Monday, August 13, 2007 at 12:12am
The dark woods
Column: Woman at the Well
The dark woods, my symbol for those times in life when the journey became clouded and confused, plagued by demons and hormonal adolescent chaos, is not easy to revisit or remember with clarity. To do so requires courage or demented self-obsession. Most of us choose to forget the dark times. Positive thinking, the new "Secret" all the rage, seems to suggest that any time spent revisiting a clouded past is self-indulgent and wasted time.
Most folks don't particularly like teenagers and fail to bond with their own children effectively as they enter adolescence, at least in part because they find it agonizing and almost impossible to remember their own suffering through the hormonal changes, foolish choices and personal anguish that ushered them into adulthood. Remembering our own experiences can benefit the next generation who enter dark woods of their own.
The dark woods have challenged us to grow the courage, wisdom and love that have made us who we are today.
To become integrated and whole, we need to embrace our shadows and dark side as well as our light. If we don't fully acknowledge who we are, in all our humanity, we are more easily tempted and manipulated to believe that some enemy, some other, holds all the shadows we cannot face. It is easier to call another human being evil, a whole nation worthy of destruction, projecting our shadow outward, becoming the evil we claim to conquer, than to see it in ourselves.
Just the same, revisiting the dark woods of our lives can be painful, and hard work.
Why am I doing it now? Now that I am on a path of light and wonder? Now that my children are grown and well, my work is fruitful and meaningful? Why am I compelled to return to that lonely time some 46 years ago when the dark woods seemed to open up before me and swallow me whole? It was a terrifying time for me. I have resisted this moment until I could be sure I was ready.
Now I have loving support surrounding me in my life. I know there is a lifeline for me, more than a Hansel and Gretel trail of crumbs to guide me back out once this visit is over.
So I am ready, to remember (re-member) the story of my life, the dark woods I have traveled.
When I was 12, the turmoil of my parents' marriage turned violent. My sister and I heard them fighting in the middle of the night. Dad said I probably wasn't his child (a foolish lie). Mom threw an ashtray (it missed). Dad punched her in the eye. The neighbors were told she had bumped her head on a cupboard door. No one questioned. Soon my Dad was moving out.
Then the sad story turned twisted. My father had never been comfortable with his children. He hardly spoke to us. His was the head in the driver's seat on long trips by car, or the body on the sofa watching sports at night. We never talked. Never.
Now I was suddenly his new darling. Mom thought it was good that he was finally attempting to build bonds with his oldest child. He took me to ballgames and out for dinner. Every week for the next six months I spent time with my father until the divorce was final. But it wasn't a time for him to get to know me. It was a time for me to act as his loving partner, to listen as he complained about my mother, how unfair it was that she got the house, that he had to pay child support, that life was suddenly lonely for him. His attention was not sexual in nature. I would have known that was wrong. No, it all seemed so innocent. I was his surrogate partner for those six months, and then he was gone.
After that we saw him twice a year — Christmas and Easter. His visits were so rare that he never learned to recognize his youngest daughter, Heidi, by face. For the rest of his life he had to be reintroduced to his own child as if for the first time.
I agonized for years over what I had done to turn him away from me. What could I do to bring him back into my life? I wrote him letters and cards. I was always on my best behavior when he came for his scheduled visits. I idealized him and I grieved.
Fifty dollars of child support, per child per month, did not cover our expenses even in 1961. Mom went to work. I took care of my two sisters, ages 8 and 2, and Grandma, 98. I did outside babysitting, when I could, and we used that money for food.
Mom and I had been close friends before all this happened. Now I took Dad's side and blamed her for the divorce. School friendships in junior high were tenuous at best. Some of my teachers took an interest in me and I got labeled "teacher's pet." It was a crazy lonely time.
Then Mom met a man through mutual friends, and soon I was the sullen stepchild of Mr. Morrie Leffingwell — a kind and generous man to take on a mother with three children. He worked hard and moved us all to a new home in a new town. I was 14 and not out of the dark woods yet.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
Most folks don't particularly like teenagers and fail to bond with their own children effectively as they enter adolescence, at least in part because they find it agonizing and almost impossible to remember their own suffering through the hormonal changes, foolish choices and personal anguish that ushered them into adulthood. Remembering our own experiences can benefit the next generation who enter dark woods of their own.
The dark woods have challenged us to grow the courage, wisdom and love that have made us who we are today.
To become integrated and whole, we need to embrace our shadows and dark side as well as our light. If we don't fully acknowledge who we are, in all our humanity, we are more easily tempted and manipulated to believe that some enemy, some other, holds all the shadows we cannot face. It is easier to call another human being evil, a whole nation worthy of destruction, projecting our shadow outward, becoming the evil we claim to conquer, than to see it in ourselves.
Just the same, revisiting the dark woods of our lives can be painful, and hard work.
Why am I doing it now? Now that I am on a path of light and wonder? Now that my children are grown and well, my work is fruitful and meaningful? Why am I compelled to return to that lonely time some 46 years ago when the dark woods seemed to open up before me and swallow me whole? It was a terrifying time for me. I have resisted this moment until I could be sure I was ready.
Now I have loving support surrounding me in my life. I know there is a lifeline for me, more than a Hansel and Gretel trail of crumbs to guide me back out once this visit is over.
So I am ready, to remember (re-member) the story of my life, the dark woods I have traveled.
When I was 12, the turmoil of my parents' marriage turned violent. My sister and I heard them fighting in the middle of the night. Dad said I probably wasn't his child (a foolish lie). Mom threw an ashtray (it missed). Dad punched her in the eye. The neighbors were told she had bumped her head on a cupboard door. No one questioned. Soon my Dad was moving out.
Then the sad story turned twisted. My father had never been comfortable with his children. He hardly spoke to us. His was the head in the driver's seat on long trips by car, or the body on the sofa watching sports at night. We never talked. Never.
Now I was suddenly his new darling. Mom thought it was good that he was finally attempting to build bonds with his oldest child. He took me to ballgames and out for dinner. Every week for the next six months I spent time with my father until the divorce was final. But it wasn't a time for him to get to know me. It was a time for me to act as his loving partner, to listen as he complained about my mother, how unfair it was that she got the house, that he had to pay child support, that life was suddenly lonely for him. His attention was not sexual in nature. I would have known that was wrong. No, it all seemed so innocent. I was his surrogate partner for those six months, and then he was gone.
After that we saw him twice a year — Christmas and Easter. His visits were so rare that he never learned to recognize his youngest daughter, Heidi, by face. For the rest of his life he had to be reintroduced to his own child as if for the first time.
I agonized for years over what I had done to turn him away from me. What could I do to bring him back into my life? I wrote him letters and cards. I was always on my best behavior when he came for his scheduled visits. I idealized him and I grieved.
Fifty dollars of child support, per child per month, did not cover our expenses even in 1961. Mom went to work. I took care of my two sisters, ages 8 and 2, and Grandma, 98. I did outside babysitting, when I could, and we used that money for food.
Mom and I had been close friends before all this happened. Now I took Dad's side and blamed her for the divorce. School friendships in junior high were tenuous at best. Some of my teachers took an interest in me and I got labeled "teacher's pet." It was a crazy lonely time.
Then Mom met a man through mutual friends, and soon I was the sullen stepchild of Mr. Morrie Leffingwell — a kind and generous man to take on a mother with three children. He worked hard and moved us all to a new home in a new town. I was 14 and not out of the dark woods yet.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.