I have a person

Alright, this gets right down to the nitty-gritty, so if you're not into hearing my nitty-gritty, then go ahead and stop reading. It's a been a while since I wrote a post like this one, so, here goes...

I've recently started seeing a therapist- ok, well, I don't so much see her as talk to her via my computer once a week. I've had 4-5 sessions now, and I'm really enjoying the work we do together. Where with my last therapist, I mostly just talked, with this lady, I'm actually actively working on healing old hurts, and moving past them. Turns out, looking for "my person" started when I was about 5.

As you all know, my parents divorced about this same time. I'm interested to talk to my mom and dad and find out some more details as to how it all actually went down, how much they told us kids, how much they worried about supporting us, etc. The thing is, I can only imagine, my mom was only about 8-9 years older than I am now (dad only 6-7) when she went through it, so, I can't blame them for not being able to support us they way they maybe should have.

What I uncovered tonight through my work with my therapist, is that when it all went down, I felt very alone- I didn't feel like anyone was supporting me, letting me know what was going on, etc. I had the impression (as a 6 year old might), not that it was my fault, but that, I was supposed to know how to deal with what was going on. From what I could tell, my brothers didn't seem to be having any problems (I'm sure that is SO not true!), so why was I? It seemed that I was stupid or slow or something for not being able to deal with this situation. All I wanted at that time, was someone who would spend some time with me, hear me, love me, be with me, and acknowledge what was going on. If only boys dealt with emotions the same way girls did, I might have had that in my brothers- but, alas, I decided then and there, that I didn't have a person- that nobody knew how I felt, maybe no one cared. For those of you who knew me when, you know that I pretty much locked myself away in my room from about age 8-12 reading books. It was better to be on my own, safe lost in the world of the Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High than out there is this big unsafe world where the bottom can just fall out at any moment.

The saddest thing was, that because we moved from Indianapolis to Kalamazoo at this time of my life, I actually physically lost my person. My person until the age of 6 when we moved away to Kalamazoo, was my great-aunt Alisite. From years of my childhood that I spent in Indy (birth to age 6), I have far more memories at her house than anywhere else in Indy. I dare say I even have more memories with her, than with anyone else from those years. We spent a lot of time together; she was my babysitter quite often, but I think I spent time with her because I wanted to as well. Maybe I'm making that up (maybe I've blocked out other memories), but in any case, you can be sure that I was happy to be there when I was there.

She was a person who loved me unconditionally, and she let me know that, in the way that possibly only a grandparent-type figure can. The best memories with her are from our mornings. I would come padding down the plastic runner that bisected her dining room to the sun room- where she would always pretend that I had snuck up on her, that she hadn't heard me coming. When I got there she would take me in her lap, often letting me crawl into the warm folds of her dressing gown, wrapped in layers of flannel. We would sit, very still, watching the birds come to the feeder just outside the window. We would talk about my dreams from the night before, about plans for the day, about my thoughts, feelings- well anything! They were quiet moments, when it seemed it was just the two of us in the world. Never have I felt so safe, so loved, so known.

When we moved away from Indianapolis, I didn't just lose my sense of safety, I lost my person- the person who would have taken the time to be with me, to let me know that what was going on wasn't my fault, or that I didn't have to like it, or know how to deal with it (all of which I didn't, but thought I should).

It makes sense that for years after that I often declared quite assuredly, nonchalantly, that I believed divorce was a good thing- because living with parents who don't get along is worse than the alternative. I believed that I was better off, because this was a belief that I had established and talked myself into way back when.

It also makes more sense than anything that throughout my whole life, whenever I have approached a milestone (an important birthday, a graduation) or even thought about important milestones (a wedding, my first child being born) there is only one person who ABSOLUTELY MUST BE THERE. And you guessed it, that would be my Alisite. I actually remember when I was young having nightmares that she had died- one could easily interpret that to mean that my whole sense of love and safety was at stake.

Today, she is 90 years old- approaching her 91st in just over a couple of months. She still lives on her own, and is mentally as there as she ever was. Of course, her body is no longer carrying her the way it used to, and if I were to sit in her lap today, I would crush her- but none the less, when I do get to see her, I love spending hours talking to her, hearing what she has to say, listening to her remember times when I was little, and times before my time. I enjoy sharing with her about my life, and hope that she is proud. I wish more than anything, that I could afford to see her more often. Everyone knows that any time I get to the States, there is one trip that I must make, that is not negotiable, which is the 3 hour drive from Kazoo down to Indy to spend the day with my great-aunt.

I know she won't make it to Mexico, and I have only a tiny sliver of hope that she might choose to be packed into a car with my aunt and uncle to drive up for the party we are having in Kazoo before the wedding. If she is not up to it, there is no question, that while Joel and I are in the States over the summer, before or after the wedding, we, certainly I, will take a trip down to see her.

So, I have a person. But when I lost her when I was little, I also tucked away pieces of myself that didn't seem safe any more- being spontaneous and outgoing, the ability to have carefree fun, to trust that I am known and understood. All of that was way too dangerous when at any moment, the very foundation of life as I knew it could fall away.

So tonight, I worked, through regression therapy to be exact, on reclaiming the parts of myself that I locked away. I spoke to the scared little girl that I once was, and let her know that well, I am here, and I am willing to be there for her- to heal the pain that was never dealt with more than 20 years ago. I visualized the joyful, carefree child I was, and welcomed this part of me to be expressed once again.

It's been an emotional night to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of feelings relived. But at the end, I see that, if I can reclaim all the pieces of me that I have shut down at one time or another, I don't actually need a person, because I have myself. And of course, it goes without saying, that while I still have the time, and the opportunities, I will be with the person who was my original person.

Alisite and I, March 2008

(See how my eyes shine when I'm with her? It's what your person does to you.)