A sense of self over the years

I made a passing comment to my therapist last week that I would love to read some of what I wrote as a child when I made Mucky Island my place of escape (a large rock in the middle of an undeveloped field).  And then last night, I remembered that some of those writings still exist today.  So dug into this huge tub in the bottom of my closet that contains all my memories, pushed passed the photos of my ex-husband, and quickly found the pink journal from my childhood.  And then I pulled off the shelf two binders full of poetry.  I also stumbled across books published from writing conferences I attended in sixth grade and middle school.

As I write this, I realize there should be at least one more journal that is green with a lock from either middle or high school (or a combination of it).  Maybe if I get ambitious, I'll dig through the tub once more.

The pink journal is from ages 8 to 11.  The first dated poem in the poetry binders is from 2nd grade.  There is a lot of undated poems after that which I believe are from the ages of 10-12 and then I started dating my poems.  They extensively cover my middle and high school years and even beyond.

My second grade poem is about spring and the upcoming summer.  I write about baby birds, blooming flowers, planting seeds, rain storms and melting snow, and so much more beauty.  I was observant and seeking out the beauty in nature from an early age.

Then I found a poem titled Mucky Island.  Based on the content, this is towards the end of the time I got to enjoy the space before a subdivision was built.  The large rock now sits in someone's front yard.  I think the subdivision went up in middle school.  I remember running through the neighborhood for cross country practices when houses were still new.  So this was probably written around age 12 or 13.

Mucky Island

Snap, snap, snap - the rope hitting the ground

A rainbow in the sky,

water droplets glistening on the grass

She wondered if anyone had found the pot of gold yet

Reaching her destination, she slid off her bike

letting it fall to the ground

The sound of chanting children still in the distance

She made her usual leap, over the steady river,

up the steep slope, into her own world

Looking out she could no longer see the houses

that were taking over her much needed escape

Nor could she feel the brisk wind that was

picking up as the few moments of sun disappeared

Taking out her notebook she began to write

"I can still hear them, feel them, their presence close

But I will push them from my thoughts

No longer will they consume me...."

There are countless examples of beautiful poetry and words I wrote of my observations of the beauty in this world.  There are also so many writings that express deep emotions.  It's almost as if I leaned into the extremes of life - words of lament one day, deep appreciation for joy and beauty the next.  

I often wrote of feeling alone.  I wrote about my struggles to make friends and overhyped any attention I got from anyone regardless of whether their intentions were sincere.  I was burned so many times when I felt hopeful about someone's attentions who just wanted to be cruel to me.  I ran for student counsel when I was 11 years old.  I really wanted to win but wrote that "no one's going to vote for me."  (And I didn't get many votes.)

There were entries about the attention my sister received from my parents.  At age 11, I wrote about how we went to my sister's favorite restaurant because she got good grades.  I didn't finish the thought and point out that they never took me out to my favorite restaurant for my consistently good grades but the blank space on the page implied it.  There were also several entries of times my parents blamed me for my sister's actions.

My heart breaks for the child in me who just wanted some sincere attention from some good friends and family.

I marveled and pondered the changes I saw in myself at different stages. I wrote about identity more often than I had remembered.  I have always wanted to understand who I am, where I've been, and where I'm going.

Here's one from eighth grade which feels like a turning point in my discovery of self.

Looking Inside Out

I look in the mirror

To see all the changes 

Of that mysterious girl

[My full name]

She once was quiet

And meek

Now she loves excitement

And sports

Her parents are strict

And her sister is annoying

She writes and types, and

Talks and plays sports

In hopes that someday

She'll be someone important

I look back at that girl

And just have to smile

At all the life she puts in some lives

Who is she, I ask myself

Who is this cheerful girl

Then I realize it's me

It's my image always staring

Me in the face

Here is what feels like another turning point in my discovery of self that came just after meeting my now ex-husband.  This was written by 20 year old me.

Just trying to figure it out

Trying to make sense of myself

Walking backwards some days

Just to learn something new

Something I missed the first time

Constantly changing assumptions

Changing my thoughts and ideas

Only looking for the truth

It all may be quite confusing

Not make any sense to you

But that doesn't matter

I know I'm going in the right direction

I may be one thing one day

And the exact opposite the next

I understand all that

But if I don't take this time

Time to figure things out

I'll be lost in the dark forever...

Now, I haven't read it all.  Each of my poetry binders are 2" binders stuffed full.  But what do I take from it all?  A strong sense of self even in the moments I felt doubt or completely alone, my core self has been with me and a source of comfort from the beginning.  

Examples of Pollyanna go back probably to the beginning.  

I learned to disassociate at an early age.  That poem about Mucky Island is a great example of that but I can go back even further in my memory to my kindergarten days on a swing.  I returned to a swing in high school during my deepest moments of depression.  

And I have always struggled to feel like I belong somewhere.  As toxic as my marriage was, I had a misplaced sense of belonging in it that likely at least partially explains why I hung on as long as I did.

I still yearn to belong somewhere but I feel like I have more tools now to seek out those spaces and am hopeful I will find my place.