bad, I can't fix this kind.) We've also had some goodness, sure, but a lot of the goodness that's come our way has been of the silver lining variety, so it's been bittersweet. That's okay, it's all just part of being messy human beans, and I like that about us; we don't have to pretend to be anything other than we are.
I learned long ago to take the sweet however it comes and to make it my own. I grew up in a world where there was never a good feeling without strings attached, there was never even a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down, there was very little kindness or compassion and what limited amount there was certainly wasn't freely given to me. In fact, I provided a lot of that care for others, whether I wanted to or it was taken from me.
It's hard for me to find balance between my natural inclination to reach out to those around me and show them that they matter to me and my overwhelming desire to isolate and insulate myself from the world at large. I'm not depressed and I'm not afraid of people, but I'm starting to become... well, disgusted is the word for it, with the people around me and their bastardization of this lovely season.
I cannot count how many times I have been asked this week, "Are you ready for Christmas?"
I respond the same way every time, "Sure I am. Why can't it be tomorrow?" And I smile.
And I'm stared at because this has become a weird answer to that question in a society that values price-tags over time spent.
The PC and correct answer to the question above, of course, is to launch into a monologue about how many gifts I have left to purchase, and to bitch about how expensive everything is. I hear this exchange all day long. And I don't get it.
As a group my co-workers and I decided that we wanted to do something for our boss. There was an email chain circulating for quite a while with suggestions for this single, well-off, fifty year old woman who happens to be intensely private with her personal life. A wine basket? A cheese basket? A chocolate basket?
Really? Why not just collect the money, shred it up into confetti and give her that? What's she going to do with yet another basket of crap? She can afford her own wine, cheese and chocolate, trust me folks.
So I suggested that we make a charitable donation in her name.
Which was like the frickin' shot heard round the world for a couple of minutes there. Dead stop. Then everybody chimed in about what a great thing that would be.
Like it was a new idea, like no one had ever (gasp) done it that way before, like such a thing was unheard of. So that's what we did and she was touched to tears by it. It mattered to her that we had found a charity we knew she would support, and that we'd thought to do something for her and for others.
It's not lost on me that my focus on gifts that matter is born, at least partly, of my upbringing as an ACoN. N's in general suck at gifts, and Nparents tend to use gift-giving as yet another weapon against their children, golden and scapegoat alike. They use gifts like they use everything, to their benefit. Growing up, the quantity and quality of gifts given to one child or another was in direct proportion to that child's conformity to their allotted role in my house. When I was a good little scapegoat, a quietly acquiescent of the abuse victim, I got nicer things, or at least larger piles of middle of the road things. When I began to speak out, stand up, make waves, the piles of things got smaller and the gifts I received became things that Nsis wanted or that GCYB had asked for - except that I'd get the generic brand or the size too small. On one notable occasion, ENF gave me a giant box of his used pots and pans (dusty and wrapped in newspaper,) as my only Christmas gift. This was at the last Christmas we spent with them, and was after I'd started making too much noise about what needed to change in the Clan. Point taken. At some point during a lifetime of this type of abuse, gifts stopped mattering much to me, no wonder.
And they don't count for much now, except that the gifts I receive now from the real people in my real life of a loving family of choice are often things that show how much I mean to the people around me. DH and the DD's always get me things like sweatpants and soft blankets and warm socks and slippers. On the surface that might not seem like much, but it's incredibly thoughtful as I am always cold. (Right now it's snowing. Again. Nineteen inches accumulated in twenty-four hours. TW, come take your weather back!) My BIL and SIL always get me something that speaks to me; a book, a magazine subscription that supports one of my hobbies, etc. They are gifts that say, Vanci we know you and we think you'll like this!
I try to do the same for all the people in my life, too. I spend time thinking about them and what I know of them and trying to envision what will make them feel just a little more special or let them know that I see them, hear them, support them, love them for their very own skin and everything it holds in. That's what makes the gifts matter to me, not the price tag or the trend du jour or what the Jones's have. That's what takes the crassness out of the commercialization of the generous season, I guess.
So that's what I keep coming back to, what are the gifts that matter?
For me, the greatest gift I've ever been given was the support of the people around me as I've extricated myself from the Crazymaker Clan and stayed out. They don't really get it, most of them, what it's like to live through that and to get away from that, but they don't have to. They just love and support me anyway, even when they don't understand.
And the greatest gift I've given myself? The peace of No Contact, of course, and permission to enjoy it.
So am I ready for Christmas number six without the Narcs and Minions?
Oh yessirree Bob. Let's move it up to tomorrow.
Love,
Vanci
Showing posts with label gift giving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gift giving. Show all posts
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Making Life More Fair
The majority of my day to day life is full of contentment; there's peace and safety, joy and humor, satisfaction in jobs well done, lots of learning and growing. It's all good, most of the time, and when it's not, I've gotten very good at reminding myself that the dark clouds on my internal horizon are fleeting and infrequent. And I've been given a built in sort of barometer to measure my attitude against - I happen to work in a place that is filled with some largely, well, unhappy people.
They tend to complain a lot. I'm overgeneralizing, I know, and lumping a whole melting pot of personalities together under the umbrella of 'they,' but I'm talking about the vague sense of unrest, melancholy and joylessness that runs through the place as an undercurrent, so I feel okay about the blanket approach.
Every time I walk into the breakroom that all the departments in the building share, if there is another soul in the room, it seems that there is a gripe that needs to be aired. Today there was carrot cake and angel food cake in celebration of one of our co-worker's birthday. I walked into the room and commented on how nice the cakes looked. There were two ladies sitting at the table eating cake. One complained that there wasn't any chocolate cake. The other complained that the cakes were ruining her diet.
I thought, but did not say, "Oh shut up! There's cake! Free cake! Two choices of cake!" There is a part of me that reacts strongly, almost viscerally, to what I perceive as ungratefullness on the part of others. I think this can be directly linked to the unfairness that I was shown from an early age by NM and EF and later in life by OS and YB too. It's something that's difficult for me to talk about, though, because I was also taught early on that I am not allowed to notice or comment on the unfairness - my FOO firmly believed that lack of acknowledgement of a practice, behavior or thing has the magical ability to - poof! - make the unwanted thing just go away.
I was taught that I could not acknowledge the unfairness my parents excercised in how they treated their children, and that if I did need to point out the unfairness, well, that just meant that I was a whiner. There was something wrong with me, don'tcha know... Didn't I understand how hard they were trying to support me? Didn't I know that I was not an easy child to raise? Didn't I realize that it was easier for me to take care of myself than it was for OS or YB, as I was so capable? Really, they wanted me to believe, they were just leveling the playing field for me.
Here's how it worked ~ school was easy for me, they said, becuase I'd always seemingly effortlessly acheived A's in all my classes. Yes, all my classes, forever, at least until the 10th grade. I skipped the 8th grade entirely, just went from 7th to 9th, and still carried A's. It was more difficult for OS and YB, my parents explained, so really what they were paying compliments to OS and YB for on those report cards with A's and B's and C's was effort. Which, of course implied that my A's came with no effort, and therefore I deserved no or less praise for my accomplishments. I was minimized, as were my, ahem, efforts.
That's just one example of the way the game was played. I swallowed it for years without complaint, largely because I didn't want to appear to be ungrateful. I was trained to be grateful for scraps from the metaphorical table of love and affection, all while watching the golden children be fed a feast.
The saddest part to me is how well ingrained this minimization and de-humanizing became. Right as the planet was cracking four years ago, we had our final Christmas with the FOO. It was a typical one - NM and EF 'hosted' the festivites which worked out well for OS and YB as they (mid-30's and late 20's respectively) lived at the family home, too. So, true to scapegoat form, I was the only family member who lived outside the clan bubble. I packed up my DH and daughters... and the gifts... and the food... and the games and everything else Christmas-related and we hauled the 15 miles out to the clan compound.
I cooked a lot of the meal and helped to clean it up - again, this was an expectation fulfilled rather than a gift of service on my part. The time came to open presents and everyone sat in a circle with their 'pile.' OS and YB and even OS's husband had HUGE piles of gifts in front of them; 25-30 each, all but three or four from NM and EF. My DH had about eight gifts in front of him. I had one very large box.
I'd asked for pots and pans. I normally hesitate to specify what kind of gift I would like - I'm not sure if this is due to my inner knowledge that 'they' wouldn't get me something I really wanted anyway or if it's because I was conditioned so early on and so consistently with the idea that it was my role to be grateful for whatever I received, even if it was only scraps. But I was starting to grow and change before that last Christmas, and I was becoming stronger and clearer. So, when I'd been asked what I would like for Christmas, I responded in a relatively normal way. I asked for pots and pans. Simple enough, right?
I noticed the gift count, but I thought, "Well, I'm sure that my gift was just more expensive than all the smaller gifts OS and YB have. Maybe they just packed a bunch of gifts into one big box."
When I opened the large box, it was full of pots and pans, alright. Dusty, used pots and pans wrapped in newspaper. EF explained that he 'just couldn't find any nice pans' that I would like, so he'd decided to take a bunch of his used pots and pans and give them to me instead. Some of the pans still had little flecks of crusted-on food in them.
I swallowed the hurt and the pain and the shame and the absolute heart-break of the validation that I was, in fact, less important to my parents than my siblings and I said thank you. It took awhile for OS and YB to make their way through their piles of gifts, so I watched and smiled and ooh'd and aah'd over what they received. I played my role to perfect dysfunctional pitch, but there was just a smidge of uncomfortable truth breaking through my defensive walls. I was so, so uncomfortable, even if I didn't allow it to show through the outer veneer.
When we, finally, arrived home later that night, DH flipped his lid. He pointed out the unfairness and wanted to know why I hadn't said anything. "I can't believe they break the bank on OS and YB and they give you one crappy box of hand me downs! I can't believe you accept the way they treat you! They treat their dogs better than you; the dogs had more gifts than you!" And then he delivered the kicker, the line that really cracked me open - I can still hear his voice as clear as day; "No one else in the entire WORLD is allowed to treat you like they do! No one!"
And it clicked for me. It was only one tangible example of the scapegoating, the unfairness and the cruelty, but it's one of the first incidents that I was able to see from a slightly removed to normal perspective. It helped me later on as I moved into No Contact with the FOO as a way to remember that I was slighted, that the family was 'out to get me' (and keep me in my place,) and that no matter how they tried to revise history, gaslight me, diminish me or flat out lie, it wasn't true. It's not really paranoia if people are, in fact, out to get you, is it?
I carry a mental picture of that one box; those dusty/used/scratched up pans. I take it out when I need a reminder that gratitude is my choice in life, but there's no rule that says I have to be grateful for being kicked around. I don't have to be grateful for crumbs anymore; I don't need those poisoned scraps.
I'll make my own feast in life, and maybe I'll have a little of that carrot cake in the break room, too.
Love,
Vanci
They tend to complain a lot. I'm overgeneralizing, I know, and lumping a whole melting pot of personalities together under the umbrella of 'they,' but I'm talking about the vague sense of unrest, melancholy and joylessness that runs through the place as an undercurrent, so I feel okay about the blanket approach.
Every time I walk into the breakroom that all the departments in the building share, if there is another soul in the room, it seems that there is a gripe that needs to be aired. Today there was carrot cake and angel food cake in celebration of one of our co-worker's birthday. I walked into the room and commented on how nice the cakes looked. There were two ladies sitting at the table eating cake. One complained that there wasn't any chocolate cake. The other complained that the cakes were ruining her diet.
I thought, but did not say, "Oh shut up! There's cake! Free cake! Two choices of cake!" There is a part of me that reacts strongly, almost viscerally, to what I perceive as ungratefullness on the part of others. I think this can be directly linked to the unfairness that I was shown from an early age by NM and EF and later in life by OS and YB too. It's something that's difficult for me to talk about, though, because I was also taught early on that I am not allowed to notice or comment on the unfairness - my FOO firmly believed that lack of acknowledgement of a practice, behavior or thing has the magical ability to - poof! - make the unwanted thing just go away.
I was taught that I could not acknowledge the unfairness my parents excercised in how they treated their children, and that if I did need to point out the unfairness, well, that just meant that I was a whiner. There was something wrong with me, don'tcha know... Didn't I understand how hard they were trying to support me? Didn't I know that I was not an easy child to raise? Didn't I realize that it was easier for me to take care of myself than it was for OS or YB, as I was so capable? Really, they wanted me to believe, they were just leveling the playing field for me.
Here's how it worked ~ school was easy for me, they said, becuase I'd always seemingly effortlessly acheived A's in all my classes. Yes, all my classes, forever, at least until the 10th grade. I skipped the 8th grade entirely, just went from 7th to 9th, and still carried A's. It was more difficult for OS and YB, my parents explained, so really what they were paying compliments to OS and YB for on those report cards with A's and B's and C's was effort. Which, of course implied that my A's came with no effort, and therefore I deserved no or less praise for my accomplishments. I was minimized, as were my, ahem, efforts.
That's just one example of the way the game was played. I swallowed it for years without complaint, largely because I didn't want to appear to be ungrateful. I was trained to be grateful for scraps from the metaphorical table of love and affection, all while watching the golden children be fed a feast.
The saddest part to me is how well ingrained this minimization and de-humanizing became. Right as the planet was cracking four years ago, we had our final Christmas with the FOO. It was a typical one - NM and EF 'hosted' the festivites which worked out well for OS and YB as they (mid-30's and late 20's respectively) lived at the family home, too. So, true to scapegoat form, I was the only family member who lived outside the clan bubble. I packed up my DH and daughters... and the gifts... and the food... and the games and everything else Christmas-related and we hauled the 15 miles out to the clan compound.
I cooked a lot of the meal and helped to clean it up - again, this was an expectation fulfilled rather than a gift of service on my part. The time came to open presents and everyone sat in a circle with their 'pile.' OS and YB and even OS's husband had HUGE piles of gifts in front of them; 25-30 each, all but three or four from NM and EF. My DH had about eight gifts in front of him. I had one very large box.
I'd asked for pots and pans. I normally hesitate to specify what kind of gift I would like - I'm not sure if this is due to my inner knowledge that 'they' wouldn't get me something I really wanted anyway or if it's because I was conditioned so early on and so consistently with the idea that it was my role to be grateful for whatever I received, even if it was only scraps. But I was starting to grow and change before that last Christmas, and I was becoming stronger and clearer. So, when I'd been asked what I would like for Christmas, I responded in a relatively normal way. I asked for pots and pans. Simple enough, right?
I noticed the gift count, but I thought, "Well, I'm sure that my gift was just more expensive than all the smaller gifts OS and YB have. Maybe they just packed a bunch of gifts into one big box."
When I opened the large box, it was full of pots and pans, alright. Dusty, used pots and pans wrapped in newspaper. EF explained that he 'just couldn't find any nice pans' that I would like, so he'd decided to take a bunch of his used pots and pans and give them to me instead. Some of the pans still had little flecks of crusted-on food in them.
I swallowed the hurt and the pain and the shame and the absolute heart-break of the validation that I was, in fact, less important to my parents than my siblings and I said thank you. It took awhile for OS and YB to make their way through their piles of gifts, so I watched and smiled and ooh'd and aah'd over what they received. I played my role to perfect dysfunctional pitch, but there was just a smidge of uncomfortable truth breaking through my defensive walls. I was so, so uncomfortable, even if I didn't allow it to show through the outer veneer.
When we, finally, arrived home later that night, DH flipped his lid. He pointed out the unfairness and wanted to know why I hadn't said anything. "I can't believe they break the bank on OS and YB and they give you one crappy box of hand me downs! I can't believe you accept the way they treat you! They treat their dogs better than you; the dogs had more gifts than you!" And then he delivered the kicker, the line that really cracked me open - I can still hear his voice as clear as day; "No one else in the entire WORLD is allowed to treat you like they do! No one!"
And it clicked for me. It was only one tangible example of the scapegoating, the unfairness and the cruelty, but it's one of the first incidents that I was able to see from a slightly removed to normal perspective. It helped me later on as I moved into No Contact with the FOO as a way to remember that I was slighted, that the family was 'out to get me' (and keep me in my place,) and that no matter how they tried to revise history, gaslight me, diminish me or flat out lie, it wasn't true. It's not really paranoia if people are, in fact, out to get you, is it?
I carry a mental picture of that one box; those dusty/used/scratched up pans. I take it out when I need a reminder that gratitude is my choice in life, but there's no rule that says I have to be grateful for being kicked around. I don't have to be grateful for crumbs anymore; I don't need those poisoned scraps.
I'll make my own feast in life, and maybe I'll have a little of that carrot cake in the break room, too.
Love,
Vanci
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)