Put Out

Recently, I've come across a small handful of bloggers cataloging their scars, both within and without, in extraordinary detail.
It has reminded me of a simple exercise that I was asked to engage in as a post-graduate student of clinical counseling.

One way to ascertain a client's world view (or the color of the lenses through which she sees the world), is to ask her (or him) to recall some events that stand out clearly in her mind, that had happened to her before the age of six, as well as the emotions attached to them. It is most helpful if the client can recall at least five or six separate events.

The first event that I can recall took place during the summer I was four years old, as my mother and I were traveling in our red Austin Mini from our home in a Toronto suburb, to the family cottage in the Haliburton Highlands -- a trek of about 140 miles. At some point in our journey, my mother became so annoyed with my incessant chatting that she stopped the car and put me out at the side of the road-- a remote two-lane highway edged with thick, forested hills with huge walls of granite in the places where the highway had been carved out of the countryside.

I remember being very cross with her, and I also quite clearly recall hoping for a policeman to come along, as I would flag him down and boy, would she be in big trouble.

In fact, I don't recall any cars driving by in the 20 minute period that I first stood then sat alone on a boulder, about 20 feet back from the side of the highway. When my mother returned she got the quiet she wished for, as I seethed silently for the remainder of our journey on the hilly, twisty highway leading to the cottage.

An interesting point where her and my recollections diverge, is that I recall the period that she was "missing" as being about 2 hours. She says it was twenty minutes. I guess we'll never know, but I do think it's plausible that upon backtracking, she drove by me by a number of times not seeing me because I was mostly hidden by the groundcover. I may have wanted it that way to spite her.

Though the time frame may be in dispute, I recall the rest of this incident with crystal clarity from the time she put me out of the car, until we reached the cottage ("safety," in my mind). My most potent emotions were feeling rejected and feeling angry. My mother literally tossed me away and as the minutes went by, I felt quite sure she would never return.
So what piece of my world view did I begin to acquire all those years ago?

Fear of rejection and fear of anger and avoidance of both, whenever possible.

This is just one incident, hardly enough to explain who I am or how I arrived at this point, but in continuing the exercise, other facets of ones personality can become quite clear. This little exercise is not meant to sum up ones life story. It is simply one of many useful tools to better understand oneself.

Edit: There seems to be a sturm un drang vibe to this post. Actually, another possible outcome of this experience was my steeliness or mettle. I may appear a softie at times, but when the chips are down, I've got a lot of strength in reserve. I think I'll blog about another childhood memory that is more positive, to give this a bit of balance.

Comments

[Cyn]

Vanessa: Very good point--and my mother's generation was treated even more harshly by their parents--which might explain why she thought nothing (and still sees nothing wrong) with putting a talkative young child out at the side of a country highway.
What was simple discipline in the old days is now called child abuse and/or neglect (not to negate that there are horrific cases of such).

Agreed that there are some days that there is nothing to blog about or one simply can't be arsed putting in the effort. Those would be the days that I reprint a recent piece from one of my favorite columnists. I just can't seem to leave a posting date ignored.

Anne: Never saw nor read "White Oleander," as here in the States, Oprah Winfrey picks out her favourite books and her slavish followers dutifully run out and buy them and then "discuss" on her show. If a book has been blessed by Oprah, I automatically dismiss it. Severe yes, but I thoroughly despise her shameless, self indulgent infatuation with herself (cloaked in a concern for her viewers). Don't get me started on her. :D

[Anne]

Hey Cyn did you ever see "White Oleander"? Great flick about the mother/daughter bond (or lack thereof).

[Vanessa]

Lol, I can visualise that!

It's a 'harsh thing' *nowadays* - I have no idea if it was harsh *then*. Nurturing and stuff wasn't always the 'right' thing to do by your kids, back in the day. We weren't all Spock kids, and hindsight is 20/20.

And I dunno about the stream versus the plan.. I think it varies. Jeez, some days there's just nothing to blog about, after all!

[Cyn]

Mmmmm cheese. I don't normally eat it ('cos of the sodium) but I love it. Started eating it again 'round the holidays with the party trays and such and now I crave it. Needless to say the holiday weight gain isn't diminishing very quickly.

In re: dear old mum, things were a-okay as long as Dad was around but the poor dear just wasn't meant to have to deal with the stress of a precocious child. I started speaking at 9 months of age--and she claims that I've never shut up since.

[Cheekysquirrel]

Don't mention cheese! Not allowed it at the moment.

That was a harsh thing to do to a kid. I don't think I would have gotten back in the car with her, not without force.

[Cyn]

*it was the first time ever I've decided that some things aren't appropriate for blogging.*

It is a slipperly slope, I'm finding. Is blogging a stream-of-consciousness thing or should it be more planful in it's execution?

*I might be maturing. Like Gorgonzola.*
Too funny!

[Vanessa]

Your 'edit' interpretation was the one I automatically inferred from the anecdote. It seemed to express strentgh, righteousness and wilfulness more than abandonment, the way you told it.
Lovely idea - me, I'm too scared to try it. Incidentally, the scars blog: I was going to follow it up with a post on scars that aren't visible, which in a sense you've done here - and it was the first time ever I've decided that some things aren't appropriate for blogging. Hey, you never know, I might be maturing. Like Gorgonzola.

[Cyn]

Edit: There seems to be a Sturm Un Drang vibe to this post. Actually, another possible outcome of this experience was my steeliness or mettle. I may appear a softie at times, but when the chips are down, I've got a lot of strength in reserve. I think I'll blog about another childhood memory that is more positive, to give this a bit of balance.

[Anne]

Wow. Must have been incredibly traumatic. I can't remember anything from when I was 6. Or rather, memories of my childhood are a big soup, all mixed up together and I couldn't tell you what age I was at any one event.
You may not feel it, but you have to have been mighty strong to have survived that. Toast your own resilience. :)

[lakkris]

nice. I will have to try that later