For most of my life, I have been focused on all my flaws. I could barely see any of my positives and I was unhappy with myself in general. The psychologist Carl Jung talks about the shadow as the dark, negative side of a person that they either are unaware exists or actively try to deny. Usually, it’s the negative behaviors and ideas that a person does and has, including their flaws.
For me, my shadow has been my positive side. I have no problem listening my flaws and my negative attributes. I would do them at the drop of a hat and at length. I was comfortable with my negative side because I felt like I was worthy. It was drilled in my head that it was wrong to show pride in yourself. You were supposed to be humble and never brag, which morphed into the need to debase yourself in front of others lest they get the wrong idea.
Taiji helped me with that. I went from thinking that I didn’t deserve to live and that I would let someone kill me rather than fight to not wanting to fight someone, but willing to do it if necessary. I was walking the circle with DeerHorn Knives (Bagua, not Taiji) as a substitute for meditation when I couldn’t do the latter because of flashbacks. I loved the DeerHorn Knives (and I would love to have real ones, not practice ones) and walking the circle was very meditative. I focused on the middle of the circle which was where your opponent would be. I had a flash of “It’s either him or me” and choosing me before it disappeared.
I talked about it with my teacher afterwards because it shook me up. I had been a pacifist up until that moment, so the idea that I would actually deliberately choose to kill someone rattled me. Granted, it was because he was going to kill me, but still. She said that it was common for women to be raised to be nice and to be averse to violence of any kind. It was how they were kept in place and it was based in sexism and the patriarchy. She said that she had to teach men how to CTFO and not take everything as a challenge, but she had to teach women how to be more assertive and not shy away from confrontation. Or rather, run away as the first option, but be ready to fight if need be. When she said that, it made sense. I was raised to believe that as a female-shaped person, my greatest value was in what I could do for others. I didn’t have any intrinsic value in and of myself, and I must never forget that. From the time when I was eleven and my mother made me her confidante, I was imbued with the belief that I had to do for others to be worth anything.
In addition, she pushed me to get married and have children. To her, this was the most important thing a woman could do. She even told me it didn’t matter that I didn’t want children; it was my duty to procreate. My duty to whom, I don’t know, but my sneaking suspicion is that she meant herself. She has all these ideas about what a woman should be and she hasn’t stopped trying to shove me in that suffocating box.
Taiji helped me stand firm in my belief that I did not have to be all that or do all that to be worthwhile. It also got me to question whether I was a woman at all. Being told relentlessly all my life that I wasn’t a ‘real woman’ made me want to throw up my hands and say, “Fine. If you don’t think I’m a real woman, well, then I’ll just go over here and be genderqueer.” I was talking with K about this the other night and we agreed that if we had grown up in this age, we both would have eschewed our gender. But, at our age, well, I’ll just speak for me. It’s not in my top five of important questions to ask myself. I’m calling myself genderqueer for now, but it’s very tentative. I don’t like any pronouns, but I’m not going to object to she or they. I prefer she to they, but I’m not really fussed about either.
I don’ give a shit about that marriage and children shit now. I mean, I never did, but I care even less about them now. Or rather, I care less about people who’ll judge me on them–including my mother. She doesn’t like me or who I am, nor does she understand me. That’s fine. The feeling is mutual.
But now, I’ve embraced things I’ve previously considered flaws, such as my body and my face. I’m cute AF, yo! And my body is a warrior that got me through death–twice. How the hell can I be mad at it for that? How can I criticize my rounded stomach or my thick thighs when I’m still alive and standing before you? This solid body is one reason I’m still here. My body is the new hotness and I will not tolerate dissent.
That does not mean I’m perfect, though. I’m far from it. Today, I had to run to Cubs to get pads because I hadn’t think to check my stock. To be fair, my period is very irregular and always has been (except when I had sex on the regular). I got it two to three times a year for three to four days at a time. Then, it was every other month for years. Then, every month, more or less, but a month was thirty to forty days in between each period. The periods themselves were very light. Also, I thought I bought pads recently, but time has been weird since I got out of the hospital.
Anyway, I realized last night that I was out of both regular pads and pantyliners. I had one of each left. I needed more than that. So I had to run to Cubs today to pick up a box of each. As I did, I was cursing myself for being such a bad planner. I wish I were the type to lay this out ahead of time, but I’m just not. I’m also bad at checking the mail on a regular basis and tidying up. These are things that I could do easily, but I just…don’t. I do wonder if I have ADHD tendencies, but I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with that. So I read up on it on my own. I know that I have many of the symptoms, but I don’t know if having an actual diagnosis will change anything. Or rather, I don’t know if I want to deal with that so soon after dealing with coming back to life.
I’m also more impatient with what I see as stupidity. I try not to let it show outwardly, but I have a tinge of ‘you think that’s a problem??’ to my attitude. It’s not other people’s fault that they haven’t died yet! Their issues are still important even if they don’t reach ‘I died and came back to life’ heights.
There are also still ongoing family dysfunction to deal with, and that depresses me. I can feel a the gloom pressing down on my shoulders whenever I have to talk to my parents, and I am not nearly at my best during that time. I’m not mean, but I’m not nice, either. I pretty much just grit my teeth and slog my way through. Which, come to think of it, is not the worst thing in the world.