Last week, my cousin Katharine’s post, a handmade life, from her beautiful Substack, essays from the edge of town, had a snippet about Haskell’s Island in Casco Bay, Maine.
Oh Susan, I just read this again, a bit more slowly this time. I'm touched that my parents and Haskell's Island were a safe place to land and be for you. And the writing is remarkable. I had never thought how, if the tears began at childhood you might really crack--how you needed that protection. Seeing photos of that small brilliant girl I really teared up too. And then the progression toward finally becoming a wet person! This love and care of your students expanding into the school and community was so beautiful. (This happened when my dad was in ICU and I gradually expanding my love from him into the entire hospital...I love your description of the Island! I didn't know my parents offered you the shanty for your honeymoon! That makes me so happy. (After our texting I woke this morning, I was singing, "Love love me true (too?). You know I love you. I'll always be true so PLEEEASE love me too!")
I’m glad you woke singing Beatles. I almost included a picture of your parents when the were young but it didn’t fit. Still, I have it if you want. I’m glad you had that expansion through your dad. I’m touched by your remembrance of me as a child. It tempers my own feelings about me at that age. And there was something about that picture with Kay that nudged me more towards what you say. I remembered that shirt. So odd. Thank you for your sensitivity and grace.
Susan thanks for subscribing. I always wonder why or how this happened. I win x2. Landing on this story which captured and led me through your safe 97 summers and your silence and control of things not spoken. I will relish reading more.
This is so beautiful and moving- stunning writing. brings tears to my eyes . It also makes me recall something from back when I was around five years old. President Kennedy had just been killed. I was spending the night at a friend’s house. Her father came in the room to say prayers with us before we went to sleep, and I saw him crying. I had never seen a man cry, and it was profound and moving for me to see that. That we all are vulnerable. And that it’s ok to cry.
What a gift those tears are. I remember when Kennedy died. I was about the same age. It was my brother's birthday. People were upset, but I don't remember tears. Thank you for your kind comments about the writing. I'm so grateful.
Thanks Nancy. If you tried to hug that kid, she’d probably run. Even the tiniest display of compassion was threatening. The 67 year old is very grateful you said it. Hopefully, your care can time travel and support her until she’s ready.
I cried easily when I was a kid. But I was told that I was too sensitive - too emotional. Over time I developed an eating disorder. Both anorexia and overeating (not at the same time). To keep the emotions at bay. I ate to fill the emptiness inside, to feel full of something, instead of the emptiness of what I see now as rejection, control, etc. It's interesting in that when alone I let my emotions out, but definitely not in front of people.
Today I let my emotions be here. And I find there is a difference between identifying with them and simply being with them as natural movements. My emotions are not who I am, but expressions of a moment. I'm not bad or good because of them, they are just feelings.
So true. I call it the weather. It comes into the sky and leaves it. The sky, though, is unchanged. But emotions don’t move freely until I am willing to feel. And I wasn’t for decades. For all that posturing, I was terrified. All the anger and toughness? Terror.
I cried all the time. My parents would call me thundercloud because of my depressed look. Can you imagine? Of course, they were self centered enough to not delve deeper, or afraid.
When i finally got sober, i cried continuously for 7 years. No lie.
I had no idea what was in store for a sober me. My drinking protected me just enough until I was ready to "feel". The ride was the most intense ever and since. In hindsight, it had to be done. I am now insightful, sensitive, and compassionate. Yay me!
No kidding Jami! Yay, you, indeed. Amazing how the people around us don't ask those pesky questions, or how they discount your experience simply because you are young, or worse yet, they know that you know what's up, and they are unwilling to confront it. I used to think it meant they didn't love me, especially my dad, who checked out of life rather than feel the mess he created. But the softness on the other side is so joyful.
Being able to feel and know that you are safe to feel is a great terror, but one to move through to get to be where we are now. i know the strong you, and there is only one way a person gets to be that strong.
You do, Charlotte, thank you. For years, I thought tears were a weakness, but that didn't stop them. Once you give your willingness, they come without any further permission - even if it takes years.
I love this and you, Susan. To embrace one another instead of resisting, powered by the often dangerous, usually counterproductive ego. The ego that once managed to keep us just a little "safe." How beautiful it would be if we could only see the inner stuff, the things that hurt us young, and kept us in dysfunctional behaviors.
I was always a wet person until I would stop crying because of the fear of never being able to stop. I cried for the first time in ages on Monday in my therapy session when I shattered over a couple of stories I've been telling for years, with no emotional attachment. Well, I got to the pain under the stories and freed up a level of shame that's been motivating my anger and defensiveness for almost my entire life. It helped me to see how easily I can be triggered in certain situations, without seeing them clearly. I need to be unafraid to explore the shadow material. I believe it's the only way to set myself free, even though it can be scary as fuck sometimes. See you soon, xo.
Absolutely terrifying, if you're telling the truth, which you do so brilliantly. Then, when the story lets go, there's peace after the tears. Sometimes it takes years in the fetal position. In that case, only kindness will do: kindness toward the self. Your bravery is an example to the world. See you soon, love.
Relatable
My eyes are soft
I hope schools are shifting
Feeling your wet eyes and sending hugs
Deep share
🌹🧡🌹
Thanks Prajna. That tingles the eyes. Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate you so much.
Very happy to learn more about you Susan, adds to your depth and care of feeling.
Oh Susan, I just read this again, a bit more slowly this time. I'm touched that my parents and Haskell's Island were a safe place to land and be for you. And the writing is remarkable. I had never thought how, if the tears began at childhood you might really crack--how you needed that protection. Seeing photos of that small brilliant girl I really teared up too. And then the progression toward finally becoming a wet person! This love and care of your students expanding into the school and community was so beautiful. (This happened when my dad was in ICU and I gradually expanding my love from him into the entire hospital...I love your description of the Island! I didn't know my parents offered you the shanty for your honeymoon! That makes me so happy. (After our texting I woke this morning, I was singing, "Love love me true (too?). You know I love you. I'll always be true so PLEEEASE love me too!")
I’m glad you woke singing Beatles. I almost included a picture of your parents when the were young but it didn’t fit. Still, I have it if you want. I’m glad you had that expansion through your dad. I’m touched by your remembrance of me as a child. It tempers my own feelings about me at that age. And there was something about that picture with Kay that nudged me more towards what you say. I remembered that shirt. So odd. Thank you for your sensitivity and grace.
oh that's kind of you to say. I remember that shirt too! And your hands, in the photo,like a painter.
Susan thanks for subscribing. I always wonder why or how this happened. I win x2. Landing on this story which captured and led me through your safe 97 summers and your silence and control of things not spoken. I will relish reading more.
Well met! I’m so glad when we find each other. Thanks also you for your kind response. It’s amazing and wonderful.
This is so beautiful and moving- stunning writing. brings tears to my eyes . It also makes me recall something from back when I was around five years old. President Kennedy had just been killed. I was spending the night at a friend’s house. Her father came in the room to say prayers with us before we went to sleep, and I saw him crying. I had never seen a man cry, and it was profound and moving for me to see that. That we all are vulnerable. And that it’s ok to cry.
What a gift those tears are. I remember when Kennedy died. I was about the same age. It was my brother's birthday. People were upset, but I don't remember tears. Thank you for your kind comments about the writing. I'm so grateful.
Hi Susan,
Beautiful writing. I would like to give that ten-year-old you a hug. Pretty sure tough was a refuge. I'm glad you've found your way out.
Thanks Nancy. If you tried to hug that kid, she’d probably run. Even the tiniest display of compassion was threatening. The 67 year old is very grateful you said it. Hopefully, your care can time travel and support her until she’s ready.
Thanks for your post Susan - powerful!
I cried easily when I was a kid. But I was told that I was too sensitive - too emotional. Over time I developed an eating disorder. Both anorexia and overeating (not at the same time). To keep the emotions at bay. I ate to fill the emptiness inside, to feel full of something, instead of the emptiness of what I see now as rejection, control, etc. It's interesting in that when alone I let my emotions out, but definitely not in front of people.
Today I let my emotions be here. And I find there is a difference between identifying with them and simply being with them as natural movements. My emotions are not who I am, but expressions of a moment. I'm not bad or good because of them, they are just feelings.
It helps me during internal thunderstorms.
So true. I call it the weather. It comes into the sky and leaves it. The sky, though, is unchanged. But emotions don’t move freely until I am willing to feel. And I wasn’t for decades. For all that posturing, I was terrified. All the anger and toughness? Terror.
I like that, the weather. Great analogy. I feel it.
I cried all the time. My parents would call me thundercloud because of my depressed look. Can you imagine? Of course, they were self centered enough to not delve deeper, or afraid.
When i finally got sober, i cried continuously for 7 years. No lie.
I had no idea what was in store for a sober me. My drinking protected me just enough until I was ready to "feel". The ride was the most intense ever and since. In hindsight, it had to be done. I am now insightful, sensitive, and compassionate. Yay me!
No kidding Jami! Yay, you, indeed. Amazing how the people around us don't ask those pesky questions, or how they discount your experience simply because you are young, or worse yet, they know that you know what's up, and they are unwilling to confront it. I used to think it meant they didn't love me, especially my dad, who checked out of life rather than feel the mess he created. But the softness on the other side is so joyful.
It always blows my mind what can get through
Same, the avoidance of anything real or human was not allowed
If someone had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. Likewise about the joy. Impossible. I would have said.
And I used to cry at everything, even McD commercials. I guess I've mostly dried out.
I kinda look forward to that.
Being able to feel and know that you are safe to feel is a great terror, but one to move through to get to be where we are now. i know the strong you, and there is only one way a person gets to be that strong.
You do, Charlotte, thank you. For years, I thought tears were a weakness, but that didn't stop them. Once you give your willingness, they come without any further permission - even if it takes years.
I love this and you, Susan. To embrace one another instead of resisting, powered by the often dangerous, usually counterproductive ego. The ego that once managed to keep us just a little "safe." How beautiful it would be if we could only see the inner stuff, the things that hurt us young, and kept us in dysfunctional behaviors.
I was always a wet person until I would stop crying because of the fear of never being able to stop. I cried for the first time in ages on Monday in my therapy session when I shattered over a couple of stories I've been telling for years, with no emotional attachment. Well, I got to the pain under the stories and freed up a level of shame that's been motivating my anger and defensiveness for almost my entire life. It helped me to see how easily I can be triggered in certain situations, without seeing them clearly. I need to be unafraid to explore the shadow material. I believe it's the only way to set myself free, even though it can be scary as fuck sometimes. See you soon, xo.
Absolutely terrifying, if you're telling the truth, which you do so brilliantly. Then, when the story lets go, there's peace after the tears. Sometimes it takes years in the fetal position. In that case, only kindness will do: kindness toward the self. Your bravery is an example to the world. See you soon, love.
Thanks, Susan. If you spot it you got it! That’s what my sponsor always says. I need the reminder daily, especially when people irritate me! xo