Olive Branch:
Oh sweet salvation of the soul
that brought me to this place,
remind me of the years I've fought
to see myself with grace.
Remind me that the risks I take
in offering to love
are worth the effort and the pain -
send forth a gentle dove.
When it returns perhaps I'll see
a twig - an olive branch -
some proof that once the tears abate
it's safe to take a chance.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 11, 2018
Sometimes people are too hurt to not hurt in return. I've learned that lesson over the years, when I've tried to befriend people too wounded to trust or accept love. It would be easy to stop making the effort if I didn't have such a highly developed conscience.
You see, I know I've been lucky. For all of my social dysfunction at times, my temper, and my lack of filters when it comes to expressing sometimes unpopular opinions, I love and am loved. I have a family who cares about me, and a few trusted friends who have my back when times are hard. I know a lot of people have far less, and so I'm willing to risk being hurt when the occasional person comes into my life who can't accept my friendship, my concern or my love.
I recently read an interview between a woman who had been abused and her abuser. It shook me to the core, but at the same time it inspired me. At one point the woman tells her abuser that no matter how much he hurt her she'd rather be in her position than his - unable to truly comprehend how much damage he did, and too arrogant in his belief that he didn't need to fully repent of his sins, or seek help to conquer his abusive behavior.
I understand what she was saying because to a far lesser extent I've experienced those feelings too. As often as I've had my hand bitten by those who I attempted to "feed" with a bit of TLC, I feel sorrier for the people who bit me than the fact that my hand (and heart!) needed a bit of bandaging after the encounter.
I'm going to be very frank now - and there may be some who feel that this level of honesty isn't warranted, but I want you (as readers) to understand a vital part of my history. The family I grew up in wasn't perfect, but I never encountered mental illness until I left home. In my twenties, I encountered people who had some serious issues - and a few of them bit me. At that time I was just really hurt, ignorant as I was of the kind of underlying problems that prompt some people to lash out at others.
At the age of 26 I got married, and try as I might I just couldn't seem to win my mother-in-law's love. Nothing I ever did was good enough - I didn't deserve her son, and I didn't deserve to raise her grandsons. For years I'd feel sick every time we visited her. I made it all about me - why couldn't she find it in her heart to love me? I was a good person and I truly loved her son and our children! Why couldn't I win her approval? There were times I thought that I hated her because her disapproval and constant criticism hurt me so much.
It took me years to begin to understand that she suffered from mental illness. And it took decades for me to learn to forgive her, and to understand that what I experienced from her wasn't really her, but a manifestation of problems and issues that began long before I ever met her.
I am ashamed to admit that it took me years to begin to love her.
Now with that experience behind me, I've learned to try harder to be accepting, but part of accepting is knowing when I simply can't be the person to offer help or friendship. Sometimes I'll encounter people who are too damaged to accept my best efforts on their behalf, and I'll just have to admit that there's nothing more I can do.
But despite suffering inevitable bites and heartaches, I'm not ready to stop caring. Once my heart stops hurting for me, it continues to hurt for them. I know I'd rather be hurt by having my clumsy efforts to befriend rejected than suffer the pain they suffer.
I know this: Sooner or later I'll risk a further dose of heartbreak when I open my heart to another vulnerable soul. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't.
Tuesday, 20 March 2018
Thursday, 8 March 2018
Go Ahead and Cry - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Handkerchief
Here's my hanky, dearie -
use it if you will.
I am well accustomed
to tears women spill.
Eyes so very pretty
ought not be so wet;
what's so very awful
that it makes you fret?
Are you not delighted
with your role in life?
Cleaner, cook or consort,
daughter, sister; wife?
Handkerchief I hand back -
tears run down my face.
I don't need to mop up -
tears do not disgrace.
Tears of great frustration,
tears expressing pain;
tears of fear and sorrow.
Tears that fall like rain.
Even if you want to
you can't read my tears.
I was born to sorrow;
I lived there for years.
While you conquered nations,
cleared the land of trees,
and thought you provided
us with lives of ease -
our hands rocked the cradle,
and they planted seeds.
Women offered comfort.
Women met your needs.
See me as your equal -
matched in mind and skill.
Man - here is your hanky.
Use it - if you will.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 8, 2018
This morning my husband and I had a heart to heart talk about a person we both feel concern for. We both shed tears as we discussed what a difficult predicament this person is in - tears of compassion for this person's pain, and frustration because there's not a lot we can do to alleviate it. And as we faced each other with tears leaking out of our eyes I thought about how far we'd each come.
When we married I was the only crier - and my tears made me feel weak and ashamed. I hated feeling that I couldn't neatly contain my emotions. Both he and I had encountered manipulative criers along the way, and I realize that those people influenced the way we both saw tears. So he didn't cry at all, and I felt like a failure every time I dropped a tear.
I never wanted to be seen as someone willing to turn on the waterworks in order to make people do what I wanted, or make them feel sorry for me. I never cried to prove that I was spiritual or sensitive - I just cried because I had to - and I hated every tear I shed.
Today I logged into Facebook to note that it was International Women's Day - and it struck me that this morning's tears symbolize the way my husband and I have each grown - and might be an analogy for the way men and women in general have evolved.
Women can look back on their "journey of tears" with pride and acceptance. In most of the world we're treated as equals. We can choose the lives we want to live - decide whether we marry, and how we want to spend our lives. We can choose to have children or not have children. We can choose where we work, how we dress, and who we vote for.
There are still men who view women with a level of condescension, but thankfully they're fewer. The Me Too movement has made many men rethink the way they look at - and respond to - women. I won't say we've made it free and clear into the realm of true equality - but we're getting there. If we, as women, have passed you the hanky, it isn't because we've stopped crying ourselves. We're just acknowledging that now it's time for men and women to cry together. You've stood by, dry eyed, while encouraging us to mop up our tears with your borrowed handkerchiefs for too long. Use it yourself and we'll both feel better.
When I look back on my own life, I can be grateful that I was free to make my own decisions. Whatever his flaws as a man, my father wanted education for his daughters as well as his sons, and my biggest regret in life is that I didn't believe in myself sufficiently to pursue the educational path that would've suited me best. The reasons behind some of my choices might have been flawed, but I can't deny that I made my own choices.
I've been lucky. I wanted to stay home with my children, unlike many in the religious culture I was raised in, who felt there was no other option available to them. I was fortunate that my husband always saw me as an equal partner in our relationship. There were no heavy-handed tactics or "listen to me because I'm the man" speeches in our home. He made the money and we decided how it would be spent. I looked after our sons during the day, but once he came through the door his first priority was being a father. We were both parents. We had clear divisions of labour, and while I didn't always relish tending kids and keeping house, it was tolerable because it was the life I chose.
I shed a lot of tears while raising my sons - tears of frustration when I couldn't make their lives easier, and fearful tears that I wasn't always up to the task of constantly nurturing with wisdom and patience. I cried when I felt people looking at me with disdain because I was only a housewife. I cried covert tears of self-doubt because I wasn't living my chosen life effortlessly and flawlessly. It took years for me to accept myself as someone who was allowed to cry, and more years still before my husband stopped passing me the figurative hanky and found the courage to shed a few tears of his own.
Remember this - tears don't make you weak. Women sailed on rivers of tears to find a place where they could make the choices that many of us take for granted. Men will sail on that same river until their own tears strengthen the current enough to move us on to a still better place - a place where casting couches don't exist and women are truly seen as more than a sum of their parts, a place where nobody feels shamed for shedding tears of compassion.
Go ahead and cry.
Here's my hanky, dearie -
use it if you will.
I am well accustomed
to tears women spill.
Eyes so very pretty
ought not be so wet;
what's so very awful
that it makes you fret?
Are you not delighted
with your role in life?
Cleaner, cook or consort,
daughter, sister; wife?
Handkerchief I hand back -
tears run down my face.
I don't need to mop up -
tears do not disgrace.
Tears of great frustration,
tears expressing pain;
tears of fear and sorrow.
Tears that fall like rain.
Even if you want to
you can't read my tears.
I was born to sorrow;
I lived there for years.
While you conquered nations,
cleared the land of trees,
and thought you provided
us with lives of ease -
our hands rocked the cradle,
and they planted seeds.
Women offered comfort.
Women met your needs.
See me as your equal -
matched in mind and skill.
Man - here is your hanky.
Use it - if you will.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 8, 2018
This morning my husband and I had a heart to heart talk about a person we both feel concern for. We both shed tears as we discussed what a difficult predicament this person is in - tears of compassion for this person's pain, and frustration because there's not a lot we can do to alleviate it. And as we faced each other with tears leaking out of our eyes I thought about how far we'd each come.
When we married I was the only crier - and my tears made me feel weak and ashamed. I hated feeling that I couldn't neatly contain my emotions. Both he and I had encountered manipulative criers along the way, and I realize that those people influenced the way we both saw tears. So he didn't cry at all, and I felt like a failure every time I dropped a tear.
I never wanted to be seen as someone willing to turn on the waterworks in order to make people do what I wanted, or make them feel sorry for me. I never cried to prove that I was spiritual or sensitive - I just cried because I had to - and I hated every tear I shed.
Today I logged into Facebook to note that it was International Women's Day - and it struck me that this morning's tears symbolize the way my husband and I have each grown - and might be an analogy for the way men and women in general have evolved.
Women can look back on their "journey of tears" with pride and acceptance. In most of the world we're treated as equals. We can choose the lives we want to live - decide whether we marry, and how we want to spend our lives. We can choose to have children or not have children. We can choose where we work, how we dress, and who we vote for.
There are still men who view women with a level of condescension, but thankfully they're fewer. The Me Too movement has made many men rethink the way they look at - and respond to - women. I won't say we've made it free and clear into the realm of true equality - but we're getting there. If we, as women, have passed you the hanky, it isn't because we've stopped crying ourselves. We're just acknowledging that now it's time for men and women to cry together. You've stood by, dry eyed, while encouraging us to mop up our tears with your borrowed handkerchiefs for too long. Use it yourself and we'll both feel better.
When I look back on my own life, I can be grateful that I was free to make my own decisions. Whatever his flaws as a man, my father wanted education for his daughters as well as his sons, and my biggest regret in life is that I didn't believe in myself sufficiently to pursue the educational path that would've suited me best. The reasons behind some of my choices might have been flawed, but I can't deny that I made my own choices.
I've been lucky. I wanted to stay home with my children, unlike many in the religious culture I was raised in, who felt there was no other option available to them. I was fortunate that my husband always saw me as an equal partner in our relationship. There were no heavy-handed tactics or "listen to me because I'm the man" speeches in our home. He made the money and we decided how it would be spent. I looked after our sons during the day, but once he came through the door his first priority was being a father. We were both parents. We had clear divisions of labour, and while I didn't always relish tending kids and keeping house, it was tolerable because it was the life I chose.
I shed a lot of tears while raising my sons - tears of frustration when I couldn't make their lives easier, and fearful tears that I wasn't always up to the task of constantly nurturing with wisdom and patience. I cried when I felt people looking at me with disdain because I was only a housewife. I cried covert tears of self-doubt because I wasn't living my chosen life effortlessly and flawlessly. It took years for me to accept myself as someone who was allowed to cry, and more years still before my husband stopped passing me the figurative hanky and found the courage to shed a few tears of his own.
Remember this - tears don't make you weak. Women sailed on rivers of tears to find a place where they could make the choices that many of us take for granted. Men will sail on that same river until their own tears strengthen the current enough to move us on to a still better place - a place where casting couches don't exist and women are truly seen as more than a sum of their parts, a place where nobody feels shamed for shedding tears of compassion.
Go ahead and cry.
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