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I've been misunderstood my whole life. Or at least it feels that way.
Let's be clear, I'm not complaining about how other people see or perceive me, but rather my own perceptions about me.
I assume when I was very young -- before the abuse -- I had a relatively good understanding of who I was. At least as much as any 3-4 year old can. But when the bad things started happening, it played havoc with my understanding and perception. Good people weren't always good. People lied. Nice people would hurt me for no apparent reason. I seemed to be misunderstanding a lot of things.
I kept misunderstanding what was happening to me and especially why it was happening, so it changed my whole perspective on how I was supposed to function in life. Instead of sharing what I wanted and needed, I came to the conclusion that the most important thing was to figure out what everyone else wanted from me. If I could do that, clearly they would quit hurting me. Not just quit hurting me, but love me, as I was and for who I was.
The reality of it all was that I wasn't the one being misunderstood. I was the one misunderstanding. I was taking on responsibility for other people's actions -- actions that no one could really understand -- and by doing that I was trying to control what other people did.
It's taken years and years to learn that the only person I can control is me. I can only control how I react to another person's words or actions. It seems so simple when it's typed on the page, but it's been a tough lesson to learn and hold on to.
I've learned to be specific, especially when I feel misunderstood, but I've also learned that just because I'm misunderstood, it may not always be my fault. And that's when it's time to walk away.
linking up with Writer's Workshop and Just Write
This past weekend my husband turned 50. My daughter posted a bunch of old photos on Facebook in his honor. And then she posted a bunch more because she was having fun. It went on and on all weekend. What a good time we had looking back at those photos -- babies, toddlers, school days, dress up. It was lovely.
But . . . but, for me there was a recurring theme that is still nagging at me. I've thought I was fat most of my life. And now at 51 when I'm heavier than I've ever been, I look back at those pictures and I realize I wasn't fat. And I find myself grieving for the lost time spent worrying about weight and what I looked like. Time that would have been so much better spent enjoying myself, my husband, my kids, my friends, my life.
It's vain and shallow of me that one of the first things I noticed looking back was my size, but truth be told I was stunned. How could I have thought I was fat?
Blame it on a lot of things -- the media, fear of failing (at anything!), misinterpretations of comments made by others, and abuse. Abuse that made me feel "less than". Abuse that made me question every thought and idea and belief that popped into my head. Abuse that made me want to hide my body, as if that would somehow keep me from being abused again -- a protective shield if you will. Abuse that told me if I felt good about myself I was proud and arrogant, and deserving of the past abuse.
So I'm trying to learn to love myself regardless of what the scales say, and I'm learning to ask questions about my health and weight. Learning to eat and exercise in a way that honors my body. That makes me healthy and strong, regardless of what the scales and the dress sizes say.
I still would love to have that time back, but that's not an option. What I can do is move forward with clearer perceptions. And a lot more self-love.
Peace.
From here, the view, is sunny with white fluffy clouds. There is hope in the air, and a promise of the future.
Before -- back there -- the view was stilted. It was hopeless, clouded, and dismal.
The change in the view came from within. I expected the change to come from others around me, and circumstances shifting to improve the view. What I didn't know is that what I view is colored by how I view.
Then I was looking at everyone and everything through the dirty, smudged glasses of lies, threats, and fear. Now I'm learning to look at the world through cleaned up glasses that show truth, reality, and hope. It's a process, and I'm not there yet, but maybe being "there" isn't the point.
The abuse laid a filter over of my view. It filtered out some of the good, and eventually, most of the good. I could only see the bad in myself, and when that's all you see it's a dark world you live in.
It's taken a lot of time, work, and effort, but that filter is thinning. I see a lot more good in myself, which makes the world look a lot better.
I'm enjoying the view from here.
linking up with Five Minute Friday
