I Do Cry

I’m not a big crier… have never been one.

But I always love a good cry – and usually enjoy a good tear-jerker.

Tears are cathartic – and cleansing – a good way to just let go of a lot of pent up crap. And yes, I get it, and all that is good… but…

I’ve also learnt the hard way that letting go of long-repressed emotion and tears in front of someone who doesn’t know how to hold space, or respect the vulnerability of the moment… or worse, who doesn’t care, is far more hurtful than holding on to those tears.

So I don’t always cry.

And in the process, people like me do get this glorified title of being a tough-cookie, a rock-solid go-to-person, who doesn’t melt in a crisis or is so strong that being weak is not an option.

Well, I just said it…

Being weak is not an option.

But being vulnerable is.

But, being vulnerable in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to handle the vulnerability of a really strong woman is disastrous and dangerous – fatal even!

So, I generally prefer not to cry…. it’s a coping mechanism… unhealthy, I know… but, well, it worked.

Until I realized that it would be harder to cry in the safety of my home – harder to cry in the place where I should feel safest to cry. I had to keep a strong front in front of my children and hold down the fort for them.

But…

I also realized that my home was the place it was most dangerous for me to cry. It was the place where being vulnerable was not an option. It was a place where keeping my back bare could have been the most riskiest thing to do.

In the process, when the emotions would threaten to overflow, I realized that physically moving out of the house would give me an opportunity to tear up – cars and cabs became my safe space to cry – because no one would see me. Earlier it was my driver who held space and allowed me to discreetly vent, but after he was let go, cab drivers became my silent witnesses. Most times they just allowed me the privacy of their backseat, other times, they grew distraught at not knowing how to react or what to do – sometimes making me laugh at having them worry if people would think they had done something. (No, I wasn’t bawling or moaning… not my style… ever!)

Anyway, that was my makeshift modus operandi. And it worked

Until the big heave happened.

And I froze, of sorts…. not knowing how and where to release this huge load of worry, fear, apprehension, grief, terror, whatever…

I was talking about it – attempting to share – but there was too much vocabulary going on.

So I shifted gears and moved to simple sentences – cold, simple facts.

And nothing happened with the facts…

Until something stirred when I, dry-mouthed, sensed the space in a conversation that allowed me to without preamble, shakily, speak my truth. Yes, they were still small sentences, cold, simple facts…. but the words came tumbling out.

There was no need to say anything, yet I did. There was no compulsion to speak, yet I spoke. There was no bias and no obligation, yet I was heard. And a few tears threatened to spill – (in public!!!) and I didn’t seem to care! I grumbled, I voiced my betrayal, I voiced my expectations and I voiced my shock at having been betrayed of and for those expectations.

And finally, little by little, that vulnerability was making it’s way out just by having someone be there, hold space and just be.

Phew! I cannot even begin to fully fathom and express how precious and special such people and such moments are. But I do recognize that in that taking, I had opened up a gateway to give back just as much.

You know who you are. And I know who I am.

I am strong.

I am vulnerable.

And…I do cry… a little more sometimes.

Thank you for checking in on your strong friend.

Standing up for Me

A few days ago I was challenged. I was challenged for expressing my anger and upset. I was challenged for my audacity to stand up for an unfair blame. I was challenged with anger and angry abusives. I was challenged by being questioned for my sensitivity to a remark that apparently I should have allowed. And I was challenged for not accepting the anger that was directed at me for showing my non-acceptance of that abusive behaviour.

I was challenged for saying ‘NO’

So let me be honest here and say that the incident began as meekly as most arguments – arising from a ridiculous matter – but seeing it take milliseconds to escalate into a barrage of verbal assault was nothing short of abnormal. There was a serious dysfunction at play here – and matching it with any shade of normal attempt at pacifying was just not available.

I was agitated – physically and emotionally – and I was shocked. For a brief moment, I couldn’t understand what was happening until I started recognizing a pattern – that was using every trick it the book to abuse the hell of me and attempt to ridicule, insult, humiliate and make me look lesser – and validate whatever the f**k was going on in that person’s head. (trust me, we don’t want to go there .. not yet)

And suddenly, even though I could see this pattern and a trained part of me was telling me that it wasn’t about me, the ugly truth is that it was very, very hard to be neutral and demonstrate all that big-hearted compassion we all strive for in face of it. It was near impossible to get past the immense hate balls that were being thrown on me – when the argument wasn’t even about me to begin with. Simply put, it was easier to retaliate and give back in the language the other person seemingly understood.

But every time I tried to calm myself down and breathe in some quiet – believe me I tried – I was dragged back to perpetuate the scenario over and over again and refused my time to disconnect and get out of that space – leaving me no opportunity to even slip into a corner in my head that was meant for ‘peace of mind‘

Surprisingly, though, I found myself remaining rooted in my values and upholding the boundary that was being ruthlessly violated in those moments.

So here’s what I did.

I called out the behavior. I called out the crap that was absolutely unacceptable to me and I very clearly said that I was NOT going to accept it any more. I refused to lift my head and look at the person in that state and I told them exactly why I was not going to look at them. That I wanted no contact until that person spoke decently, respectfully and maturely.

More importantly, in the face of abuse, I found myself refusing to ASK for basic courtesy and respect – instead, I demanded it as a basic right that I was not going to throw at the discretion of someone who clearly did not value another person’s sense of respect – let alone, self-respect.

In short, I bloody well stood up for myself.

As I’m looking back to that day, I can again confirm that I have no regrets about what I said. Yes, it was anger that prompted me to say the things I did, but I meant them. I meant it when I called out the behaviour and I meant it when I said that I was done with that relationship if staying in it meant that I had to put up with immature insanity. Caring about someone does not come with a defacto ‘Get away scot-free’ card that allows you to be abused and mistreated. Neither does it come with any clauses that ask of you to be mindful of being considerate but have your own respect and boundaries violated senselessly.

Many Indian families (even my grandmother) have this rubbish idea they use to have their unruly, misbehaving kids get away with bad behaviour – they often refer to their children as having a harsh tongue but a soft and loving heart. A bigger pile of BS, I haven’t heard in this context. Nasty is nasty,  rude is rude, being mean is being mean – and these people were unfortunately raised with the idea that their bad behaviour was pardonable because their parents believed in the goodness of their heart. Good heart, I agree, because I know this person, but no – it does NOT give anyone any permission to be so rude, mean and harsh and cover it with any other band-aid psychobabble.

Uh-huh – sorry – might have been there, might have done that, might have given folks the impression that it was OK – but the buck stops here! Not happening again – ever!

And just as surprisingly, I was told one thing that made me sit back and think over the days that followed.

I was told that I had changed.

At face value, my change might have been one that said, “Hey! She’s not putting up with my tantrum like she used to! She’s changed! I don’t like this version of her.”

So I thought about it.

And the more I thought about it, the more I peeked into my heart for any feelings of remorse or guilt at how I had maintained myself. I questioned myself over and over again to see if I had missed something and if my anger was, in fact, misplaced and unjustified. Was I wrong to have voiced my dissent? Was I wrong to have stood up for myself? Was I being a hypocrite with all my ‘spiritual’ take? (Yes, I was called out for being a goody-two-shoes with all my meditation crap & for having you folks read and like my blogs/ article – yes, you guys came in too!)

And no matter which way I looked at it, I felt no guilt, remorse or fear. I felt grounded and calm. I didn’t find me justifying to myself (or maybe I did at some point, I don’t know), but I recognized that I was speaking from a place of calm and deep-down genuine love for this person. I hated what circumstances had done to this individual’s sense of balance, self-worth and to some extent, I hated this new person who I really didn’t recognize – I guess change affects everyone either way – but regardless, I was not ready to trade in my changed status of self-respect and self-worth for anything.

I remember being mocked at for saying, ‘I valued those who value me‘ and this sentiment inferred as if I were only thriving on the adulation of those who put me up on a glorified pedestal. Yeah, that would be fun… only, I’m not that famous yet (but I’ll leave that invitation open). But here’s the thing, why, WHY would I want to hang out with people who would not value me? Why would, why should anyone??

Little by little, I started moving away from the ‘what just happened‘ phase and started easing into the understanding behind why and how I had changed.

Some years ago, I recall sharing with a dear friend, Mubeena, about this so-called wisdom that people were saying I had. I remember telling her that I questioned this wisdom, because I wasn’t entirely sure it was mine entirely. It was wisdom that I had read in books, scriptures, articles, courses, seminars, conferences, and such experiences and then at various times through applying life experiences to understand the karma of it all and, then, maybe somewhere somehow it became mine. That day, Mubeena held my shoulders and said that she believed it was mine. I hugged her for being my friend and left the inquiry for another day.

This morning as I was watching my tea infuse (I think I mentioned in a previous blog how this tea infusion time is my mental space time), it dawned on me out of nowhere that this wisdom I was trying to apportion was, is, collective. No one owned it. It was for everyone.

I realised that awareness and enlightenment come to us in various forms – written text, spoken words, experienced moments – and yet, what we make out of it, how we embrace it makes us who we are. At the end of the day, me moving myself outwards and upwards was my responsibility – as it everyone else’s for themselves. Whether they chose to see it and shift was their business, me choosing to shift was mine.

That is how and why I had changed.

The books I read, the teachers and mentors I followed and learnt from, the philosophies I subscribed to, had all slowly seeped into my behaviour – my way of being – and were now reflected in my responses, so different to the reactions of the past. Don’t get me wrong – I’m no saint and I have my fair share of reactions (ask my children!), and I’m your contemporary woman with contemporary tragedies and catastrophes, but I had changed.

And, best of all, I am happy and proud of what I have changed into. If this is the kind of example I am working on setting for my children, if this is the kind of grounded woman I aspire to inspire in others, if this is the soon-to-be-40 year old woman I am turning into…

So be it.

 

Behind Closed Doors

In case I hadn’t mentioned it earlier, I love reading – I simply love my books and my reads. Since I didn’t focus on a specific genre, I usually read a variety of literature – from Sci-fi, to Chicklit (usually Irish female authored), Courtroom fiction, some non-fiction, biographies, young adult adventure thriller & young adult fantasy too (Harry Potter being a favorite) etc. As part of an online book club, I came across a broader list of books that constantly kept me reading.

Goodreads buddies sharing their current reads and favorites, brought a recent psychological thriller to my attention.  ‘Behind Closed Doors’ by BA Paris. The blurb said very little and I hadn’t read psychological thrillers before, so I wasn’t really in the know of what I was getting into, but thought it might have been a bit of mystery or relationship-based drama.

What I was presented with, was nothing I was prepared for. My review went as follows, and the more I think of it, the deeper it sinks…

Ok.. so my review sounds more like a diary entry, but this was the only way I could process this book.. My apologies for going off-track, but perhaps this is my record of my own cathartic journey…

Honestly, I don’t quite know where to begin with the review – so maybe, it’s just that this was more frightening and scary to come face to face with the senseless evil residing in a psychopath.. But who am I kidding? It got personal – I could tell the story from the start, the tell-tales signs, the indicators, the insanity and naivete that one can only tell from experience (to some extent). So the first few chapters, for me, were particularly painful and gut-wrenching. It was eerie the way the experience was expressed because it stopped being fiction to me immediately and hovered on real-life narrative instead.

The book is disturbing – for someone dipping into a psychological thriller for the first time as well as for others who maybe revisiting an experience (personal or relative) – it disturbed me as I processed the events as I read them and how the main characters Grace & Jack related to each other. The story reeked of fear and what went on behind the doors where fear was used as a tool to control, manipulate and demonstrate psychopathic sadism *shivers*.

Towards the second half of the book, however, I think I had processed the text, regrouped my emotions and experienced a personal closure or catharsis of sorts and was able to appreciate how far I have come in resurfacing and not just surviving, but thriving. So, by then, the book brought to fore a sense of strength – the strength Grace demonstrates to fight against sheer monstrosity for someone she loves. I cried – because I could relate once again – when Grace’s sister with DS, who she was primarily seeking to protect, came up with the plan that would help her older sister out eventually. I cried just at the memory of how our limited appreciation for the skills and intuition of people with disabilities – where they may lack our ‘normal’ aptitude, but have an innate sense of intuition too.

At other times, especially in the second half – because there was nothing new to discover about Jack. He had made his intentions clear right at the beginning – I did wonder why Grace couldn’t come out with it at one of her dinners. I can imagine Jack, being Jack, would possibly have covered all tracks before the dinner, but it was an option to just come out with it when she had the opportunity to, but I also understand that fear and shame may play crazy roles in sane and clear thinking. I’m glad for Esther and the ending, really… I would have liked to know more about what clues she had picked up and the signs she had noticed to bring her up to play the role she did.. So it leaves me thinking..

Over the years, if there is one thing I have really learnt, then it has to be the power of experience. The only other thing that can supersede it, is using that experience to lift someone else out of a similar experience. Abuse comes in so many different shades, it confuses people, usually the victims. And if their personality is generally timid, then the inner strength needs to be coaxed and encouraged to shine.

Thankfully, my personality is far from timid, but I did break – I did reach sub-zero levels of self-esteem , I did… and it took me a long, very long time to really OWN my strength – I didn’t even realise that I was resilient, strong and brave – I assumed it was what everyone did – I assumed that I was the weak one for experiencing nonsense & allowing myself to. It is not easy – approaching someone for help and telling them your frantic story, only for them to patronizingly say that perhaps you’re overreacting, ‘because we all know he loves you!! At the end of the day, it’s between you & him, not your family – leave them out of it and sort your lives out’

It is not easy, at an emotional low time, to be constantly threatened harm (emotional or psychological) on your family/ dear ones, it is not easy to move in day-to-day fully dependent on someone else for basic needs, to account for minimal money offered or to have to choose between a sibling with a disability and a spouse especially since it is such an irrational choice… neither is it easy to be torn between having to stay in a relationship v/s making the giant leap of breaking traditional norms & thinking of going back to your parents (who live in another country and you legally cannot just jump back on a whim)… Pfft… yes, these experiences are true & they happen to countless people, but it helps to take it, own it & wear it like a medal – If I’ve gotten through that, then I’m certain there is a larger role for me that reaches out to others.

Behind Closed Doors is an emotional roller coaster – it took me through suspicion, disbelief, anger, fury, resentment, hatred, grief, disgust, shock, apathy, fear, doubt, self-doubt, loathing, abhorrence and many others. I slept poorly the 2 days I took to read this. Last night, I slept fitfully and dreamt of certain people who had the tendency to derive pleasure from presenting themselves unannounced to the extreme discomfort of others. I double-checked my doors and then sat down this morning to fully own that I had surfaced.

You can find the book on Amazon here