Living for the expectations of others is a surefire way to generate misery. Its amazing how much of this “Me, me, me” culture that is being normalized currently is actually “What do you think of me, me, me?” when you strip away the narrative that disguises this. Very rarely do satisfy anothers standards and to attempt this again and again means someone is engaging in the psycho-spiritual form of BDSM because they must be gaining some sort of pleasure or release from the pain otherwise they would change. Maybe not. Some people have to fall in and climb out of the same hole again and again before they formulate a better way.
I spent quite a while banging my head against a brick wall when three steps to my left allowed me to grasp a handle that flipped the entire thing as I walked seamlessly through the obstacle and into a far better state of being. Nobody really likes to nag, moan and whinge, contrary to what you may think. Oh sure, there are some people who are genuinely miserable and can’t wait to share this abundance of darkness with anyone unlucky enough to make their acquaintance as they use them like an emotional tampon via which to vent but eight out of ten, when questioned, “If I could flick a switch and let the sun shine within by making all of the clouds you’ve known melt would you take it?” will gladly accept.
The other two are fixed, rigid and have often lived lives defined by the events that made them like this and, for them, the thought of change causes a great amount of petrification because it is akin to annihilating themselves. Which, in a sense, it is but only the false self with a small S so the large one can step in to the place it vacates and once again take up residence. A lot of people are scared stiff of this and it speaks volumes as the true nature of the problem in this realm and why being authentic is at an all time low whilst image building creates castles in the sky that the hopelessly hopeful then move in and attempt to delude themselves and the rest that its the real thing. They are, in a way, very similar to those two out of ten but are defined by delusion instead and anyone who even seems like they may pop the balloon upon which they hitch a life is seen as a prick.
Having standards and respect for yourself is something quite vital but people come from families that shred the inborn undependent spirit all children possess when stepping into this realm from the moment they are teething and thus create little broken replicas of themselves. Its a sad state of affairs. It really is but most don’t care and the System gladly turns a blind eye to the misery it begets because its in its best interests when it comes to symptom management, distraction, discontent and the sale of trinkets because when one is coming from a state of coherence these baubles are correctly viewed as worthless and nowhere near as essential as most people suspect if they don’t introspect and just live the Patterns instead.
Emotional blackmail often lies at the heart of this and its such a corrosive emotion that seeps from one generation to the next because its such an effective weapon that warps the awareness of one who it touches so they then make it part of their arsenal. Its why kids turn into their parents even though they hated what they did as they respin the cycle of ignorance whilst laying another brick in the wall of their families suffering. It takes an immense amount of strength to do for Self, even if that means you’ve got to walk alone for a bit and suffer the slings, arrows, looks and gossip that come from not holding up your end on a weight you inherited. Sometimes just by dropping it the other comes to their senses about the immense amount of effort they’d been putting in to such silly, non essential things.
Its rare but it can happen, especially if the person has an inkling of their inner realm and has often wished to change without knowing quite how to go about it. In the case of which I’m speaking it also helped said person wasn’t entirely enmeshed and fixated upon another being as they were locked in an orbit of dysfunction as she had quite a healthy social circle and with them was quite different. The daughter often lamented “Why can’t you treat my like one of your friends who always sing your praises and seem quite decent?” to which the mother quipped “Why don’t you start acting like them and we’ll see what happens?”.
When she upped, left, stopped picking up her phone and responding to texts her mother went on a rampage of sorts, raging and wailing to anyone who’d listen. In due course this dissipated, mainly due to her friends who said “Look, you two were always fighting. Maybe its for the best. Leave her alone, see what happens” which echoed exactly what I’d shared about a dog on chain isn’t loyal but obliged. The true test is to set it free and then see what happens.
The girl felt immense waves of guilt. She often felt like her very world was crumbling and became her own harshest critic, like her mother times ten, and nearly spiraled into a loop of Self Destruction and all it took was telling her that “Guilt and fear are street signs on the way to healing. You’ve got to learn how to decode the signal in the present and keep walking with your intent as opposed to being encoded by previous imperience”. She took this on board, real quick, and chose painting. Its something she’d always felt drawn toward but had never been encouraged because in their lives money was stretched thin since her father left and her mother had to do the single parent thing. Part of their angst was due to her using her daughter as a vent for things that were wrong in her relationship and when I mentioned they were carrying the casket of a man who was technically dead and that was the main cause of their discontent she ran with tears streaming at the implications.
Next time she popped in she had thrown some ink on canvas that depicted this and said “You know what, you were right. It all makes sense. Things were perfect when it was us three as a unit and then not long after he left nothing I did came up to scratch. There was always a bone to pick, a pointless argument that lead to screaming and yelling. At the time I thought it was my fault. That I was doing this but now I get it and see the true cause of the burden”.
Across town her mother was sitting in quiet reflection as she watched the kettle boil and noticed how quiet her house is because “Its not a home any more. Not since she left. I miss her something terrible” as she drew out a pad and pen as I’d instructed and started writing down their top ten arguments. She laughed, she cried and then eventually shook her head at how stupid it all is when she looked back at the cause of this dissent that had caused this course of actions because, as I said, “The outside only reflects the in and if we remove what is rotten then the stink we blame another for vanishes as we smell the roses instead”.
Later that night she was at one her many social events with her friends that often linked to something charitable or religious and as they were doing their bit she asked “Do you think I’m a two faced bish?” to the friend she called best who thought for a moment and then said “Who isn’t? Why did you ask this? Penny for em, go on spill!” because these two were more like sisters as they had such an easy cohesion. She also got on really well with the daughter who called her Auntie even though they weren’t related as she’d been there since a kid so she knew the outs and ins.
“Well, one of the last things she said before she packed up and left was that I’m a two faced bish. She says I show the world that I’m open minded, tolerant and really easy going but with her its a constant drive for perfection, nothing is ever good enough or up to her standards and even when she does well its not congratulated or encouraged because its expected“. “Well I’ve told you that before because you’re really harsh on the kid. I know why you think you do it but you get a better response with sugar than the other thing. You never used to be like this, its only after your man left…” and their conversation took off on a whole nother tangent as they talked from the night till the AM about things she’d never addressed or mentioned. Such is the power of a true friend who pulls no punches and you respect enough to listen. Very rare in this realm but can generate miracles.
The budding artist to be was almost giddy as she stood there with easel recreating the landscape as her hair billowed in the wind and wore a silly little grin through which her tongue was poking in concentration. So much so that she didn’t notice me slip in via the periphery of her awareness and when she did she was startled and let out a squeal of delight then said “Well, what do you think?”. The scene was only based partly in reality as it hinted at something far deeper and yet cyclic because it was a visual representation of that well known poem about footprints. Seeing it alone was proof she was healing and what she said next confirmed it:
“I met my mother in the market. I was just out getting some shopping and we ran into each other. It was a little awkward but I was feeling amazing and didn’t try to hide how great it felt to see her or not see her. In that sense I was indifferent and it was so liberating just telling it how it is and, to my surprise, she said she got why I did it and wished me the best, gave me a hug and kiss and went about her business. Thats why I called you here because I’m painting this for her and taking it over once its done. She lxved that poem and often said that I was the strength that kept her going when life knocked the wind out of her sails when Dad left”.
It really was something and the girl in front of me was so different to what she had been. Way more confident, happy and present in the moment. Her mother had made some shifts as well but nowhere near as dramatic as the blooming of this flower that was wilting under her critical attention. She’d came into her own in a sense now and was way more confident and all it took was almost a year to disconnect. I asked her about how she felt, the difference between now and then, what she’d gained, lost, imperienced. All of these kind of things. She replied:
“I wish I’d did what you said when you first mentioned back then. I simply wasn’t ready and I really thought that if I just tried really, really hard I’d be able to fill the gap that she felt by being exactly as she wished. That was so stupid. Not to mention frustrating and tiring. What did it get us? Same pot full of pish that we threw over each other than complained about the stink whilst not doing anything to change our thoughts, minds and actions. So stupid!”.
Sometimes you’ve got to bang your head against the wall before you realize there was a door there, just waiting, for you to change your perspective. “Speaking of which” she said with a grin as she jutted out her chin and stood straighter still “I have an appointment with the man at the gallery tomorrow evening. He saw the painting that guy you sent from the Cafe commissioned and asked him who made it then gave me a ring. He says I’ve got real talent and wants to see if I’ve got what it takes to put on an exhibition as they are working on a feature to spotlight local talent”.
And just to think, thirteen months ago all of this energy would’ve been spent in arguing instead. Its why I say living for the expectations of others is akin to a slow death sentence that gradually drains the joy and purpose from your existence. I knew she’d get to where she was headed and that it was only a small step on the leap of her progress. The thing with wings is many mothers are afraid to let their kids spread them and leave the nest because of the implications but that is another topic that the astute among you will have already clicked because those who feel insecure within often make another experience this and thus project what they dread onto anothers existence.
You might see her, here and there, always stained in some kind of paint or ink. Often grinning and now her mother is her agent and they have a thriving little business where she can create whatever you wish and the weight they once strained in effort to carry without checking if it was worth it has long since been jettisoned as they each do what they do best and the mother nurtures her childs vision which in turn spurs her to polish her skills and in the end everyone wins as I told them:
“The friction of the past is what caused the refinement process that allowed your relationship to shine like a diamond. Or maybe pearl would be best, know why?” to which the mother piped up real quick “Because they’re quite beautiful but formed via constant irritation just like the objection of my affection” as she gestured with her head and we all fell about laughing at her quip. Suddenly the daughter grabbed a pen and started sketching the outline a vision she’d just been inspired with and said “What till you see this. Its going to be my magnum opus. Not the Birth, which everyone knows well but a triptych I call the Inception of Venus. A tale of unification, division and the beauty of coherence in which both parties accept the land which lays as it is in order to beget a foundation for greater things and the joy of unfolding as, together, we ascend to a new level of resonance in the Game”.
Till we meet again
