It's been a LONG time since I posted anything here. I think I need to write more. It helps me, and it helps others. So here goes. Come along with me in my self-therapy session.
Some background and context:
During the past couple of years, I've been experiencing physical symptoms where it felt like I was going to die. And I don't want to die. I have too much good in my life, too much that I still want to do. I've gone to the ER multiple times, and several weeks ago, I finally got to the point that I believe that these are panic attacks...not heart problems or blood clots or strokes or anything like that. So I've been working on healing myself from them.
Tonight, I had another panic attack seemingly out of nowhere, and I healed myself out of it. And then I realized where this one came from, so I'm writing about it. As I was breathing and working through some yoga movements, my mind processed so many things simultaneously, so I hope that I can write in a way that makes sense to more people than just myself.
Trigger #1:
My daughter and I recently bought the 100-year-old house that I grew up in. It was official today! My daughter announced it on Facebook today and mentioned that she spent her first birthday in that house. I had forgotten about that, and then I went looking for photos of her when she was staying there with my parents.
I remembered one photo where she was sitting on a gallon container of ice cream in front of the big heater in the living room, so I looked for that one first, and I found it.
As I looked at that photo and a few others of her celebrating her first birthday in that house, a deep feeling of sadness enveloped me. You see, I wasn't with her on her first birthday. I sent her to stay with my parents for a while so I could get on my feet. As a single mom who gave birth and was raising her completely on my own, I was at my wits end both financially and emotionally. I was making less than $5/hour at a tech company in Utah, and I couldn't pay for child care, food, diapers, or much of anything. I tried to apply for food stamps but was denied because I wouldn't disclose the father's name (and that's another story for another day). A co-worker brought groceries and left them on my doorstep once. I went to the emergency food bank once. I was failing.
My parents were kind enough to let my little girl come stay with them, and my younger sister was still living at home and could help out. After a month and a half, I couldn't deal with the separation anymore, and so my mom and sister brought my daughter back to me in Utah. She didn't remember me. At all. It was heartbreaking and traumatic for both of us. I sit here with tears in my eyes as I type this.
Throughout all of this, and for many years afterward, I felt unworthy because I was taught that I was unworthy. This feeling permeated everything. You can see it when you see old photos of me. The self-loathing, the self-disdain, the shame, the guilt. I didn't have the tools or support to get out of that cycle. In fact, the messages of unworthiness were reiterated to me numerous times in my religious practice.
- Single=something is wrong with you. Less than.
- Have a baby out of wedlock=Sinner. Tainted. Licked cupcake. Chewed up gum. Should've given your baby to a real family.
- Sex before marriage=a sin that's second only to murder in seriousness. Unworthy. Shameful. Guilty. A disappointment. And on and on.
Of course, I reject all of that way of thinking and believing now, but the memory of it seeped into my consciousness when I looked at those photos this evening. And I felt sad for my former self, for my little girl, for feeling shame and unworthiness when it wasn't necessary. So unnecessary.
Trigger #2:
The woman and her unbelieving dad
Also this evening, I was watching an interview of a woman who grew up in a home where her mom was a believer and her dad was not. As she was growing up, the woman viewed her dad as a failure, as someone who needed to get on board with the religion, as someone who was less than, shameful, a disappointment, unworthy. She couldn't understand why her dad didn't believe in the religion, and it affected their relationship for years in a negative way. Because he was unworthy.
She doesn't think the same way anymore, and she has compassion for her dad. She regrets all those years where she saw her dad as something less than what he really is. She cried as she told her story.
My inactive dad
The interview reminded me of my own dad. He was a believer, but he wasn't active in the faith. I saw him as a disappointment sometimes. Why couldn't he baptize me? I assumed that he was unworthy. There's no other explanation for it. He didn't even attend my baptism. He was less than, and he wasn't like the other church dads. Why couldn't he just get with the program? Why didn't he have more faith?
When he died less than two years after my daughter stayed with him and my mom, I was so very sad to realize that he probably wouldn't be in the highest heaven with the rest of us. Because he didn't pay tithing or attend church. Because he wasn't good enough. Because he didn't check all the right boxes. He was unworthy.
And of course, I don't feel the same way about my dad anymore. But it's too late to say it to him. He's been gone since 1989. Oh, what compassion I have for him now. And what regret I have for seeing him in that way.
My life partner
And then I think of my life partner. His own adult kids view him in that same way because he no longer believes in the religion that he was born in to. So he's viewed as unworthy. A disappointment. Less than. Won't be in the highest heaven with them. That he chose sin (leaving the religion) over eternal life with his family. He no longer checks all the right boxes. It's not their fault that they believe that. I'm not even upset with them...because that's what they were taught to believe. And it's painful and real for them.
