snake skin struggles

I had a quaint and homey kind of tale to tell. It was going to start with Cowgirl cooking us her first big girl dinner using a recipe from the kids cookbook we gave her for her birthday. So I am going to apologize up front because this story is going to go awry. But first, the homey part:

I told Cowgirl to pick out some recipes for her meal and I would buy the ingredients. She settled on chicken fingers and frozen fruit pops for dessert. Her chair was pulled over to the counter, the measuring cups and spoons all set out. I was sous-chef and she a diminutive Gordon Ramsey. Yes, I got a tongue thrashing for screwing up the dipping sauce (the Husband informing me that "salad dressing" is code for mayonnaise); she enjoyed wielding the rolling pin (crushing cheese crackers for a shake n' bake coating), dipping the chicken into buttermilk and shaking everything up in a zip lock baggie. I don't eat chicken, so I didn't get to sample the flavors although she tempted me by disclosing "the special ingredient is Love!" The fruit pops (watermelon, raspberries and lemon juice) were the clear favorite of the night. "Next time, let's make MORE!" she proclaimed.

When I bought the cookbook I was knowingly recreating a memory from my childhood. One of the many things the Husband and I have in common is we both loved our Betty Crocker's Cookbook for Boys and Girls.








I still draw upon it when I have leftover pizza sauce and I make myself english muffin pizzas (which called for American Cheese - a flavor combination that immediately takes me back - gulp - 40 years!)

I was also thinking about the first meal I cooked for my family out of that cookbook: Mad Hatter Meatballs. At the time it felt like a pivotal moment, as if preparing dinner was a statement about my contribution as an individual, that I was no longer a mere child. I was very serious about that meal and wanted it wow my family.

And then, right before my meatballs were to be served, I learned my brother was not staying for dinner. I was devastated. I remember I hid in my parent's bathroom and I cried. I am not and never have been a pretty crier. My face gets all red and blotchy, snot pours out of my nose and these effects seem to linger on long after the emotional storm has passed. So before coming out of the bathroom and facing my family I did what became my habit: I covered my emotions. I actually took talc powder (scented!) and blotted my entire face in the hope of masking the red blotches.

My brother came up to me and asked me if I minded him going out and yes, again I buried my feelings and told him I didn't care. As I type this, I realize what I was really saying then (and for years to come) was I don't matter. My feelings, my desires, my emotions are not important, are not worth voicing and certainly not deserving of asking another person to consider or respect. (To be fair, my brother is 8 1/2 years older than me and at that time was almost out of high school and busy in his life; we had not had much time together and we didn't really know each other at all, so he had no clue as to what was going on and I chose not to communicate this with him.)

My brother did ask "what's all over your face?" I quickly lied and told him it was flour from cooking. I marvel now at how adept I was already at subterfuge.

Why this story has returned to me in full emotional color is not clear to me. I have been thinking about how sad it is that at an early age I was already hiding my feelings away, as if they were something to be ashamed of; as if they were somehow wrong and unacceptable. I do not know where I learned I did not have the right to ask for my wants or needs to be considered.

I guess I still hide how I feel. Which maybe is scary because people do think of me as an "emotionally liberated" person. But there is still much I tuck away, poke under the carpet, bury in the backyard.

Right now I am going through an unexpected dark patch. It may be the change in weather. I love Autumn but am aware of the effects of less sunlight upon my inner landscape. But I know there is more. As I drove home yesterday I had the realization that what I am feeling is what Anais Nin meant when she wrote "And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." This emotional discomfort, this sense of being tightly squeezed has become increasingly intolerable and it is forcing me to change, to move, to ... well ... grow.

According to Sun Bear my birth season is ruled by snake. This is how I feel: like a snake caught between growing a new skin but still lumbering around in an old, tight, restrictive casing. I don't know what that expansive new skin will feel like - I only know right now I feel stuck and am struggling but that somehow the struggle is my sign that things are okay. I just have to hang on. And wriggle a lot.

This post helped me immensely today. Borrowing from it these words of Pablo Neruda:

"All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny."

So I paint, I cry, I despair over creating anything of meaning or worth, of my words and my art mattering. I realized first I must value myself. Really, all this wiggling wriggling discomfort is about that - honoring myself and my experience enough to be present to all that I am and placing it before me, and saying "this does feed me." All of this, a meal to enjoy. A meal to eventually share. Skin and all.

postscript: hello ...it occurred to me later that I have been painting images of Snake Goddess ... and then I found the above journal page from a year ago which seems pretty wise advice to me right now. I wrote this post earlier today and by this evening I've discovered tiny seeds of ideas poking their heads into my consciousness. Ideas that excite me, that suggest open doors and ways to deepen into myself and my life. Go figure, I was busy being distracted by my feelings which allow this new growth to emerge unhindered. A highlight from my day (which somehow captures the whole experience) was me yelling into my cellphone "Spirit World? Are you there?!" Yes, I got a response. (Okay, so I was trying to talk to a friend, the connection was bad, and I was hoping she was at the deli - Spirit World - waiting to meet me.)