This is Mattie, at about 3 years of age. She lives with me. More accurately, I live with her. She is my "other I." Mattie has a great deal of influence over my life, my decisions, my behavior and my reactions to stress. Sometimes this is a good thing; usually, not so much....
By the time this photo was taken, Mattie had learned to view the world through a veil of fear. You can see that in the sad eyes, the tentative smile, in this photo. She was watchful and anxious, even then.
...
Mattie was a battered and neglected child, subjected to physical, emotional and sexual abuse, to one degree or another, until she was nearly sixteen. That's when she learned what incest was, and put an end to it. Mattie can't remember who first molested her, but it started before she was five, her age at the first clear memory of it.
...
For those of you familiar with Maslow's hierarchy of human needs, Mattie never made it to the self-actualization stage of development. She hovers around the safety level, but reacts to threats to those needs as if she were being deprived of her physiological needs. She never is, of course, but you can't make a terrified three-year-old understand adult logic. (Who am I kidding? Sometimes this 62-year-old doesn't understand, either.)
...
That's why, when I awoke with chattering teeth and blue-tinged lips a couple or so weeks ago and discovered the house was a frosty 52F/11C, before I could put on a sweater and check the oil level in the tank, Mattie was already in full-blown panic mode. I think it had started when I noticed my lips were blue, only I didn't see the warning signs in time to avert the anxiety attack.
...
You see, Mattie remembers being homeless and having nothing to eat, or very, very little. She remembers being cold and hungry and scared for her safety. She remembers living in her mother's car and having to share small jars of baby food with her five siblings. (Her mother had left their father, again, but had enough money to buy a case of baby food. Mattie's youngest brother was about 18-months-old at the time, and could eat toddler stage food.) Each child was allowed one spoonful of food from the jar, three or four times a day, for what seemed like forever, but was likely only a couple of days. Mattie was eight at the time, but she has always reacted to stress as a three-year-old would - very self-centered, self-serving. She remembers living in abandoned houses, again with no heat and little food.
I'm going through a rough patch right now, financially and emotionally, but it is Mattie who suffers. I can tell her that what she fears was then, not now. That she has control over what happens, that she has access to help that she didn't have as a child, and that, because of all that, she will be okay. She isn't going to die. She will have something to eat. She can put on extra clothing if it gets too cold for her. I remind her that she at least has a house, but I try not to add, "...for now," because she would focus on the "for now" and think we are about to be homeless again. I also remind her that she is far better off than a great many other people worldwide, some of whom live in abject poverty in so-called Third World nations, and the millions of people here in the US, alone, being affected by the current depression. I know all that, as an adult, but Mattie just doesn't get it. When she's in a panic, logic and reason are as foreign to her as the French language is to me.
Sometimes taking care of Mattie wears me down and brings on depression. It was easier to deal with when Ex-B was here. I had someone to listen as I tried to sound out my fears, to talk my way out of the panic attacks. I don't know if he really listened, or cared, for that matter, but he did a good imitation of listening, and that's what I needed. I don't need sympathy or solutions. I just need to talk, to tell someone, anyone, that I'm scared. I probably won't be tomorrow, but I am tonight, and have been for several weeks. Everything will work out for the best. I know this is only temporary and will pass on sooner than later.
I just needed to talk. Thanks for listening. It helps, a lot.
Goodnight, Mattie.
26 comments:
I'm just back from somewhere else and would like to try and respond with something worthwhile, assuming that's possible. But there's another deadline in front of me. Hang on.
I hope and wish a lot of good things for Mattie although I don't know her. Most of all though I hope that Mattie has learnt to love herself for being braver than she thinks, stronger than she thinks and deserving of more love than she thinks... take care of yourself. You are not alone.
BB:
There isn't anything to say. Lots of us are going through bad patches and they will, eventually, go away.
I needed to give voice to what was frightening me, so that it wouldn't become bigger than is actually is. I'm okay; just a little spooked.
Looking forward to the next chapter, by the way.
:)
Steve:
It is less ego-bruising to allow my 3-year-old self to be scared of my life as it is this moment than it is to admit my 62-year-old self can't cope any better, sometimes, than I did when I was three. I probably don't have to tell you that Mattie and I are one and the same, but I will, just in case.
The happy news is there are far more good parents, like you and Mrs. Steve, in the world than there are ones like my pitiable two. That's a very good thing.
:)
(hug)
Give her my hugs..and keep some for you too. I wish life can be easier for both of you.
Thank you, Z. I miss hugs.
HLiza: Hugs are good; thank you.
I knew who you meant. My sentiments stay the same.
Hugs from me too. I'm listening....
Dear Martha, I wish I could help. It must be so hard.
Never hesitate to write here, it's not much to offer but there are people here who care.
Please try to keep warm and rested and fed, whatever else is happening; cold and hunger and weariness are the worst. I'm thinking of you, please take care. You've done a fine job looking after Mattie, you know.
Many hugs, love and admiration.
Of course, Steve. It was I who misunderstood. Thank you.
I continue to send the white light....and frequent hugs....
Bev:
It is easy to forget, when in a panic, that friends show their caring in so many ways. Three-year-olds think the world begins and ends with them, sometimes. This 3-year-old does, anyway.
Thank you.
:)
Much love to you and sweet Mattie. I want to pick her up, give her a hug, lots of food for her and her siblings and a sweet bedtime story for them all. You are not alone.
Marja-Leena and Lucy: For some reason your responses didn't show up in my email until mid-afternoon sometime.
M-L: Having someone listen when we are afraid helps reduce fear. Thank you.
Lucy: I feel chagrin that I did not keep my fears to myself, as I was taught to do, but I am grateful for your encouragement.
Susan:
Hugs are wonderful. Thank you for your kind thoughts.
Many years ago in my working life I was given responsibility for something I had not been trained for which led to a disaster and a three-month sojourn at my branch by the inspection team. I thought it was the end of everything. A colleague at another branch who had gone through a similar experience rang me – he sympathised and told me that there would eventually come a time when I would be able to look back on my present scenario and see it in a less dramatic and foreboding perspective. He was right. That phone call was one of the best things that ever happened to me and recollection of it has been of value many times since. Please accept this little offering as my version of that phone call. I wish you well.
Sir Hugh:
When I wrote this post, in the wee smalls yesterday morning, I had reached the lowest point of this 'crisis,' which has been building for several weeks.
While I do not have, yet, solutions to all the problems which started me on this downward spiral, my situation does not seem so bleak to me now. Giving voice to my fears has lessened their impact.
I appreciate, more than I can explain just now, your phone call, your good wishes. Thank you.
:)
I have read and re-read the post and conclude you are right. There is nothing I can usefully say that might ease your pain. This is a burden you assumed, it was not imposed - even though circumstances have conspired to make the burden heavier and more complex. What you have done is a part-definition of being an adult - a willingness to take on, altruistically, the responsibilities for someone more vulnerable, more disturbed, more damaged, more needful, and to attempt to wipe away those earlier horrible experiences. Even at the best of times this would never have been a negligible task. And these clearly aren't the best of times. Ironically this situation differs fundamentally from the other problem you faced. There I was able to talk about options, however horrible they appeared. Here there are no options, no turning away. The only source of strength is to look back at that essentially adult moment and recognise it as an event that showed you at your best; an event you can be proud of. Sustained by that reassuring memory you can only grit your teeth and ensure the present matches the past. Strictly cold comfort, of course. But you did the right thing then and must continue to do the right thing. If it's any comfort let me add my wholehearted admiration of that decision; I see it as part of the generosity of spirit I met with in the USA and I know I could never have been a real part of that community. Best foot forward, Crow.
You are one helluvah brave woman. Read your post whole heartedly, cheering you and Mattie on all the way. You are lucky to have each other. xo
BB -
The extension of friendship is never cold comfort. It is the light in the dark.
Thank you, friend.
:)
Terry: Nice to see you. Mattie will be with me until we die, when we both are in our 90s.
:)
I've been reading 'The Wise Heart' by Jack Kornfield, a practicing Buddhist psychologist and just last night I came across one of his teachings for compassion and thought you might like it too:
May I love myself just as I am.
May I sense my worthiness and well-being.
May I trust this world.
May I hold myself in compassion.
May I meet the suffering and ignorance of others with compassion.
Susan:
Those are laudable teaching, worth working into one's life. Thank you for passing them on to me. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.
:)
Mattie-- I think you have already met Milly.... they have lots in common.
Crow... I know how this feels.... sometimes you just have to sit there and hurt, and the only way around is through. There is a lot of honor in sadness and the dark places have a power all their own. I'm thinking of you and hoping you are riding the storm.
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