This is one of those things that seem silly and inconsequential, but really are a big deal. I offer the following observation in the hope that someone out there may be prompted to view their own or someone else’s situation in a different light:
Our second (and now only) kitty, Callie the Wonder Cat, is an animal we’re only beginning to know. When Hobbes was around, he terrorized her, but now she’s exploring the house at will and being very entertaining.
“She’s a GOOD kitty,” I said to my wife, who turned and smiled in response. “And you’re a good lady!” I added.
“You’re a good man…” she replied, and coming from her, I knew she meant it.
POW. It was like no one had ever said that to me. As if in over six decades on planet Earth, no mother, father, sibling, friend, or lover had ever told me I was “good,” not in that way — or if any of them had, I didn’t believe it and forgot. The medicine wouldn’t have taken, because my training was all in the other direction, to wit, that I was inherently “bad,” in need of constant discipline and correction. Growing up when I did, the culture supported this kind of psychic suppression. And ye gods, I was in a military family.
Naturally, I learned to hold back and blame myself. If I wasn’t loved, it was because I wasn’t worthy. Alert to signs of abandonment, I saw it everywhere and wouldn’t reach out, because I trusted no one. Anyone with half a brain (I had a little less) can see that this is no recipe for success in life, love, or financial planning, to say the least. By all rights, I should have died in prison, contracted a terminal disease, or killed myself by now. Oddly, however, I seem to still be here.
Make of that what you will!
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