Starting Over in Journal

from first principles.

It does seem daunting, as an adult, to have to start over. But, that is exactly what I did.

I think there must be a big enough Why for anyone to accomplish this. That is just the nature of our resource-scarce environment which developed our magnificent brain. Conserve. Collect. Invest. And only after extreme privation consider anything else.

The world is changing. Faster than it ever has before. Dr Weinstein & Heying’s book “A Hunter-Gatherer’s Guide to the 21st Century” really cemented that fact, for me. Hyper novelty. Not only are we in an age of hyper novelty, but the novelty of yesterday, yesteryear, last decade, and last century, have yet to be adapted to effectively by mankind. There is no longer a stable base of culture, family, religion- even the very fabric of humanity itself with our adaptable, changing nature, seems to have been polluted by a nameless something. No longer is there room for new thoughts or ideas. Violence and dogmatism rules the day.

The farther I travel from childhood, the more I realize how I stopped assuming that childlike wonder. Instead of observing and thinking how interesting, I wonder why?, I began to observe and think I can expect this in the future, how should I plan?. Which, is not an inherently bad attitude. But, I did not have sufficient thought or analysis to filter what observations were allowed to be assumed reality in my mind. That thought process and analysis should be the crown jewel of childhood. It should have been my crown jewel. But it was stolen from me. By brutal violence in early childhood, abandonment and countless threats of abandonment, by public school propaganda, by fear, coercion, terror, manipulation, etc etc.

I am often so very deeply aware of my own lack of direction. I know in my core that I did not direct my own healing. At least not consciously. What served as my guide? What was it that allowed me to be open to the possibility of wholeness, honesty, thought, when so many are not? What is the difference between them, and I? Why me? I wonder. Often. And deep into the night, when I should be sleeping.

No, I wasn’t in extreme privation. I wasn’t even really in any particularly bad or insufferable way. I just… was about to be a mother. I was looking forward to mothering. I wanted to meet my baby and know that I was really seeing him. I wanted to really know my baby. Truly. And, I suppose that some part of me must have known that I could not do that in the state that I was in. I couldn’t know my baby- or anyone- in that state. I was too traumatized. I was far too defensive, scared, terrorized. I was suspicious and defensive; having been hurt and tortured in the worst way imaginable by the people who supposedly loved me more than anyone else. These were fundamental lies that I had to confront in order to know who anyone really is.
I suppose that is what all abuse really is; it is the usurping of a victim’s ability to discern between good and evil. Good is evil, and evil is good. Whatever is good for the abuser, must be good. Whatever is bad for the abuser, must be bad. And any contemplation otherwise is viciously attacked, punished, prevented.

It’s all so clear and objective. And personal. It’s all so stark, with defined boundaries, definitions, and discrete categories. I am so grateful.