Don’t eat the mints

I think early on, we humans seek a pack. That is, if you don’t already exist in one. Somehow, I think we need to feel like we belong, or at least I did…my whole life…

I think I was taught my value (or lack of it) and therefore, my pack status early. I think that that’s when our little souls wander. We wander to finder the pack, the value that we need. The value that tells us we matter. Our sense of belonging…belonging somewhere.

I was pretty young when I realized , I didn’t matter and I did not have value and that I didn’t “belong” in the pack in which I was born…my people. My mother spent most of her days in bed, door closed, absent from our days. Probably depression, but most likely dysfunction too. But that’s her story. Home was empty. We were all well aware that we were a burden…unwanted. Any tending to us was followed by how much she disliked what she was doing for us. I broke my arm once jumping in trees. She was ticked off that she had to get up from bed and take me to Dr. Grossman. Value.

I think all five of us wandered, a lot, everywhere. My youngest sibling, born in 1968, arrived when the maternal absence Was well established. . She laid in bed most days. The paternal absence had always been. He traveled, and when he came home, it was bad, progressively bad too. So…we all wandered away from our pack..

Feeling alone, when really you’re not, can be confusing. I don’t think our little souls can make sense of that feeling. Every little person needs to feel secure…to feel like they belong…somewhere. I think that’s why I wandered…searching…always.

I was 4 or 5 years old. We had a neighbor, “Mr. Bill”. He and his wife, retired couple, lived one block over in our little Connecticut neighborhood. Mrs was so sweet…just like grandmothers should be, but obedient. Her apron tied snuggly up under her breast with a grey dress that stretched to her shins and an up-do hairstyle that was neatly tucked up with hairpins. Those were the times. Mr. Bill paid great attention to us kids in the neighborhood. We were always welcome to visit. Always. We played dominoes on his picnic table down in the back yard. Played “fly away birdie” too…a silly paper trick with sing song. Silly games, hanging out, ate little mints…the ones that melt in your mouth…kind you used to have a weddings…I think they called them butter mints. Family…this is what love and family must feel like…trust-this must be trust…I belong…welcoming, always…then it changed.

Mr. Bill then moved things inside the garage/basement – entered down in the back yard. He said we were “gonna play a game”. Sheets hung from the clothes line, like a curtain. Like a stage. Mrs. would yell down..”what’s going on Bill?” “Nothing…don’t come down here….leave us alone”. And she did. Those were the times I suppose.

Mr. Bill had us take our clothes off behind the “curtain” and then dance for him. I didn’t like it like I liked playing dominoes, or laughing, or eating the mints. Seemed it was part of the package though.

This must be what families do, right? He gives us candy and lets us play here. We laugh and talk together. Some days they give us lunch outside. We mattered.

I belong here, right? Why do I feel bad and ashamed? We can’t tell anyone? Well, Why? Because then we won’t belong. We won’t matter again. We won’t have a place to be. No more candy. No more pack. Why did we all keep going there? The candy? The games? The laughter with the other children? Maybe. But I think it was mostly because I wanted to feel like I belonged…somewhere. And if I belonged somewhere, then I mattered, right? An innate need that little beings have to feel a sense of security that comes from being in your “pack” was never filled at home. This gave me value.

Now, the messages were screwed up…forever more. Being in a place where people acted like you were welcome, where they gave to you, but at a price. Hurting you and making you feel shame? Part of that package deal. Made you feel you would lose that sense of value if you told? It never made sense. But nothing ever really made sense in my world anyway. My “normal” for the rest of my life. It makes more sense to your little soul to feel like you belong somewhere. Cuz it’s better then feeling lonely where you aren’t wanted…like home. Where you don’t seem to matter.

I learned lessons while visiting Mr. Bill and the other kids. Feeling shame seemed better then not have a pack. Feeling guilt felt better than being alone amongst your people. So we kept coming back.

I learned self sacrifice there…at any cost. It kept me alive and amongst people and with “gifts” for a long time, until it nearly killed me.

I don’t eat mints anymore.

Self sacrifice, at any cost, holds no value.