Mama would have been 100years old this year and I cannot help but wonder what she would be thinking about all that has happened in 2021. I don't pretend to know. Her opinions often surprised me but even when they did, they were usually well grounded in her unique and almost a century of experience. She was a woman of great Faith. She was also no one's fool.
One of the things she told me I would experience is the Invisible Woman Mode people my age enter. Seriously, we reach a certain age and unless we are insanely good looking, or insane in our actions, we disappear from peoples' radar.
Most of my readers know I belong to a 12 step program that has allowed me to live with alcoholism, managing it successfully (in terms of not drinking alcohol) for 29 years. I am grateful beyond measure to that program and the amazing men and women who walked the path before me. I am also very aware that the name of the group is not Well Adjusted People Anonymous.
That being said, when the bias of the world creeps into the meetings or gatherings of that fellowship it makes me sad. We are supposed to be better than that - kind of like The Catholic Church is supposed to be better than that as well - so when it turns out that, like most institutions founded on wonderful ideals and/or holy principles we are held hostage by the bad behavior of the member, it can break my heart a little.
I think this is why it is so important for all of us to learn how to voice our displeasure with bad behavior. It is not enough to say, "Call it OUT!". It is also important to call it out in a way that reflects the principles of whatever fellowship or institution to which we belong. And let me tell you, buster, that is not easy.
Using myself as an example (because I think I am pretty darn run of the mill average when it comes to defects of character), I find it difficult not to retaliate. When I do retaliate? I feel awful and it is off to confessional I slink. However, that feeling is not enough to keep me retaliation-free the next time someone steps on my toes. In fact, the reason I do slink off to the confessional is that it is the grace I receive from the Sacrament that helps me resist the need to retaliate when my toes are bruised again - which, by the way, they will be.
I think it is important to get to the bottom of what causes the bruising. What has been affected? Is it my security? My self-esteem? My ambitions? What hurt my feelings and caused me an injury? Can I get that need met spiritually so that when the injury happens again it barely registers?
It is possible to become spiritually strong and lose the overt need for love, acceptance, care and recognition. To do so successfully, however, that has to be a deliberate goal. I have to want to do it and then carefully and intentionally do what is necessary to let myself decrease so the He may increase. I don't think it comes naturally....maybe it was supposed to in the beginning but we have had too much ugliness over the eons of our existence on this planet and the wounds now run deep. Wounds caused by sexism and racism, by the need for power and control, by the want to determine on our own what is right and what is wrong. It is a constant battle and unfortunately for someone like me the people who are yelling about this the loudest are usually the worst examples of what I want to be as a woman and a Catholic.
So...when Mama told me I would reach an age of invisibility I knew she was telling the truth. I have to accept that and be okay with is as a kind of natural order of things. I also have to acknowledge that while she had me, I have .... me. I have to be able to advocate for myself in the world. I have to stay strong and healthy, clear minded and clear headed in order to make sure I never lose my ability to care for the daily ins and outs of life. I also have to do it knowing that, at some point, I WILL lose that ability. But I cannot worry about it now. Today. I do what is in front of me today and I give thanks to God that today I am fully dressed and in my right mind.
It's a weird and wonderful world.
I miss you, Mama.
No comments:
Post a Comment