Thursday, March 13, 2025

 Thursday, March 13, 2025

     I woke up again thinking about the claim that if someone does something hurtful to us, it’s not on them but on us. I assume no one believes that’s true in all cases. I hope everyone agrees that physical or sexual assault is a clear exception. 

     But here’s another perspective:  there’s the expression ‘to throw salt on a wound.’  That stings. Clearly, the extent of our pain is a combination of the injury and our vulnerability, our woundedness.  Navigating between the two is tricky.  If someone is very wounded and overly sensitive, accommodations must be made for that person. That has to be negotiated between people. If my woundedness conflicts with someone else’s and there is no way to reconcile the difference to our mutual satisfaction, going our separate ways is the only option. It’s tricky. I don’t think there is an easy solution. The key is not indicting anyone’s character.

   I could get hyper, which triggered Mike. When I did, he would say, “Are you a safe part of my environment?”  He expressed his need, not saying something was wrong with me because I triggered him. I generally toned down a bit. Once I got over feeling hurt, it was good discipline for me.

   Then there’s the classic problem we ran into when he found what he considered my topic intolerable.  That was a crisis point in our marriage. I’m very attached to my mind’s ability to make loose connections. He found any unconfined conversation stressful. That was the only point in our marriage where I was actually frightened, not so much because he might leave me but because he was accusing me of being intolerable. 

    We went to see my therapist.  He pleaded, “Make her stop!  I can’t bear it!” I said I see connections where he didn’t.  I used primary sources.  He said, “I use primary sources. I’ve read the original Plato and the original Aristotle.” The therapist said, “She’s a phenomenalist!” For those of you who don’t know what that means, it’s a school of philosophy.  Mike went, “ Ah!” and our marriage was saved.  A year or so before he died, he said, “You’re endlessly entertaining. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth next.”   We were blessed to find a solution to our conflicting wounds. 

  I’ve told this story many times over the years. It is one of my favorite examples of conflict resolution.  We had to take each other’s vulnerabilities into account.  The bedrock of mutual trust that we cared about each other’s needs without judgment was the foundation of the marriage for both of us.  It wasn’t that we liked everything about each other or didn’t complain, but we complained that something annoyed us or hurt us. We managed never to indict each other’s essential character. That’s always a no-no if you want a relationship to continue in peace.

   I worked with Shelly today.  I am always working on resolving my wounds so I can be a better person.  I believe most of the harm we do to each other is a result of protecting those wounds. Not to say there isn’t genuine evil in the world, too.  But there is nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal. 

    I told Shelly how I  observed a group of Masai men running across the savanna in the movie Out of Africa.  For these people, running is a means of transportation.  It’s how they travel distances. The Masai are now famous for running marathons, but that’s a different type of running. The Masai use that for herding cattle and chasing lions away from the herd, not for mere transportation.  Watching a group of men move across the savanna was amazing.  They were carrying spears. I assume they were off to hunt game.  They weren’t quite in unison, but they all kept stride. Their bodies were relaxed; there was no strain. I watched them over and over to figure out the body mechanics.  I tried what I thought they were doing. It felt amazing. The body is relaxed. It requires a minimum amount of energy.

   Shelly commented that I had been interested in body mechanics since my accident. I took offense. Give me a break. While her statement wasn’t true—I’ve been interested since I started taking dance classes at the age of nineteen—my reaction was absurd. I am so sensitive to being told I’m something I’m not.  

  I know the source of that wounding. My mother used accusations whenever we were in conflict and sometimes when we weren’t. The most absurd one was telling me I had thin, baby-fine hair. Anyone who told me I had good hair was saying that because they didn’t care about me. Plenty of people told me I had great hair. I told them all no; I had thin, baby-fine hair. This is just a concrete example of her brainwashing. It was all done in defense of her vulnerable ego, and believe it or not, it was a genuine belief that it was her duty to say negative things to her children for their protection. Don’t ask. But this leaves me very sensitive to any feedback that starts with “you are….” or anything comparable. I think it’s an understandable response, given my background.  I’ve been trying to heal it all my adult life. Damn! It’s hard.  I notice when something doesn’t bother me anymore. Wow! Another small victory. I used the opportunity to work on the wounding. 

   After the session, I left immediately to drop off tax documents that arrived late to the accountant.  Then, I drove to Kia. I hadn’t paid for the 12-volt battery they installed.  Joe told me the bill was pending. If replacing the battery fixed the problem, the warranty wouldn’t cover all the work they did on the car. I had to keep a record of the charging history. I should try both of the chargers I had. If they failed to fully charge the car, I had to try a commercial charging station. 

   I picked up my car the other day. I got it to fully charge once. Then, today, it failed quickly. I started charging when it had 11 miles on it. It failed at 13.  I unplugged the first one. As I did, I noticed the outlet was scorched. Then I couldn’t get the box open.  I called Darby. She came over immediately, opened it, and taught me how to do it. I plugged in the second one.  It also failed.  Joe says they have no problems with charging it at the garage.  They have 220 outlets; mine is 110.  The charger is supposed to work on a 110. The difference is the speed of the charge. I just paid for the dedicated 110 outlet I put in. $1099.63. This is ridiculous. There’s obviously a short in the car.  The 220-volt outlet overrides the short. The car has been in the garage for this problem at least three times by now. This is getting scary.

   Today, I got rid of the last of my solar panels. Luc flew in from Maui. He had agreed to $10 per panel for 14 of them. He arrived and asked if he would accept $100. Sure. Then he told me he was donating them to a needy family.  Was he scamming me? Possibly. I prefer to think not. I asked him if he had $50 on him. I gave him back his hundred.  If he hadn’t taken them, my next option was to give them away for free. If I had to get rid of them myself, it would have cost me $30 a panel.  There were three dead ones I had to take to the recycling center. That cost me $90.