Silence and Retreat
My siblings often expressed their feeling I was spoiled, receiving special treatment and opportunities not offered to them. As a child I couldn’t understand why they felt this way. How could I know at such a young age the ballet lessons and the clothes from Lad and Lassie had not also been offered to them?
I became uncomfortable in the position I found myself as it created constant disharmony between us. When I was eleven I began to buy my own clothes and shoes with money I earned from babysitting. Trying to fit in, I hoped it would help me feel more accepted if I began to take less from the family, but it made no difference in the end. I was always considered the spoiled princess.
I grew to hate special attention, receiving gifts, or anything that would make me stand out. Even ballet lessons, the one thing that gave me joy, became something best kept to myself. Becoming quiet, plain and unnoticed was a less unsettling existence. I learned to believe I didn’t deserve anything in spite of the giver or their reason for giving it. It became quite embarrassing in situations where gifts were exchanged, because no matter how heartfelt or nice the gift was I would hesitate to accept it. In the back of my mind I always wondered what the cost would be, feeling the pressure in its weight.
Even my imagination was criticized to the point I didn’t want to talk or spend time with anyone. I was fortunate to have my own bedroom and that was where I spent most of my time, often hiding in the closet. When in the company of others and family obligations, people often commented on my quiet nature. Being with this family amplified my feelings of rejection and isolation.
With animals I discovered a more acceptable replacement for human family, longing to have a pet companion to erase away my pervasive loneliness. I would often encourage the neighbours cat to visit when I was outside. Because Helen believed that animals were dirty, smelly creatures – pets were not allowed in the house. But this applied not only to animals because people can also be messy, so I was not allowed to have friends come visit. I had trouble imagining why anyone would have wanted to spend time at our house, a place where no fun could be had.
I wasn’t allowed to do anything that would create mess or make noise. I spent a great deal of time on my own, though I wanted to have company and feel normal. When I went to the home of a friend I was always amazed at their freedom. They could get a snack for me, or invite me for dinner without notice, and everyone in the family would have lively conversations filled with laughter rather than my norm of condemnation. Everyone was allowed to speak and be heard. Of course I would not be allowed to stay often, but I always enjoyed the time spent in their homes. Still, I was afraid to speak or join in for fear I would say or do something stupid and not be invited back.
I felt that it was better to be alone, this way I could not embarrass myself, stand out or be noticed. Being with animals though has been a different story altogether. They make me feel whole and at peace. Even today I feel more at ease with animals than with people. I do not have to change or become someone different for them to want to spend time with me. They like me as I am, with all my faults. There is no judgment, no criticism, no anger. They just are, and I feel accepted by them. Truthfully, this is the only time I do feel real comfort and acceptance. Often I have retreated into silence and isolation in the company of wildlife where I am most at home and where I can regain some balance.
I feel fortunate to have had so many experiences with animals and especially birds. As I began to write down some of the stories of the interactions, I discovered something I hadn’t see before; animals were showing me parts of my personality, all the unique aspects of myself that had been silenced throughout my life. And in the act of drawing them those experiences came back to me, made me whole, the shards of my returning spirit giving me permission to be me.
I can’t help but wonder what I would have been like had I not been humiliated into a compressed and silent existence. What could I have accomplished had I been encouraged rather than discouraged? Would I have been able to love and be loved in return? Would my children be proud of me rather than ashamed? Would they still be in my life? Would I know my grandchildren and be part of their lives rather than be utterly excluded? Would I have been able to attend their weddings, meet their husbands and wives, get to know their families? Would I be able to share Christmas with family rather than alone? Would have purpose, a reason for being here? Would they tell me I’m a good person?
I have taught myself to believe that none of those things frozen in the past matter. Instead, I find hope discovering a feather upon the path I walk, the eagle calling above me, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the colour of leaves turning into autumn, the glimpse of a cougar walking parallel to me in the forest, my dog as she slides down the hill with her front paws on a rock, a hummingbird at the feeder, the call of the chickadee taking a seed up to the branch, and the moose standing on the path before me. These are things that ease the pain and help me remember I too was once loved.
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