No, I didn't start this diary and then wander away. I've been thinking. Sometimes it seems that's all I've truly done for the last two years. I seem to be existing in a void since things went wrong with my marriage. It was around this time two years ago that I started divorce proceedings. Looking back, I think I've been numb ever since.
Anyway, in my little void, I have been doing a lot of thinking. Some of it has been looking back over my life and wondering at some of my choices. Some of it has been looking back at ME, at what I've done, what I thought or felt at the time. I marvel now at my resilience back then, at how I seemed to survive and bounce back so readily, happily ready to dive into the next 'adventure' of my life with barely a pause, happy to pelt excitedly down the next path, heedless of what may be around the corner.
I've spent time wondering at my fearlessness, my blitheness. I wasn't totally blind, back then. I knew that things could go wrong. I knew there was the chance I might mess up, be hurt or disappointed. Oh but the glory of the journey! The very LIVING of it was so worth any risk.
So why then, two years after I chose to end a bad marriage, am I still marking time, still sitting and ruminating on things, rather than diving back into life?
Well, some of it is because one does not always need to live life at breakneck speed to be living it. Some of the most satisfying and enlightening moments in life come from quiet contemplation. Sometimes one needs to stop and look around before choosing the next path. It's the looking around, the contemplation, that I've found interesting.
In some ways, I think my divorce from Seth was not just the ending of a marriage but perhaps the ending of a way of life. What was the way of life? It was a life spent reacting, rather than choosing one's actions. To explain, I have to go waaaay back. Let's see if it makes as much sense written down as it seems to in my head.
From as early as I can remember, my perception was that I was unwanted. I was the result of an accidental pregnancy. My father left when mum was in hospital giving birth to me. Back then (1960) there were no government help to single parents, so my mother was forced to rely on the charity of her own parents for a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. I have heard many tales from mum about how others in my extended family used to look after me - half sister, cousins etc - while mum was busy with domestic chores. My perception was that I was handed off to others and mum and I certainly were not close.
Eventually mum and dad reconciled and we moved to live on the coast. My perception of my life then was that I was a nuisance and a disappointment. My elder half-sister was always held up as the example of the perfect 'ladylike' daughter, whereas I was happiest barefoot, climbing trees and wrestling with my brother. Whenever I'd come home from school and try telling mum about my day, she'd have her nose in a magazine and I'd get 'mmm, oh?, really? hmm' for replies. I fast decided she wasn't interested in hearing about my life.
I am 53 now and for most of my life this has been my perception on my childhood. It did much to form my image of myself and in turn what I sought in life. In effect, I have spent my life reacting to my perception of my childhood.
It is really only in the last week or so that I've seriously questioned the accuracy of my perception back then. As with many things in life, events are not often black and white. Many things influence them. Nor are they always what they appear to be. Let's look at this.
'Accidental pregnancy' does not necessarily mean 'unwanted.' Look at my eldest daughter as an example. She was the result of an accidental pregnancy, yet from the moment I knew I was expecting her I wanted her fiercely. To this day, at the age of 34, she is loved deeply and I cannot imagine my life without her.
'My father leaving when I was born.' With the experiencing of life, and in particular my own mental illness with all its quirks, I can observe my father's actions with a much kinder eye than the younger me ever could. I have absolutely no doubt that my father suffered from something very similar to what I do. Yes, there were times he wavered and stumbled, and times he was far from perfect, but that does not mean he did not love me. Sometimes, just like his daughter, he just could not cope. Without the modern knowledge of mental health that I have, he coped the only way he knew how. Sometimes that meant running away. Sometimes that meant trying to escape via the bottom of a bottle of alcohol. But one thing I am sure of now, is that his leaving at the time of my birth was not a direct rejection of me, who I am. It was him struggling with responsibility. I could have been the most perfect, angelic child on earth and he would have still left.
'Being looked after by others in my extended family'. This is where knowledge of the times and ways of those times is useful. Bear in mind this was a small country town. My grandparents were very much Victorians in their ways - not Victorians as in the state of Victoria, but as in the era. Victorian parents were not close to their children and were very big on duty. This is how my mother was raised. Left destitute with three children, she had no choice but to live with her parents. In return for this support, there is no doubt she would work hard around the house to show her appreciation. Indeed they would have looked at her as though she were mad if she'd spent her time bonding with her children as modern families do! Also, family life back then was very different from the insular family life we see today where families scatter not just all over the country, but often all over the globe. Ours had been a pioneer family. Everyone pitched in and helped, so while an adult such as my mother did domestic duties, younger members of the family looked after the smaller children. It wasn't about 'rejecting me' or 'blaming me' because her husband had left. It was simply how things were done.
'Wanting me to be ladylike'. Again, because of the era she was raised in, and the times as they were, my mother would have been viewed a poor parent if she did NOT try to teach me to be ladylike. No parent back then, worth their salt, let their daughters run wild and barefoot. All she was trying to do was teach me what would be expected of me by society at that time. Remember, she was born in 1919. Her's was not the era of encouraging children to be themselves and make their own choices.
'Mmm, oh?, really? hmm'. You know, I find myself doing this at times with my daughter who still lives with me. Depending on the time of day and what my day has been like, I simply do not want to talk. Selfish, I know, but I just want to chill. So I find myself doing this too. So again, being older, a little bit wiser, I know this isn't anything to do with not wanting to listen to my daughter, but just desperately needing to unwind and for a short time not be 'on duty' as a parent always is, from the time they wake up, to the time they go to bed (and often in between). Sometimes we are just trying to snatch some quiet downtime.
So, when I look back now, I realise that my perception was not always correct. And I have spent years, decades, making choices in my life based on misperception. I have been constantly reacting to what I perceived as being unloved and 'not good enough'.
This brings me to tonight's revelation.
It happened quite simply really. In the news was the latest 'portrait' of Queen Elizabeth II of England. I've always been quite fascinated by history, world wide, and as the royal family of any nation is often the one best documented, I have always had an interest in them. This portrait seemed rather mundane to me and it got me thinking about one I saw a while ago with the Queen in her royal robes standing against a backdrop of the Scottish Highlands. So I went googling for the image. This in turn led to me idly googling for more images of the Queen, then the Duchess of Cornwall and then in turn Prince Charles.
I find studying faces fascinating. I began with the Queen's, from when she was a young woman through to modern times, and then I moved on to the Duchess of Cornwall. As I scrolled down the page, looking at the images, I mentally reviewed what I knew of her history. Here was a woman who, as a young woman, made the wrong choice. That choice was something she could not escape and her connection to Charles endured throughout their lives married to others. Eventually, despite huge public displeasure and revilement, they married. As I looked at the photos of them through the years and their obvious fulfillment and contentment now they are husband and wife, I thought of all the public censure she had endured. Yet now, she staunchly stands by her husband's side, smiling, always smiling and willing to pitch in and do her duty (which so often appears a pleasure for her) and it is very clear she is a happy woman.
Likewise I looked at the photos of Charles, from a young man through to today. How incredibly difficult it must have been growing up as the Queen's son, not having a career as most young men do, but spending his life waiting for his 'job' that he can only have upon the death of his mother. Now yes, I know he has a life of wealth and privilege, but I am looking at this from a psychological viewpoint. Over the years, many of his opinions have been ridiculed, only years later to be proven either scientifically, economically or ecologically sound. He is a man who has struggled to find his niche in life yet has never compromised his beliefs to be accepted. Now, after a very unhappy marriage and turbulent middle years he has come through to the fulfilling and clearly happy years of his marriage with Camilla. The recent photos of him show a much more relaxed and contented man.
So what did I take from all this? These are two people who have endured public ridicule and judgement. They have made mistakes in their lives and these mistakes have been trumpeted world wide. Yet they rise every day, do their public duties, face the crowds and are happy together. With some of the words I have seen written about each of them, I'd not blame either of them for turning into recluses and hiding away from the world. To me they seem a shining example of how not to hold onto the past, but to gracefully accept one's blunders, put them behind you and carry on, undaunted, moving forward with life and reaching a contentment and tranquility that I can only envy.
Now the mistakes I've made have all been private. None of them have been bruited about publicly and I really don't think any of them are of mammoth proportions. So I sit here tonight, thinking about my misperceptions and how they have ruled my life until now, and I believe it is time to take a leaf out of the royal book. It is time to gracefully let them go and move ahead with clearer vision. It is time for a life where I am no longer reacting, but choosing my path. The freedom that lies before me is breath-taking. What will I choose?
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