Something happened when I was 13. I don't remember what brought it up to the surface, but it's been around for a week wanting my attention. I've been waking up with 'angry', about it and other instances. Using eft, calming scents, and gratitude seemed to only mask the core issue.
Having a chat to the feeling about it, the underlying issue came to this:
Not being believed it happened.
Resentment to easily distributed forgiveness.
Unexplained reason.
Being an 'other'.
Analysing the list backwards (because, why not?)
I will always be dealing with being an 'other.' While I have now come to embrace it as part of my identity, it sometimes creeps back out to challenge my self-esteem and sense of belonging. I often counter it with the Cheshire Kitten song.
There are always going to be unexplained actions. All actions by other people are 'unexplained,' and in fact they don't owe me explanations for their existence. Let alone something that happened from over 10 years ago. I sometimes can't explain my own actions. It doesn't make their actions excusable. It helps to realise I've done things that may have been hurtful, intentionally or unintentionally, both with apology and never having the opportunity to apologise.
Resentment of forgiveness, or staying in a very narrow definition of forgiveness as handed out by select special group of individuals. With this particular memory, I seem to be stuck in that time's understanding of forgiveness process instead of bringing my current awareness to it to shift the wrong done.
And now for the story, to be told. Because I believe it happened. Written on the page I can revisit this story any time, and my readers can take away what they feel.
One lunch time, a girl hit me repeatedly with her lunch box. Nobody around me did anything to stop. I was too scared to get up from her assault. I was scared of not being believed this particular person did it. I was scared the teachers would explain away her actions as 'forgiven in Christ', that I deserved it as an unbeliever. I was scared of knocking off this perfect example of a preacher's daughter for her minor violence. I wasn't sure if it counted as violence, since it was a lunch box, as opposed to say, a stick or her hands. I was scared that if I retaliated I would be the one in trouble for being violent to this perfect student. Because nobody around me said anything during or after, I wasn't sure if it actually happened.
Then it was repeated the next day. All the thoughts from previous day repeated again. Later that afternoon at home, I told mum my back hurt from where I've been hit. There was no bruise to show. She didn't have much to say about it, the pain faded the next day, and the whole incident was forgotten about.
With almost daily news of children in supposed care that are not in a caring environment, especially the news of attempted murder at a local school, is one of the reasons why I am feeling cautious about putting myself and baby in a facilitated educational environment.
No comments:
Post a Comment