I Identify As “Un-Masked!”

Where to start? That question has been hovering over my head for days now, and until I woke up this morning, having tossed and turned all night long, alternating between throwing the comforter off myself, as I feel the weight of a certain pressure I haven’t been able to shake…to enveloping myself within layers of cozy, protective covers to avoid an ugly reality that won’t release its crushing grasp, I’ve been unable to decipher or express the tangled mess of thoughts that require some serious unravelling. It’s not a sure bet whether I’m ready or will be successful now at dissecting whatever it is that’s propelling me down this path of realization, but I’m ready to try, and the will to make an effort is always a good place to start. If I don’t start now, will I ever make my way through the dark grey clouds and thick sharp brush that lead to the tiny speck of light that bobs elusively off in the foreground? There remains one small but undeniable measure of determination and tenacity in my tiny bag of tricks that has proven to be my friend in the past, and I sure hope it “kicks in” again, now!

Last Sunday, Father’s Day, after I hit the “publish” tab on my blog post, I thought about that first baby step I was taking towards unmasking even a small iota of the mystery that remains from my family of origin, my upbringing, and lastly the question of if, and how all of that background might have impacted my choosing of a partner/husband and the years that were to follow through children, marriage, divorce and the crazy-making and gaslighting that had started far, far earlier but would continue long after. As I discovered in my last post, talking and sharing about my two “Dad’s” was, and is, infinitely easier than tackling the subject of my Sisters, Mom, Uncle, Al, the K. Ass’s, MP’s (relevance found in past blog entries) as well as a few of the other characters that have had such a profound impact on my life, and while I’ve started wading into those “waters” over the past year through DearEasyDiaries and this much-needed, therapeutic, and appreciated outlet, there is clearly far deeper territory into which I need to travel? With that goal in mind, I allowed myself a little respite and the chance to feel a temporary, sense of calm before starting on my next post. I was not prepared to read and digest the barrage of criticism I received on last Tuesday from someone, and I quote.. “who’s over my bullshit” way of communicating and “the trashing” of my Ex, and for that matter the simultaneous “trashing of my own last name.” The harsh exchange, as tough as it was to read, reminded me, and pointed out some of my own shortcomings and the behavior I’ve adapted in an effort to protect myself through the past, almost 14 years and before. During my separation, divorce and the subsequent years that followed, one of the few things that I could count on to reach the next step, the next day, or the next tiny victory which might, or might not, come my way, was the process of documentation and truth-telling. Have you heard Mark Twain’s quote that says, “If you tell the truth, you never have to remember anything?” That mantra was my guiding force through life, and one of the most hellish journeys I ever thought I might experience. It continues to be a beacon for the way I choose to live my life to this very moment. While “it” (the documentation aspect of my world) worked to my advantage while I was navigating that very treacherous divorce process and beyond, it occurred to me after rereading and processing the “not-so-kind” message I received on Tuesday, that perhaps I owed it to myself to explore and reexamine the way I am communicating today? To undergo that kind of self-reflection, is the equivalent of falling down the proverbial rabbit hole for me, and while I’m committed to doing the work and required introspection, I’m a bit skeptical that I’ll end up anywhere very far from where I currently stand…but who knows?

That text on Tuesday was like being blindfolded, spun round and round 4-5 times, then being pointed in a certain direction and walking directly into a cement-block wall; yep, you got it…it hurt! Perhaps, the pain was even sharper because the message came from someone that I love and care about so deeply? I’ve received other bitter rebukes over the past year regarding my blog and even on a few IG posts, and while it’s always tough to be judged and criticized, those retorts weren’t so personal. I’ve been threatened, and I’ve also been sent “Cease and Desist” letters from various legal entities, but none of those ever “stuck;” nor did they scare or deter me from pursuing the path to finding what’s real. Knowing the truth is on my side, has been and continues to be very empowering and keeps me moving forward. The specific instance I cite about last week gave me pause, and in more ways than just the obvious criticism implied. It also served to make me more sensitive and aware of how I address a particular subject. Each time I tap on these keys in front of me, I’ve made it a point to be brutally honest about myself, who I am and the journey that my life has been. You may like or not like me as a person; agree with or disagree with my philosophical beliefs, and that’s all okay. I’ve found that holding strong convictions and standing firmly behind my positions is not always a very popular stance, but I’m at peace with that. I’d also like to, but can’t in good faith, tell you that I’m absolutely blameless and didn’t deserve last Tuesday’s reproach. But…part of the message was true; I do find myself texting as a (my) major form of communication these days. Why do I feel so much more comfortable writing back and forth in text form, rather than actually speaking, hearing the emotion and nuance that fills a real conversation? Why do I do that? That’s a question to reckon with, and because I try, diligently, to “own” my culpability in unpleasant situations, I’ve been going back and forth in my mind trying to understand why my natural instinct when “communicating” is to engage through texting, and the written word, versus the ones spoken? That was what the person who sent that message meant, when he announced “he was over the bs texting relationship!” There was much more in that message that I’m not going to share, not to protect or spare me additional pain, but to extend respect to the sender; a respect that WAS NOT shown to me! After thinking about it for a few days, I’ve had many opportunities to revisit his statement, to read it again, and today I have arrived at an idea about “the possible why.” Why have I so embraced the usage of texts for the past several years. I doubt the original reason has much application to my life today, but whether valid now or not, the texting started as a shield, a way to protect myself against a storm of lies, manipulations, and a fight in which I was ill-equipped to participate. I was underestimated most of my life, and admit that I never tried very hard, or at all, to change the perception. From day one, it was much easier in my family of origin to just go along and be the “nice one, the easy one, the simple one;” heaven forbid I rock the boat, talk about problems, or potentially expose family secrets? That would have been the height of impropriety; “we never aired our dirty laundry in public!”

I don’t take these words lightly, and am so glad I found them, to share with you here; they are a cruel but truthful reality.

To think I’ve gone from one extreme to the other is both perplexing, and provocative? I’m, now, thoughtfully, purposefully, and actively engaging in an endeavor which goes against almost every tenet of my upbringing. Going from a “mouse” to a tenacious fighter for the truth is not an easy transition. What’s more is that over the years, my relationship with my, now, Ex-husband, while I originally believed provided me an added measure of strength to maintain the boundaries I needed with my family of origin, (or as would ultimately be revealed…my two younger sisters, their “plus one’s” and an uncle and cousin), my marriage actually became just another version of the life I was raised in, and had been trying to escape? Go figure? How on earth did I allow that to happen? When I think about that complexity, it reinforces the survival behaviors I learned and adapted during the divorce and beyond, not a small part of which became my habit of documenting EVERYTHING. My behavior of “disappearing” and being meek, which I employed to cope with my upbringing, and the way in which I behaved throughout the majority of my marriage, which somehow made it possible for me to survive the rampant narcissism, deception, treachery and lies which were exposed with the undoing of both my marriage, and life up to that point was habit. Remaining a silent, supportive part of an inequitable equation, be it my childhood or my marriage, had not boded that well (ENORMOUS UNDERSTATEMENT) for me, and by extension, but unintentionally, my children either! Definitely, time for change!

My “special skill set” of accommodating everyone else’s needs above my own, and attempts at smoothing every “ruffled feather,” or doing everything in my power to “keep the boat afloat,” so to speak, rather than actually speaking, or standing, up for myself has long since outlived its usefulness, but as I wrote about in, and even entitled a past blog entry… “My Brand Is Ten Minutes Late,” I will continue adhering to the cliché and long-standing expression, ‘better late than never” as long as I still DO keep on learning. Isn’t that what our time on earth is about…to keep on learning and evolving? If that’s wrong, and I’m suppose to have it ALL completely “dialed” and figured out, then darn…I’m just screwed? So what does all that have to do with the brash critique I received last Tuesday? I’m not entirely sure yet, but I’m going to try and unpack it, right here and right now.

Sometime in the first few months of Al’s and my separation, it was a random afternoon after the kids were finished with school and the late September days on Sea Island were still scorchingly hot. My son was taking a sailing lesson as a part of his “P.E.” outlet that particular day, and as I sat on the Beach Club patio, with a huge towel in hand waiting for him to be finished, I watched, and overheard, as two young Junior Staff lifeguards walked by. One of them, the one I knew… a tall, nice-looking, dark-haired, and polite son of one of Sea Island’s Vice Presidents, also my son’s instructor/guide that day, was relaying to the other young guy how choppy the water and surf was out there on that stretch of the Atlantic, and he continued on, saying… “damn, I almost lost ‘God’s’ son out there today; he fell off the boat, and I was really struggling to pull him back!” I sat there making mental notes to myself: 1.) No more sailing lessons. 2.) Since when had Al earned, or was deserving of the moniker, “God?” 3. ) What was I to do next? That analogy and comparison really wasn’t a reassuring comment to have overheard, much less allowing it to seep into my brain, as I thought about the divorce process that was laid out before me! What a bizarre train of thoughts run through my brain sometimes…right? My ADD and “Gilmore Girls” litany of “one-liners” is obviously never far from mind, especially with the “monkey, monkey, underpants” reference. Nonetheless, all of those items were some of the first things that came to mind when I received that text last week. My ex, Al, may be a talented architect, but it doesn’t make him a saint to be revered or even a decent person, especially a decent person! So too, the last name we share, Capone, that I’m allegedly “trashing” symbolizes nothing more than a last name, with a couple of caveats added..…notorious gangster, a conversation starter, or potentially, if needed, some additional help getting a dinner reservation. Beyond that, any special connection made, or perceived trashing of Al’s last name is on him…his actions, his background, and probably a very guilty conscience, if he has one at all? Al, alone, is responsible for committing perjury, fraud, the dragging of his children, wives, girlfriends, business partners, “friends” etc… through years and years of broken promises, lies, infidelity, manipulation, deception, betrayal, bankruptcy proceedings, corruption and more. I had nothing to do with the activities HE chose to engage in! Unless, perhaps, you might consider that I enabled his success at Sea Island for a decade plus or so; providing him the opportunity and latitude to do what he does best…designing master plans for real estate developments and building projects? Otherwise the compartmentalizing, rationalizing, manipulating, abusing and excuses he has fabricated to cover every square inch of his existence, including the dismissal, disregarding, or destruction of everything, or anything/anyone else that doesn’t “SERVE” him, is ALL on him to own. That too is what he does!

Perhaps, that text I received last week only served to strengthen my resolve; to stop the cycle of enabling; to validate the actions of all of us who finally stand up, confront our fears or past patterns of behavior that are no longer tolerable, and empower us to say… “ENOUGH!” My stating, illustrating and substantiating the truth is not the equivalent of “trashing” anything! If I were dispensing false information or blatantly making stories up about Al and our history, (individual or collective), that could probably be considered “trashing?” Speaking the truth, however, is just that, nothing more, or nothing less. Does speaking the truth make people uncomfortable? Yes…it absolutely does. Is speaking the truth a hard standard to uphold…you better believe it. I’d also bet it makes some people feel awfully, extra twitchy, nervous and defensive?

It might be safe to assume that if you’ve been living on a very shallow, if not hollow, foundation of lies for years and years, the truth could be a very powerful weapon. As one of my attorneys once told me, “Missy, the truth is a defense.” It’s that very statement which is the result of my past several days of self-reflection. All of my texting communication is the by-product of a frightening, intimidating and corrupt process, which I was obliged to participate in, while still trying to preserve my children’s and my survival. The only way I could trust any possible communication, was to see it in writing; it’s that simple! Whether I was on the sending or receiving end, I couldn’t trust what I couldn’t see and hold in my hands. Because, I was compelled to participate in a flawed and fraudulent process, I documented and kept everything. There was, and remains, zero chance that I’d ever allow myself to fall prey again to the magnitude of lies and deceit I once faced; everything and everyone became suspect! I know, that’s a pretty jaded, sad and paranoid position to find myself in…but it’s true! It’s also certain that your (my) circle becomes, (or became) MUCH smaller with that “modus operandi” in play? But…..and yes, there’s a big “but” to this revelation; if I can’t be honest with myself, about my own motives and reactions, then I would certainly not be staying true to my need and insistence for authenticity in my life; nor would I have any place in writing this blog, and trusting that it’s finally time to share my truth? I guess it’s time to open the bottle, and release the genie, so to speak! A lifetime of hiding and keeping other’s secrets and shame at the cost of myself, is what I was accustomed to doing and, most likely will not come as a huge surprise, that it all takes an enormous toll…both physically and emotionally.

It’s truly some kind of irony that the very text that propelled my digging into this post, is also proof positive of what I’m trying to describe and break down here? I don’t have to go back and try to remember the harsh words, the way they were phrased, and the anger that was exposed in that text; it’s all right there in front of me, in writing, in black and white on my ipad! I don’t have to remember or wonder if I’m being too sensitive, or if maybe they didn’t mean to hurt me that way, or if I might have misunderstood? It’s right there before me!

A ceramic “mask” created and gifted to me by son, many years ago. I never dreamed how apropos the symbolism might figure into my life someday?

There’s no more hiding though…the figurative mask is gone, and only the truth remains for anyone, everyone, or no one, to see and to know.

The {Aha} Moments…

“When the Cowboy Rides Away.”