220 Marbles
Behind every b*tch is a girl who got tired of being broken.
Unknown
There was an ugly, barren, salmonberry bush in the backyard that is taking over the trampoline with its prickly branches. Before Ex-man moved out he cut down the bush and left the huge, serpentine root-ball. I’ve passed by it for months and now I notice it starting to sprout again. It’s time to take it out.
I borrowed an axe from a friend’s mother and started the back-breaking work of hacking away at the twisted root-ball. Each piece is connected to another piece and they all seem intent on staying securely attached to the ground. The process seems like a perfect metaphor for examining my broken pieces and deciding if I really need to have them rooted in my being anymore. Wouldn’t it be better to take out the diseased and ugly to plant something that grows what I like? What about a lilac bush or two?
This sounds way easier than it is, both metaphorically and realistically. As I spent a couple of hours this afternoon chopping away at the insistent roots and shoots, I thought of one of my nastier broken pieces - my mean-ass tongue. The story goes like this: I was brought up to believe that anger and strength/power were synonymous. My older sister (who was steeped in that lie before me) used to berate and criticize me frequently. I would be left in tears thinking to myself that one day, I would be as “strong” as her, one day I wouldn’t be the one crying.
Fast-forward a dozen years and my wish was granted and I learned to use my tongue as a weapon. I know that when I get mean-tongued, it’s because I feel vulnerable and unprotected. I feel like a cat that’s been backed into a corner but instead of sharp claws, I have a sharp tongue. But is this really working for me and do I really want to connect to this story anymore? The answer is no. The price for my mean-tongue is too high, the benefits too low. It was used to manipulate situations and people in the worst possible way. Bottom line: it damages relationships with others and it damages my relationship with myself as I always feel lousy for being such a snag.
The desire to acquire this “skill” was built on a lie of anger and power and the belief that what was fragile could be easily broken. The other night when I was awake in the middle of the night, I thought to myself, “What if you didn’t have to get angry today?” It was such a liberating thought and there was so much lightness to it. When I got up in the morning, I was aware that I had choices in how I could react. I didn’t have to use anger or meanness as a way to keep my kids in line. I am not my father. I am not my family. I am me and I have infinite choice regarding what to plant and what to grow.
Back in the garden, I continue to hack away at the ugly roots that don’t produce fruit.
A tongue is an amazing instrument: it can be used to sing, to connect with others using language, to taste flavors in food, to make music, to make love. What would it take for you to use your tongue in positive ways? If you use anger to control others, what would it take to stop?
Behind every b*tch is a girl who got tired of being broken.
Unknown
There was an ugly, barren, salmonberry bush in the backyard that is taking over the trampoline with its prickly branches. Before Ex-man moved out he cut down the bush and left the huge, serpentine root-ball. I’ve passed by it for months and now I notice it starting to sprout again. It’s time to take it out.
I borrowed an axe from a friend’s mother and started the back-breaking work of hacking away at the twisted root-ball. Each piece is connected to another piece and they all seem intent on staying securely attached to the ground. The process seems like a perfect metaphor for examining my broken pieces and deciding if I really need to have them rooted in my being anymore. Wouldn’t it be better to take out the diseased and ugly to plant something that grows what I like? What about a lilac bush or two?
This sounds way easier than it is, both metaphorically and realistically. As I spent a couple of hours this afternoon chopping away at the insistent roots and shoots, I thought of one of my nastier broken pieces - my mean-ass tongue. The story goes like this: I was brought up to believe that anger and strength/power were synonymous. My older sister (who was steeped in that lie before me) used to berate and criticize me frequently. I would be left in tears thinking to myself that one day, I would be as “strong” as her, one day I wouldn’t be the one crying.
Fast-forward a dozen years and my wish was granted and I learned to use my tongue as a weapon. I know that when I get mean-tongued, it’s because I feel vulnerable and unprotected. I feel like a cat that’s been backed into a corner but instead of sharp claws, I have a sharp tongue. But is this really working for me and do I really want to connect to this story anymore? The answer is no. The price for my mean-tongue is too high, the benefits too low. It was used to manipulate situations and people in the worst possible way. Bottom line: it damages relationships with others and it damages my relationship with myself as I always feel lousy for being such a snag.
The desire to acquire this “skill” was built on a lie of anger and power and the belief that what was fragile could be easily broken. The other night when I was awake in the middle of the night, I thought to myself, “What if you didn’t have to get angry today?” It was such a liberating thought and there was so much lightness to it. When I got up in the morning, I was aware that I had choices in how I could react. I didn’t have to use anger or meanness as a way to keep my kids in line. I am not my father. I am not my family. I am me and I have infinite choice regarding what to plant and what to grow.
Back in the garden, I continue to hack away at the ugly roots that don’t produce fruit.
A tongue is an amazing instrument: it can be used to sing, to connect with others using language, to taste flavors in food, to make music, to make love. What would it take for you to use your tongue in positive ways? If you use anger to control others, what would it take to stop?
No comments:
Post a Comment