tamarjacobson

It never is just about the peanuts or the cookies. Like the morning I start wandering the halls at work, prowling for something, anything to munch on. I discover a few shelled peanuts in one office, and then find myself at the vending machine searching for my favorite vanilla sandwich cookies. But the machine is out of order, and the one in the adjacent building isn't working either. For awhile I search for someone to make change for a twenty dollar bill on the off chance that the vending machine will take cash instead of a credit card. Maybe that way it will work? But, no one has change, and I find myself back in my office. I realize that it is not about the peanuts or the cookies. It is about the tiny, irritating hole in my soul that has flared up recently. My inner child is in need of some nurturing for some reason – and of course as soon as I think that I realize I know exactly what the reason is that stirs up these old early childhood hurts and holes. I stare out of the window at the sun shining through a clear, blue sky. I hold still with the twinges of childhood pain, and breathe in and out deeply. Nurturing comes in different forms, I say to myself. Peanuts and cookies will be transient. They will encourage me only to look for more. 

Then I am reminded of the film, Boyhood, that I saw recently. Toward the end, the mother weeps a little as she wonders how time has flown by, and that she always thought that somehow there would be more to life. I always thought that too, and identify with how she was feeling as she said that out loud. Somehow it is comforting to think that this is it! Life is about being seized by moments here and now, and that "we are all just winging it." I forgive myself for the crazy decisions I made in my past. I did the best I could at the time, I think as I reflect on the lives of the characters in Boyhood. I realize, too, that I never understood what my son was feeling as he was growing up. I wonder – did I even think about that at all, as I simply tried to survive the day to day of living? 

My mind continues to wander, and I discover that my urgent desire for peanuts and cookies has passed me by. Nurturing myself has taken the form of writing out loud my feelings in the moment. Faculty are arriving for the first meetings of the semester, some stopping in to share their summer stories with me, and also enthusiastically listening to mine.

A warm sense of belonging envelops me, and I remember the reason I had for feeling a hole in my soul at the beginning of this post. 

Reading the New York Times this morning, I glance at the terms, "ego sustenance," and "social media" in the same sentence. I think to myself, "There we go again – criticizing people for using social media to boost their egos." I know I do! And I know why. I love the attention. Having received so little of it as a child, this is one of the ways to fill up the holes created way back when. I feel supported and comforted when people notice my status updates, or shares of one kind or another. And, oh gee! Don't all those tweeters out there just adore the brisk, urgent, quick second-by-second attentions they receive as re-tweets or favoriting type mentions for even the most banal updates?

So, rather than moaning and groaning about everyone needing "ego sustenance," let's turn our attention to early childhood care and education, and think about about how little acknowledgement we give to our youngest children? Indeed, I observe infant rooms all over the country, and see over and over again that from the day they learn to vocalize sounds before words children are being shushed and silenced.

Just yesterday morning breakfasting in our local bakery, an older infant in a high chair was intentionally knocking his bottle on the table. I could tell he was experimenting with the sound of it from the serious, diligent look of pleasure on his face. After the second tap-tap of the bottle, it was whisked – nay, grabbed – from his hands, and an irritated looking mother slammed it down on the table next to her far away from his reach. He sat staring straight ahead – startled and confused for a long moment. Then looked toward me. I smiled at him and he smiled back, a small sigh escaping from his lips. I imagined that as they were in an adult establishment – a bakery for breakfast, maybe the mother was worried he was making too much noise for the people around them. Us, for example. Young children's squeals and squeaks, tap-tapping of bottles and toys should delight us – like music to our ears. For what could be more amazing than a young child discovering their voice, or learning a new skill?

So, let's spend time – hours, dollars, human power – to educate adults with children – or those who have chosen to remain childless – that young children need attention. They need us to enjoy and celebrate the noises and messes they make. That way, when they grow up to be adults, perhaps they won't need social media as much as they do now for ego sustenance, and could use it for activism to change the world instead!

I have been thinking about compiling a book with a collection of blog posts where I mention my cats. It could be a memoir, perhaps titled: "Of Cats and Me." Lately, as I have been reading through my blogs from the past nine years up until now, I have found almost a hundred pieces where my writings include my cats in some form or another.

[Some examples: Silently Watching; Early Education; Of cats and me]

One day in March last year, I heard me whispering out loud to myself, "Ada was me," referring to my beloved cat, who died in 2012. It so caught me by surprise to hear me say it aloud, that I wrote it down in my journal. I am amazed to see how much they accompany me through my life. Indeed, they could well be my alter ego! At times I write a full post just about the cats, but mostly they are featured as just being there – as background to my story or self reflections: looking out of windows, lying on chairs next to me, or sleeping on the rug as I write. As a young child I had imaginary friends, and I think, now that I'm older, my cats sometimes turn into those – a way for me to feel not so alone.

In a way, just by being there, they help me tell my story.

My head is filled with things to say: about my life and much about the early childhood profession. For professional and personal are connected in our work with young children and their families. With each interaction, the "inner child" rises up from my emotional memory, and influences my behaviors or decisions. The time for writing is upon me but digesting ideas and feelings comes first. They accompany me through my chores, down the shore, at the pool as I swim laps, on my walks around the neighborhood or in the beautiful Wissahickon valley, driving to and from work, while I meditate, and when I am mowing the lawn, weeding, or cutting off dead flower heads in the garden.

I imagine that when I sit down to write these thoughts out, they will flow from me like a river.

Unless, of course, I procrastinate. You know the deal: cleaning closets, rearranging photo albums, or browsing the Inter-webs. 

"How will I fit it all in?" I ask myself, "Writing, walking, Chairing, teaching, presenting, eating, sleeping, visiting, playing … and what will happen to my blog?" I wonder, "Is that excitement or trepidation speaking?"

For me, self expression is always accompanied by anxiety and enthusiasm. It is an emotional deal – serious. 

I read over the words I have written here, and feel a tingling of energy in the palms of my hands. I notice that my breaths have become shorter – staccato – and I sense a sort of hum – a vibration ever so slightly in my brain.

Yes indeed, the book is percolating and bubbling up inside.

It's time to let it out …

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Preparations

I dedicate this post to a very dear friend, who some years ago sent me Nuala O'Faolain: Almost There: The Onward Journey of a Dublin Woman.

In her note that she sent with the book, my friend wrote: "Dear Tamar, I just finished this book. Thinking about you at so many places. Find time to read a few pages each day. I believe you will find it worth the time. Much love …" 

I finally got to reading the book these past two weeks, and I felt a great deal of appreciation for my friend for thinking of me through it.

Quotes of the day:

A memoir may always be retrospective, but the past is not where its action takes place. (Page 52)

… because it is a precious thing to be allowed to talk about yourself in public, not for reasons of simple exhibitionism but because the attempt to describe your experience to an audience pushes you forward into an understanding of it. (Pages 60, 61)

Surely the self has begun to move toward health when it takes itself seriously enough to tell its story? (Page 192)

Maybe I'm climbing toward the light all the time though I don't know it … Today it seems to me that there is no closing of the account with parents … I think I will be haunted by my mother forever. It gives me hope, all the same, that I'm not sure anymore that the best thing to do with her is forgive her. There's more at stake now than ever before, and it is much, much later in life. Why not steel myself to split up with her this time? Tell her to manage by herself at last? … I'd say, "Goodbye," and even though I'd never forgive myself, I'd turn my back on her and walk out the door. (Pages 274, 275)

Nuala O'Faolain: Almost There: The Onward Journey of a Dublin Woman

Recently, I read a couple of memoirs of people who survived very difficult childhoods – physically or emotionally. Resilience in the face of abuse of any kind is always fascinating for me. Most recently, my therapist helped me face that I am one of those survivors. Needless to say, it was a difficult session for me, and I survived that too! In fact, it was validation of a kind that I have not experienced before, and ever since that day I find that I am starting to feel a different type of calm – reinforcing for me, once again, that validation is an essential component of the healing process. Just being able to say to myself, "this happened to me," has been so important. Indeed, it has opened me up to a deeper understanding of my mother's life, and more importantly, that her reactions or behaviors toward me had nothing to do with me – I was not to blame – another essential component of my healing process.

Reading the second part of O'Faolain's memoir, I was intrigued by her conclusion (above), where she allows herself to contemplate that saying goodbye and walking away from her mother could be better than forgiving her. I like to think of it as her description of a feeling, rather than the act of leaving her mother behind. I identified strongly with the sentiment though. For, in point of fact, twenty six years ago I did just that. I said: "Goodbye," and left the country. Of course, at the time I was not aware that I needed to physically leave my mother in order to survive. As I look back now I realize that was what happened. Creating that distance in miles helped me discover my own mind, and reality other than what I had been taught to feel and believe about myself. It took years for me to come to terms with all of this – some of the times were lonely, frightening, and very painful. 

In the end though, while I physically turned my back on my mother when I left Israel twenty six years ago in order to save myself emotionally, in learning to validate my experience, and understand my mother's life more deeply, I chose to forgive her.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Bag of guilt

Quote of the day:

One day, walking through a small copse, the skies blackened, lightening flashed and thunder roared and pellets of hail began to rage down on us as we huddled together against a wall of a nearby farm. We were way up coming upon the highest point of the wall, and the weather seemed as close to the sky as it could ever have been.

From: The Walk …

Letting go of the past is much easier said than done. People love to say it – and wouldn't we love to do it? "Just let it go!" we say to people, who are suffering, mourning, raging, feeling feelings. But how do we let it go unless we have gone through to the other side? If we pretend to "let it go," or ignore the feeling, it becomes repressed or numbed out, and will surely pop up again at another stage or time when we least expect or want to feel it. Experiencing the past or feeling feelings is like a storm that passes through. We can't push it away. We have to hunker down and sit it out, watching the lightening streak and flash, and hear the thunder roar and roll around the skies above. And when it's over, we find relief out into the fresh, clear air. I remember once hiking along Hadrian's Wall, when a storm came upon us way up at the highest point of our walk. There was no way we could have pushed it aside or continue on with the walk. So we all huddled against the wall of a nearby farm and waited it out. Pellets of hail raged all around us and lightening and thunder flashed and roared about us. When it passed, and we walked on, I remember experiencing a calm and joy that was impossible to describe. 

That sense of peace is what we all would love to feel, and many of us strive toward. As I wander about this life, I experience many people (me included) who become panicked or alarmed by intensity of emotion of any kind, and try to repress or numb it out with sayings about "letting go," or who sound proud when they prefer shutting emotions down. As if this was the mature or courageous way out. I think it is more courageous to feel it through to the other side – hang in there with the intensity, and explore the nature of the experience as it rumbles and swirls through the psyche and body.

Of course, it all starts when we are very young. For example, when toddlers start to have tantrums. That's when it begins! Adults around become panicked. Instead of recognizing that the little child is experiencing an intense confusion of feelings – a type of emotional storm – which must be terrifying for any child – adults punish, ignore, ostracize, condemn, or abandon them for having a tantrum. Oftentimes shrugging it off as just "doing it for attention." I wonder what kind of world it would be if, instead, we sat close to the child and said, "I am going to stay here with you. Right here. I am not afraid of your feelings. You are safe with me." And then, just be there for the child. Help them live through the intensity as if it was a normal part of the human condition, a typical stage of development, and learn that feelings are just that – feelings. Allow them to explore the emotional storm in a safe space, with someone who does not judge them for being human, and then come out on the other side – drenched, but calm. For how can we be rational when emotions are raging within? Only when we experience that calm, can we look back and see how or where it all came from. That way, we can help children experience the emotion instead of having to act it out in horrific ways in later years, while, finally, grabbing catastrophic attention.

When I am allowed to feel the feeling, live through the storm, I am better able to know what I want and need in a peaceful way after it has passed through. And, no … I don't think there is a way to prevent confusing emotions from happening to a young toddler. Their world is new and complex. They are starting to find independence and yet still need us so much – and in there lies the confusion. It is simply a stage that will pass, as the child learns to negotiate and balance out the complexity toward a type of mature interdependence. A relationship where one can be confident and independent, and, at the same time, still need and love another.

Besides, how do I actually let go of the past when it exists in the emotional memory templates of my brain, unless I am able to recognize it when it rises up again and again associatively with my life of now? If I push the past away, I won't be able to welcome it in as a part of who I have become. I won't be able to integrate it into the me of now, if I don't experience the essence, the very core of the original feeling. And I have learned, if I ignore my past, it does not prevent it from visiting me over and over again in a million different ways and at the oddest of moments when I least expect it!

So, in the future, I am going to try to say to myself, "Don't let it go, Tamarika. Live it through. Experience the nature of it, and welcome it into my life of now." And then, I am going to try to have the courage and compassion to give myself a safe space to do just that.

I have been doing a little blog housecleaning since I have had time on my hands. Having a summer cold virus does that for me – gives me time on my hands because it lays me up in bed, or languishing on the couch. So, I checked out links on my blog and deleted those that had become obsolete. In so doing I realized that many of my blogging friends have given up the ghost. It is easy to do. I get out of the habit of writing far too easily to honestly call myself a writer. But as with each label there are varying definitions for each of us is unique. But, honestly, I need to get back into the writing groove because I want to complete a book this year – perhaps before the year is out. And so, once again my blog will come to my rescue. I can practice with it – getting back into the writing groove I mean. I have often reflected on whether I should continue blogging. Very few people actually read it or comment any more, and Facebook type sites feel so much easier to work with – sharing stray thoughts and feelings like little "drive-by shootings." Writing causes me to go a little deeper into an idea or thought – and especially with emotions, for those are full of complexity including whether I am able to feel them at all. Being numb or distracted is often an easier way I have learned to deal with feelings. Defense mechanisms developed to help me survive childhood. The resilience of children, and look how we have all turned out!

Having my say – not towing the party line – throwing out different options for me or others to think about – playing with words – creating literary images – these are some of the skills I have reinforced and developed through my blog. And I return to its site again and again. So, I have clearly decided not to give up the ghost on blogging. In fact, I would say that I have pretty much been writing my memoir through these pages during the past eight years. My own personal e-book of sorts. Today as the fever has finally cleared and the raspy cough is dissapating, eyes cease their streaming, and sneezes disappear, I feel as if I am coming out of some kind of illness storm that took me by surprise. And as I reach out slowly into this bright, clear summer's day, I breathe deeply again, and write on.

I had a recurring dream last night, one that over the years I have tried to understand to no avail. Today I think I solved the mystery. It came to me as Life Partner and I were sitting comfortably in my study with our morning coffee. I was talking about my latest therapy session, and how I feel as if lately I am touching the very core, the source of emotional trauma from my childhood. I described the pain as both excruciating and healing all at the same time – something I have needed to confront for a very long time in order to be free of the past. And then, suddenly, in the midst of our conversation – there it was – the mystery was uncovered, and I understood what the recurring dream meant to me. 

I chose not to divulge my thoughts about that with Life Partner, just as I choose not to report the story of my dream on my blog this morning. However, I do want to recognize how sharing my inner life publicly has been important for me as a way of validating my experience. Indeed, seeing my emotional life story out there in print allowed me to acknowledge that it was real.

It's time to get writing again. New book contract signed, and thoughts are swirling. Indeed, I feel as if I am already writing the book in my head. Thoughts and observations, memories and ideas are coming at me faster than I can handle. So, I suspect that very soon I will sit right to it and let the words flow out onto the page. Recently I read a quote by Geneen Roth, that stirred the writing juices even more, for it brought up my personal story so dramatically that I knew I would be using pieces of it in my new book. For, in the telling of my own story, I encourage others to reflect on theirs.

To the extent that we go into survival mode—I can’t feel this, I won’t feel this, it hurts too much, it will kill me—we are slipping into baby skins, old forms, familiar selves. Young children, especially infants, mediate the pain of loss or abandonment or abuse through the body; there is no difference between physical and emotional pain. If the pain is too intense and the defenses are too weak, a child will become psychotic and/or die. It is life-saving for a child to develop defenses that allow her to leave a situation she can’t physically leave by shutting down her feelings or turning to something that soothes her. But if, as adults, we still believe that pain will kill us, we are seeing through the eyes of the fragile selves we once were and relying on the exquisite defense we once developed: bolting. Obsessions are a way we leave before we are left because we believe that the pain of staying would kill us.  Geneen Roth.

Roth sums up pretty much everything I have been working on in therapy so intensively these past four years or so. While, her work deals with people's obsessions with food, my internal ethnography has helped me understand how, as an adult, I still believe pain will kill me. It is this realization that is helping me hold still with discomfort, and observe quietly and slowly so that I can make a connection with it, and let go of the fear. I understand that developing defense mechanisms saved me when I was growing up.

But giving up ancient survival skills that are now irrelevant or obsolete is a tough thing to do. For they were developed to help me survive! 

Today, as I drove into work, I found myself wondering what I would say if I was ever asked in an interview about what I considered the secrets of my success. 

"First," I thought, "I had the courage to face myself with self reflection through therapy and in-depth, internal ethnography."

Second: I learned to hold still with painful feelings of anger and regret – not suppress or deny them – especially in the face of hurtful behaviors from others. When I validate my feelings, I find space to understand that other people's behaviors are not about me – rather they are manifestations of their own insecurities, stuck in old, irrelevant paradigms, or seeking blame outside of themselves.

Third – and this has been key for me: Allowing myself to experience my feelings opens me up to send love and light out to those who hurt me, and, then just let them go.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Spirituality