In Search of Self, Love & Love of Self

Our sense of self develops as our awareness of the world develops.  When we are infants, and perhaps even toddlers, the world and ourselves are one, there is no differentiation. This was demonstrated to myself and my husband when my daughter was three.  My husband yelled at the cat (I think she was scratching at something) and my daughter burst into tears.  She and the cat were one.  The cat got in trouble, so she (my daughter) was in trouble.  Differentiation of self goes hand in hand with development of potty training skills.  Not only does there need to be a certain level of control of bodily functions, but there needs to be an awareness, that just because things come from your body, that does not mean they are parts of yourself.  Children who have difficulty with differentiation of self from the world, even though they may have the ability to control bodily function, may in fact NEED to have their excrement next to their bodies in order to connect them to the world. kind of like an umbilical cord of poop.  This in fact is proof that they CAN control their bodily functions but have not developed enough self awareness to no longer need that umbilical cord.  We then discover that our actions do not control the actions of others or the environment (although everything is relative).  Just because we yell, does not mean the lights are going to flicker.  When we cry it doesn't rain.  As we grow older we find that although we are separate from the environment, we can indeed impact it.  When we pinch our sister, she cries.  If we throw a ball at the window, it might break, or bounce off and hit us in the nose.  Use of this becomes more sophisticated, so that we get what we want.  If we make a certain face, we get laughter, if we say certain words that we hear, but don't understand, we may get punished for it.

Self-awareness changes in leaps and bounds once we start attending school.  We no longer have attentive and admiring adults waiting on our every word and admiriing our every action.  We are in fact, in competition for the attention of adults as well as attention from our peers.  We know that we are different from the world, and are becoming aware (sometimes painfully) that we are different from each other.  Extroverts and clowns get the laughs.  If we talk out or misbehave we get punished and ostracized or admired depending on the deed and sometimes the peer group and sometimes who the transgressor was.  We begin to start developing an awareness of physical beauty and physical prowess.  We realize that there is a hierarchy dependent as much on what we look like, as what we do.  Gender may also play a role in the hierarchy, dependent on our age, and WHEN we came of age.  People with hygiene issues (smells), looks or physical and behavioral differences outside the norms are set outside the hierarchy as a sub-group all of its own.  Class performance and intelligence does affect this hierarchy, but can not get you a place in the hierarchy all on its own.  In observation, classroom observations and discussions with my children, there is a greater acceptance of children with special needs and an inclusion or maybe an add-on to the hierarchy.  This probably is more due to the mainstreaming of children with Special Needs in compliance with Public Law 94-142, implemented in 1975, which required all states to educate ALL CHILDREN no matter their mental or physical abilities, rather than some magical generational enlightenment.

When I was in High School, 1971-1975, I think I was barely past the need for some type of umbilical cord, though perhaps not composed of poop.  Somehow, when I started 5th grade in 1967, it became common knowledge that I had skipped 4th grade.  I don't recall ever announcing it to the world, but may have divulged this information innocently, when asked what school I came from last.  I don't know.  But it seemed to be common knowledge, and followed me through my school years like a cat.  I do know that I was completely absent any of those physical skills which elicit admiration.  I remember when I was in First Grade in Mississippi, hiding in the playhouse rather than participating in kickball during P.E.  Since I had the utmost difficulty staying upright on my two legs this was no surprise.  I still have scars on my knees from constantly falling down on sidewalks until I was in fifth grade; no matter whether walking, skipping or running.  It wasn't helped by the fact that little girls of that time were expected to wear dresses, not pants, and Mary Jane shoes with slick bottoms and those little anklet socks that never stayed up, but fell down to under the bottom of your heels, so that you got bloody blisters on the backs of your heels.  Why they developed clothing that tortured children, I don't know, but I was mightily tortured.

I was painfully shy, could not engage in conversation with most males my age (the better looking, and more popular, the less likely the interaction, but if our worlds did collide, I likely ran away, was incoherent or burst into giggles).  I carefully avoided Physical Education during my years in High School except for the one year during my Sophomore year when the whole family was out-of-state, or there would have been even more reason for infamy.  I was however, looking back on it now, a Band Geek.  A place where I was nominally included.  I think being in band is like being a satellite in the heirarchy, rather than an included planet.  I wanted desperately to belong.  To anything, anywhere.  Heaven knew, I did not belong in the Power Dynasty that was my home once my mother was no longer there.  Knowing what I now know, I'm just as glad I wasn't in a position of power, because the price was too high.  So, my teenage years were a struggle for self-discovery, acknowledgement by others (acceptance was only possible in the classroom and in band, but not in the social hierarchy that operated outside of class).  I was mostly ignored at home, and given nominal acknowledgement of my deeds.  I went on one date in high school, which did result in some sort of kiss, but which does not resonate in my memory.  My High School years were quite angsty, filled with badly written poetry, struggle for recognition by others, and a striving to discover ANYTHING about myself that I felt good about.  I was stuck between the extremes of no or minimal acknowledgement by my father, blown out of ANY competition with my younger sister, and my mother who thought ANYTHING I did was WONDERFUL.  This total over-the-top, unearned encouragement is not any good for developing self-esteem, because then you don't trust anything that comes out of that person's mouth, because they obviously weren't paying attention or weren't part of the REAL world.

My daydreams/fantasies, involved me becoming mired in some impossible situation, stuck, lost, hurt, and some handsome young male coming to rescue me and falling in love with me for simply being utterly devoid of talent and unable to rescue myself...I guess.  Feminism had not yet found Kismet.  So, then at the age of 16 I am immersed in a University Town.  A MUCH LARGER microcosm.  When I or I and a roommate walked down a street, there was whistling, and incoherent phrases thrown from rolled down car windows passing by much too fast.  I was suddenly asked on a plethora of dates.  I had no idea what to do, and didn't want to hurt anybody's feelings so I said yes to them all.  The dates were fine, but then there was that indefinable time after the restaurant or the movie or the concert when you were in the car, but they didn't let you get out to go into your dorm room.  THEN there was kissing, and pawing and groping.  There were tongues in the ears, and your discovery of what it was like to kiss a smoker (yuck! still).  And I didn't know the rules.  I guess I still don't.  No front touching, no down the pants, but I guess frenching was allowed.  Eventually, I would build up the courage to say no to 3rd and 4th dates, if they were just too painful.  I never dated the same guy more than a month, sometimes I would move on, he would move on or it was mutual.  

But self-discovery was progressing, because I found a female best friend.  We became roommates, went to each others homes on the weekends.   I was the third wheel on dates (this was before I was more established on my own Voyage of Discovery).  She enjoyed my company.  Dressed me up, taught me how to use make-up better.  I began to discover things about myself that I liked, that I got better at.  I also discovered alcohol during my sophomore year in college...and I was hilarious when I drank (at least I thought so).  And apparently bullet-proof and invincible.  I recall a chugging contest against Frat boys which had the unfortunate consequence of me vomiting in the back seat of a Firebird while the driver was trying to pick up girls at Sonic.  I would go to random Frat parties alone or with friends, concerts.  I engaged in silly stunts and learned dirty jokes which are still the only jokes I can remember.  There were even boys who developed crushes on me.  I thought I fell in love  my Senior year, but he spooked when I informed him.  Everything changed when I was raped while partying with friends in Juarez Mexico.  My carefully guarded virginity was a moot point.  I went on the pill, and stopped saying no.  This led to some repeat encounters, but nothing longlasting.  This level of emotional attachment and interaction continued after College Graduation, through a year of Peace Corps, and through a return year stateside while I worked as a barmaid.  I YEARNED for love, for attachment, for someone's complete and total admiration.  I went for the good-looking, the self-involved, the bad boys.  It didn't helped that I worked in a bar.  Every married couple that worked in that bar divorced.  Co-worker romances didn't work, and pick-ups were a dead end.  But slowly, with each man, I got closer and closer to someone who wanted to know ME, someone who would like me for ME.  I got very close to true romance, with a sustained relationship with a cowboy from Las Vegas NM.  Even went home with him to meet his family which was incredibly intimidating because his mother ran a working dude ranch, wrangled horses and cattle and cooked on a wood-burning stove.  Take THAT for feminism.  This relationship collapsed when I found out he was virulently, violently bigoted against "Mezcans", and wouldn't go anywhere unless you could get there by pick-up or horse.  I was a hiker, a camper, a Sierra Club girl, and a daughter of Civil Rights Workers.  But he was gentle and attentive and set the tone for the next guy.

So, as they say, you can't look for love, it finds you...when you least expect it.  I had a possibly budding romance with a guy who had crushed on me all through college, and kept in touch with me through the Peace Corps and connected with me on my return to the states.  I had always only thought of him as a friend, but was considering moving him up to the next level.  Only prob was he lived in North Carolina, far from the Southwest State I lived in.  So, I quit my bar job, and worked as a Girl Scout Camp Counselor in a camp in the mountains with a girlfriend.  I was sick of guys and wanted to work where I wouldn't have to deal with the hassle of them.  And met the one man my age, the camp aide.  He fell head over heels, but I was still passing through.  He left notes in French in my sleeping bag, in my cubby in the Break Room.  We started spending our 2 hrs and our 24 hrs. off together, very discreetly and by the time anybody figured it out, it was the last week of camp and old news.  But I was still planning to leave...until I got the phone call.  "I've met somebody."  "Well, so have I!."  And I had, but hadn't allowed my heart free rein.  I had plans.  Until those plans were changed.  But each man I saw, dated, "hooked up" with, was closer and closer to what I finally ended up with.  My expectations were changing, but so was my understanding of myself and my needs.

They say you can't be loved until you love yourself.  But I don't think I loved myself, until somebody showed me that I WAS lovable, and beautiful and swept them off their feet.  I began to see myself as others see me.  But doesn't it also have to do with self-worth and competence.  I had become so used to being a failure at home, especially when compared with my multi-talented sister that I didn't try, or my efforts would meet with failure, because I picked activities that I would ALWAYS fail at, because those weren't MY talents, they were hers.  It took a long time to figure out what my talents were, and I believe I'm still discovering.  But I did find a career that I could be passionate about.  That was ME, made me feel, made me alive, and made me feel like I made a difference.  We are not a dish, that you add all the ingredients together, cook and you are done as a person, you are complete, finished.  We are always BECOMING, evolving, changing, learning.  We are discovering our weaknesses and building on our strengths.  And if we are lucky, our partners stay with us and learn how to love the constantly evolving and changing us, and us them and discover together. You develop wisdom, and change jobs to ones that nurture your soul, and nurture and renew the friendships that make you more you and add to your life and sense of discovery.

So here's to discovery, and love and life and change, and love!

Peace,
Kismet