Haunted by unlived history, #2
by Elouise
When I married D I believed I’d found the answer to all my problems. I was ecstatic. Finally I had a life of my own, and a man who would love me and not try to fix me. It might not happen overnight, but eventually I would be my own woman, doing my own thing. And D would love me no matter what.
Two weeks before we married, in 1965, I told D I was afraid he would leave me behind. Here we were, getting ready to marry and move to Boston where he would pursue a graduate degree. But what would I pursue? No, I didn’t have anything in particular I was dreaming about, though someday I might want further education.
In 1973, we ended up in California with two young children, and both of us enrolled in seminary. I was ecstatic. Maybe I would find myself at seminary.
Yet my sense of being on the sidelines of life grew. Especially as D received work-related assignments to travel, while I stayed home caring for our young children and pursuing my seminary studies.
I went through periods of exhaustion, depression, bouts of anger, resentment and resignation. I felt trapped, misunderstood and lonely. Any kind word or smile that came my way, especially from men, was more than welcome, though I felt uneasy about this. Wasn’t I supposed to love D and no one else? And wasn’t his love for me more than enough?
Seamlessly and unknowingly I enacted the script of my mother’s unlived life. Not just a script about still needing love and affection, but a larger script about not having or following my dreams, not believing in or taking care of myself. I was too busy taking care of others.
I didn’t know or believe in myself, or my ability to go after large targets and impossible dreams. When opportunity knocked, my habitual responses were self-defeating.
- Too busy to take advantage of opportunities
- Afraid to put myself out there for consideration
- Disbelief in my demonstrated gifts or potential
- Feeling less than qualified
- Changing the subject as quickly as possible
- Finding out how I might help you follow your dream
I was in trance mode—caught in a waiting-game that feels like being on a train that moves yet never arrives because it has no known station.
I watched and cheered as other women and men pursued their dreams. I wrote hundreds if not thousands of reference letters on behalf of others. Yet never once did I write a letter in support of my dreams. I was living my mother’s unlived life. Doing what I could to support others, and choosing not to pursue anything strictly for myself.
So how does my history with men fit into all this? More to come.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 January 2018
Photo taken at our wedding, 11 September 1965
Telling the Truth 
I have always thought that one of the very worst hit songs ever is Frank Sinatra and “Regrets, I’ve had a few etc etc.”
What a load of rubbish. Most of us have lives full of regrets. Solution is to accept the fact, throw off the burden and get on with the next step. Eirther that or turn to stone. Or a pillar of salt.
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Yes and well…it takes some of us a very long time to (a) realize our past behavior has a strange rationale, and (b) do something about it even though it may seem to be ‘too late.’ By the way, and even though you may not have had her in mind, I’ve often wondered whether Lot’s wife looked back because she knew the way forward with Lot was no cakewalk. If so, more power to her!
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I was thinking that looking back on our past life too much keeps us from moving forward.
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For some, that may be true. Especially if they’re trying to do it all by themselves. But not for me. When the past has bound us without our consent, it takes an enormous amount of courage and persistence to break free. And, I’d say, there’s no magic answer. Each person is different. For me, writing has become one of the most powerful tools I have to help me deal not just with the past, but who I am right now.
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I know that for you, what you are doing is what you must do. I think I was transferring to another person. I am thinking of a case where someone is refusing to even contemplate forgiving someone.
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Oh….that’s a serious issue, and maybe it’s going to take a while to get there. I hope this person can do that. For me, just knowing I could do it in a way that comforted me (by acknowledging what was my father’s guilt/responsibility and what was my responsibility) was super important. I always think the wound must be very deep when people (as I did for many years) won’t even consider forgiveness. Tough issue. And thanks for the clarification. Writing about that process was life-changing for me. My father doesn’t haunt me anymore–even though I’ll never condone what he did.
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I would love to see a letter that you write yourself, acknowledging that you are enough, worthy and loved by the most important person of all, you ❤ I can connect with so much here E, perhaps I need to write my own letter too ❤ ❤ Good morning to you and Super L and hugs to D and the smudge too.
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Your comment sends (good) chills up/down my spine. When I wrote that line, the thought occurred to me, and now it’s sitting there staring me in the face. I know you’re right….💜💕. Hugs back, and a giant purr from the smudge. 😻
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