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And then I wonder…
By Tonya Jone Miller | November 5, 2009
Just who the hell reads this anyway? Seriously. Who cares what I think? I’m astounded sometimes that anybody does. I’m just a girl getting through life the best I can. And wondering at what point, if ever, I’ll stop referring to myself as a “girl.”
I mean, I don’t have worse self-esteem issues than the average person. It’s not like I don’t love myself or don’t have confidence in my capabilities or think I’m a horrible person. Most of the time, anyway. Doesn’t everybody struggle like this? But since it seems someone actually cares to read the play-by-play of my life, I keep writing. Surface details and minutiae sometimes I admit, but today you get moodiness and the inner workings of my machine…
I haven’t been this emotionally raw in a long time. I’m seeing ghosts. Spectres from my past, reminders of people I’ve loved in the faces of strangers. I try so hard to live a life of no regrets, yet I still fuck up every day. It’s so goddamn frustrating. And all these little epiphanies I’m having, they’re exhausting. MVP is kicking my ass. Every new story I hear, the more I learn about my mother’s life, the more I realize that for as close as we are, I know so very little about what made her who she is. And in turn, how who she is made me what I am.
My mother did not fight in the war, but in her own way, she fought the war. One person teaching others in the midst of inconceivable violence, her going to Saigon in 1968 was an act of pacifism. She never picked up a gun, never fought in the jungles, yet she has post-traumatic stress disorder. We’ve only just realized it. The thing is, she would never let herself experience those feelings because she didn’t think she deserved to. She didn’t suffer like the soldiers or the Vietnamese, so in way she never felt justified in being so affected by her experience there.
She would just shut down. I remember, growing up, if any mention of Vietnam, war, or violence- any discussion of mankind’s capacity for cruelty toward itself- came up, she’d just turn off. Unlike vets who might have outbursts of rage, she’d turn inward when normally she was so open and expressive. We (my sister and I) learned not to ask particular questions or talk about certain things. Much like living with an alcoholic parent, not quite knowing what would trigger the change, fearing that detachment. I cannot blame Mom. I don’t think any of us realized what was happening.
She lent me a dvd of a documentary called Vietnam: Homecoming, and watching it, I saw her in the faces of the veterans they interviewed. The careful, studied relating of certain facts, the distance. Then the trembling and shaking as the memories and emotions rose. Never quite exploding, never quite breaking through the dam, just slightly more than could be contained, spilling over in wavering voices and tears that escaped despite best efforts. I didn’t want this to be a “war story,” I wanted this to be from a different point of view. But I am realizing there is no divorcing the conflict from my mother’s past- they are inextricably interwoven.
Listening to the vets’ families talking about their lives growing up with the ghost of Vietnam, I completely identified with their experiences. And then talking to Mom about it, I realized that she has never let herself FEEL these things, never mourned for the part of herself she left behind, the impossible choices she made in the middle of a war. It’s heartbreaking to watch her speak of them. I feel so much compassion, respect for her courage, awe of her strength. And in tandem with that, maybe even because of it, I am allowing myself to feel things I’ve suppressed for years, to admit that she was less-than-perfect.
Daddy (yes, I always called him that, even as an adult) wasn’t dependable, was hardly even in the picture, so I think in my head, I couldn’t acknowledge Mom’s faults and shortcomings. If I did that, I’d have nothing. No one. So I pretended she never hurt me when the truth is that in spite of being a wonderful parent, sometimes she did. Not in a physical sense. But then, who wasn’t irrevocably messed up by their parents in some way? Lol, but true. Welcome to the human condition.
*whew* Holy fuck that’s a mouthful. And being how late it is and how tired I am, hopefully it makes some kind of sense.
Tonya
Topics: My Life | 4 Comments »
November 6th, 2009 at 12:03 am
Of course, honey. With both of them, you as a child have to believe they’re Good and Know What They’re Doing; it’s a survival thing for you, because you know as a child that you can’t survive on your own. So you have to be sensitive, you have to shape your reactions to fit.
And the reason you write is because you have to. Just like the rest of us.
November 6th, 2009 at 11:36 am
You’re gonna be fine. You’re feeling raw because you’re venturing into uncharted territory and you’re pushing yourself WAY out of your comfort zone. My suspicion is that you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t NEED to be doing it.
One day, you’ll get back to a level of self-questioning that’s more comfortable and more what you consider average, and you’ll have the insight and self-knowledge to have made this all well worth it.
But for right now, just allow yourself to focus on what you need to be looking at and examining.
And remember there are people who care about you.
O
November 6th, 2009 at 11:54 am
I read this, and I care. You are such an amazing, strong, beautiful woman. Every time I read your blog, I’m like… “DAMN! How does she do it?!?” For all that you’ve been through, and everything you’ve accomplished, you remain real, vibrant, alive, and thriving. Sometimes I just wanna sit you down and ask you what *I* can do to learn to love myself, to figure myself out, to ward off the guilt I sometimes feel from normal human things (like sexuality), to live the life I want and enjoy it… to find myself and be myself and really LIVE. Because you seem to do it well. I dunno if you’ve ever thought of it this way, but in that… in being yourself, in being vulnerable and real and not hiding everything… you’ve accomplished a major goal that some of us spend our entire lives trying to do. So continue with the self exploration, just take care of yourself.
November 6th, 2009 at 1:37 pm
Thanks, all. Sometimes this girl just needs a little hand-holding and a pat on the back… *hugs*