Catching Idle Butterflies

I have no right to feel - Final lesson

I have no right to think certain things, or to feel certain things. My emotions are never correct. Therefore they should be controlled, or at the very least hidden away, ignored. Emotions will only lead to trouble.

I can’t point out specific examples any more than I can describe to you a specific instance when I ate cereal for breakfast, because it took place so often. My mom said seemingly without fail whenever I expressed my sadness, frustration or anger, “You shouldn’t feel that way” or “You have no right to feel that way.” For example, whenever I told my mom about how a friend took advantage of me or hurt me, all the sympathy she gave me was, “Well, you should have known better. You’re far too generous and sensitive. It’s your fault, so deal with it.”

My sister Margaret had no qualms about piling on top of Mom’s comments about what a rotten person I was – as siblings often do. But her being older and me looking up to her because I wanted to be like her, I took all her words to heart and did my best to change.

Both Margaret and my mom can argue, and argue extremely well. It mattered not if I knew I was right, I couldn’t win. They had ways of twisting my words against me and “prove” how wrong I was, and I can remember many an instance when they both "attacked" me at once. All I could do was take it or walk away in silence.

I loved watching "Star Trek." Spock was my favorite character because he represented everything I wanted to be. Unfeeling, logical, never doing or saying the wrong thing. I worked hard to become like him, to the point I even trained myself to lift only one eyebrow at a time.

Some of you have read “Cries in the Dark” but if not, it’s about when my step dad informed my mother he was having an affair with his secretary and wanted a divorce. Margaret, so devastated, decided she couldn’t come home and stayed at a friend’s house. But after Mom calmed down, she called Margaret at 2am and told her to come home.

“I need both my daughters right now,” she said.

Less than an hour later, Margaret came home and the three of us sat in Mom’s bed and talked. Margaret cried, Mom cried, I handed out tissues.

At one point Mom said, “There is only one person in this world stronger than me.”

I paused, eager to hear who that person could be. I knew of no one stronger than my mother.

Mom then pointed to me and said, “You are.”

I stared at her several seconds before stammering, “Me?”

“Yes. Look at you. Not a single tear while we sit her crying our eyes out.”

For the longest time, I took that as the biggest compliment. I thought I had finally succeeded in eliminating all those terrible emotions. Finally, no one would tell me I had no right to feel certain things, because I no longer did.

I don’t take Mom’s words as a compliment any more, nor do I think of her as the strongest person I know, but a tender soul just as terrified of being hurt and seen as weak as I am.

I had only succeeded in hiding my feelings long enough to where they built up so much pressure, only an emotional blow up released them. And I soon discovered that’s worse than being told I have no right to my emotions. Hiding emotions and therefore hiding who I am from the rest of the world, and especially those who love me the most leads only to loneliness and despair.

And yet, even knowing this, I still hide. Whenever I’m angry, I tell no one. If someone says hurtful things (whether intended or not) I clam up, never defending myself. If I need to cry, I cry alone and in the dark.