Miswired Circuits/Things That Spark

[Bach]

The specific memory is that I had offered to help my mother clean up after a dinner party.  She sent me into the kitchen to non-specifically "do dishes".  I was quite young, maybe 10 or 11, and I never had any chores at my mother's house so I didn't know much about how to do that.  I guess I was probably afraid to ask my mother for further instruction?  So I must have looked around to see if I could figure out something to do, and seen the dessert cups.  They were round and made of amber glass.  My mother had made flan for dessert for the party in these cups, and I saw that the flan had left a thick sugar residue stuck quite solidly to the bottoms of the cups.  So I decided to clean those.  It was a pretty difficult job and it took me a while.  I thought my mother would be pleased that I had taken care of such a bothersome task.  I don't think I was ever acknowledged directly one way or another, but I remember hearing her complain to my stepfather that I had said I would help and all I had done was wash those glass cups.  I think I heard her say that she thought I would at least load the dishwasher or something.  I don't remember if she specifically said I was useless or something similarly derogatory, but certainly I remember feeling that way.  Maybe I didn't even succeed in getting the sugar residue out of the cups?  I don't know.  But it wasn't my fault that I wanted to do something nice for my mother, and not my fault that she expected me to know what to do without my ever having been guidance. 

[Not Alone]

I wish I could say to young Bach, "Thank you so much for cleaning those cups. You took on the most challenging job with the sugar cooked onto the bottom of those cups. I appreciate you. You are kind and thoughtful."

[Papa Coco]

Bach

That story kind of breaks my heart a bit. I picture a helpful 10-year-old doing her very best to try and teach herself to help when no one had ever given any instruction. I'm proud of that 10-year-old. I can feel her heart trying so hard to give the gift of service to her mom. I can see the little hands trying to do their very best without anyone ever showing them how. I can feel the emptiness of hearing her ungrateful mother complain later that you weren't able to please her well enough.

And since I'm well versed in toxic parents, I have NO doubt that she was lying to your dad about you offering to load the dishwasher. Trust your own memory, Bach. Toxic parents lie. Always. ALWAYS. Toxic parents always throw their own children under the bus any time they want attention for themselves. So don't second guess what you really remember. I will always believe you over her any and every day of the week.

All I can do from here is send a virtual hug.  I've put a lot of myself into this hug. I hope you can feel it. It's more than just a meme; it's me sending the only gift I have to send you. If, ten-year-old you had tried that hard to wash the dishes in my kitchen I'd have first given you some direction on how to do it and then I'd have thanked you profusely and even bragged to my friends about what a great kid you were.

[rainydiary]

I'm sorry for the weight of this for you for all these years.  My experience is that we certainly must be taught how to do things like "do the dishes." 

[Kizzie]

Big big hug for little Bach who worked hard to clean those cups     You did a great job and whilst your M didn't acknowledge that we do and I hope adult you will too.

[CactusFlower]

Joining in on the hugs for Little Bach. I've made flan and that caramelized sugar can be like concrete if you leave it. I would have appreciate your doing that very very much!

[Bach]

Not Alone, Papa Coco, rainydiary, Kizzie and CactusFlower, your responses made me cry a little.  I don't remember much from my past and most of what I do remember is vague, incomplete, and lacking emotional charge.  Like it's something I'm watching through a thick translucent pane of glass.  Something that might not even be happening.  It's confusing to be so disconnected from my own life and to have so little memory.  Thank you for understanding this better than I do 

The lack of memory is a source of consternation for me.  I lived a life, why is so much of it blank?  What really happened to me?  I've spent many years trying to find memories, good memories, bad memories, anything that would prove I really was that child, I really did exist.  I can't find much, and I don't know if it's real.  Today is my birthday, and all I can feel is a void. 

[Armee]

Happy Birthday. 

[rainydiary]

I resonate with blanks and wondering what my life was.  My body remembers or it wouldn't hold on to so much.  I hope the coming year brings something you are seeking.

[Bach]

Yesterday I was out walking with My Person.  There was a cold wind blowing.  He for some reason grabbed my hoody sleeve, and held on when I tried to pull away.  I didn't understand when he didn't let go, "Hey, what are you doing?", and he answered in an agitated voice that the wind was making his eyes water and he couldn't see where he was going.  We stopped walking so he could get a tissue and wipe his eyes, then as we continued walking I realised that I was very uncomfortable, that I had been triggered in some way.  There was no specific thought or memory attached to the angst and distress that surged through me when he pulled onto my sleeve but there's no doubt something was going on in there.  I told My Person what happened and that he mustn't do that.  I guess he understood?  As much as he can, anyway, which is limited.

When something like that happens and I explain it to him, he listens but he doesn't reassure me that he understands and that it's okay, and the lack of reassurance always makes me feel that he disapproves in some way or that he's annoyed with me, that he thinks I'm being silly or dramatic, or thinks that I could control the reaction but choose not to.  That he's annoyed with me.  That probably isn't what he thinks.  He probably just feels sad for me, or maybe angry on my behalf.  In any case he'll probably forget not to do it next time because I can explain a million times but he still doesn't really get it.  Lucky soul, he does not live with his own chronic trauma.  Only with mine.

[rainydiary]

Bach, I relate to the questions/thoughts coming up from this interaction. 

[sanmagic7]

bach, i first want to echo the sentiments of the others in saying to little bach, thank you for helping in the kitchen.  you did such a careful job and i appreciate you so much.  i'm sad your mother did not give that to you.

secondly, getting triggered like that, from out of nowhere, can really shake us.  and trying to explain it to someone who doesn't know trauma firsthand can be very frustrating.  i hope he remembers and doesn't do that to you again.  love and hugs

[Bach]

Trigger warning:  Sexual content








I wish I had done more with my life.  I wish I had known enough to do more with it instead of thinking that sex was the be-all and end-all of human life, and spending all my time and energy for so many years trying to find it even though a lot of it wasn't very satisfying or life-affirming even when I did.  I'm 99.5% sure I wasn't sexually abused when I was a child, but I was exposed to sexual concepts at far too young an age thanks to my mother's obsession with it.  My mother and grandmother discussed sex in my presence quite a lot, mostly in the sense of people's sexual motivations and who was sleeping with whom or who wanted to sleep with whom.  They must have discussed their own sex lives as well, as I can remember my mother saying something about how the only reason my grandparents had stayed married was because they had good sex.  I heard about the old boyfriend my mother was tempted to cheat with, and I fairly frequently heard sung praises for my stepfather's sexual abilities.  I don't think I was intentionally included in these conversations, but I do remember at least one occasion on which my mother and I had a one-on-one exchange about her relationship with my stepfather in which I remarked on her liking the song "Nobody Does It Better" because it was her song for him.  That song was big in 1977 which means I was 12.  I suppose maybe she might have started actively including me in those conversations once I started puberty.  I remember telling her when I was about 11 or so and had begun growing breasts that my nipples felt strange when my shirt rubbed against them.  I remember her asking me to pull up my shirt to show her (she was sitting on the lid of the toilet in the front bathroom sorting laundry), and her telling me that having sensitive nipples was good for sex.  I don't know how I felt when she said that, but looking back I realise that there was a lot going on there, especially because my mother was also obsessed with breasts.  Hers were very small and she was very insecure about it.  She wore loads of padding in her bras, and was always talking about women's bodies.  Thinking about it more, I kind of remember feeling that I had some kind of power because my nipples were sensitive and that would made me good at sex.  None of that can possibly be good or normal, can it?

[rainydiary]

That's a lot for a child to carry.  I wish sex had been less relevant for me too when I was younger.

[Bach]

rainy, thank you for reading my post.  It was hard to write.  I really appreciate being acknowledged.