Exit Stage Left: No More Intolerance

I am  gratefully acknowledging Jen aka Fox in the City by picking one question out of many to answer posed to me during last week’s 11 Questions blogging amusement:

Q: What is your customary order at Starbucks?

A:  Venti soy latte with an extra shot of espresso

I like caffeine, which explains the extra shot.  I am lactose intolerant, which explains the soy.  I have something to say about intolerance, which is why I chose the question.

in·tol·er·ance   [in-tol-er-uhns] noun

incapacity or indisposition to bear or endure

When one is intolerant to certain types of food, one needs to avoid these things in order to feel comfortable.  This is easy to understand.  If dairy makes me have terrible abdominal pain and results in distressing expulsions of gas, then by all means, I am going to deny myself dairy products. 

But what about emotional intolerance? 

I deal with my own emotional intolerance all the time and I am sure you do, too.   I can’t tolerate whining and complaining. Of course, I am intolerant to whining and complaining from my girls.  But I listen.  In these emotionally amped up expressions, my girls are telling me that they have needs that require expression and attention.  My job as a mom is to identify that the whining is a symptom of an inability to communicate effectively.  Simply stating, “Don’t whine,” doesn’t work.  That strategy negates the need, ultimately negating the person.  A better way to go about it is to say, “I hear you are whining.  Can you express your need in a different voice?”

See, needs are OK.  Whining is not.  And I want my girls to have the tools to get their needs met throughout life.  I want them to value their desires and know that their voices are of importance.  It’s in the delivery—not in the need itself.  I do not want them to be silenced.  I know what it is like to be scared into living as a mute.  And I won’t tolerate it for my girls.

Ok. That was easy.  Here's the hard part.

Right now I’m mad at my mom.  Like a teenager, I can’t stand her, don’t want to talk to her, and can barely bring myself to speak or even write about her in a mature manner.  Why?  Her actions continue to convey a lifetime of intolerance of me.  And it happened again this weekend.

She read Two Writing Prompts, a Bridge, and the Truth, wherein I expressed that I was struggling to write because I was afraid to express what was on my mind.  I wrote about childhood memories and my mom did not enjoy reading about them.  She sent a plethora of texts that were reactionary, hurtful, and expressed her intolerance of my truth and my expression of it.  It stunned me.  I felt like I was back in the throes of her insanity and had no control.  In one text she said (paraphrased), “Am I permitted to come see Sophia (my daughter) in the musical?”  This was followed by a few more texts in which she basically put me down and attempted to manipulate me into responding, then, “I am coming to the musical.”

I never responded.

She showed up to the musical with my niece, the daughter of my sister—the sister I haven’t spoken to in over three years.  Wow.  Was bringing my niece along a ploy to manipulate me into communicating with her?  An attempt to get me to pretend that everything was OK?  She used my daughter's performance as device of control, to employ her power over me, well-disguised as the picture of the supportive grandmother. 

What did she expect me to do? Greet her with happiness and gratitude for showing up at my daughter’s performance?  Well, I didn’t.  Because I’ve done it that way in the past only to have my voice silenced and my reality denied.  I wasn't willing to tolerate it.  

I could not bring myself to ignore my niece. I briefly spoke to her and my mother during intermission, but decided I wouldn’t stay after to socialize. I caught my daughter in the lobby of the theater after the show, and said, "Great job!  I'll be back to get you after your lunch with the cast."  She went merrily along to greet her dad and his family who also came to the performance.

At the time, I was uncertain if I made the right decision in leaving immediately after the show.  My niece, not understanding why I did not stay after the show to socialize, cried and my daughter was left feeling uncomfortable.  I know this because my daughter called from the theater and asked if something had happened. 

I felt so awful during our phone conversation.  How could I leave her alone to deal with my mother?  Luckily, seeing that I wasn't there, my mother and niece didn’t stay long.  Also, my daughter was shielded from the drama because she was surrounded by my ex-husband and his family who showered her with flowers and well-deserved accolades.  My mother wouldn’t dare say nor do anything in front of an audience that could witness and identify her manipulative emotional abuse.  Moreover, the victim she was looking for was me and not my daughter.  No victim in sight, no reason to stay.  And possibly, she had a moment of enlightenment, and realized that my niece's feelings needed to be spared.

I do not know what my mother did to console my niece.  The only thing I can come up with is that she probably chalked my absence up to rudeness and mental illness. You know, I don’t care what she said to my niece.  I just want my her to be OK.  I have no control over that and I struggle with it.  My niece should not have been permitted to accompany my mother to the performance.  Would I let my mother take my daughter anywhere near my sister in the guise of supporting my niece?  No.  You know why?  It’s not fair to put a child in the middle of an adult situation without protection and guidance.

Well, I digress.  And I am sure you are confused.  Wait.  What?  Daughter, niece, sister, mother.  Who did what?

Intolerance is the subject at hand.  You know why humans have trouble with intolerance?  They become most uncomfortable with things that remind them of their own pain.  And they will fight with all their might to avoid it, becoming intolerant of it.  Whatever "it" is.  Intolerance is fear-based.  And fear breeds harm.

I am experiencing my own fear at the moment.  I fear that this post will be misconstrued by some as an attempt to hurt my mother.  It is not.  This post is my declaration, that I am stopping the insanity, that I have become intolerant of intolerance of truth.

Truthfully, what can I conclude?  What can I tolerate?  I can tolerate this:

I have resolved to parent differently than I was parented.  I have resolved to keep my stuff separate from my daughters’ issues.  I have resolved to be tolerant of my girls' voices.  I have resolved to live in acceptance of my past and move on courageously without my mother.  

That was exhausting.

I really could use a venti soy latte with an extra shot of espresso.

 

photo credit: betsyjean79 via photopin cc
photo credit: kevin dooley via photopin cc
photo credit: Leo Reynolds via photopin cc