Posts tagged childhood

sometimes things happen that will bring out a side of your nature that you forgot even existed. since my transition a year ago, my highly sensitive, highly emotional self has mostly manifested in the form of tears—sometimes even sobs. moving away from my family, becoming detached from everything that was my life for 30 years, and the solitude of a soul-less city like LA, has created a pitri dish of emotions—often magnifying parts of my psyche that have long been forgotten…and then something will happen.

today i was reminded of one of my mom’s favorite stories from my childhood—an experience that i was far too young to ever recall on my own that, however, is a perfect example of a personality trait that i’ve never grown out of, but may have put to rest for a bit of time.

growing up i lived in two-bedroom in a decent-sized apartment complex with my mom and dad, little sister and a mut from my dad’s youth (later becoming my mom, her boyfriend, my little sister, her 6 ft iguana, and often her boyfriend/soul mate). it was tight, and we were often piled on top of each other, which forced me to learn to just let things be sometimes…the constant poking of a little sis, the never-ending nagging of an over-caring mother, the lack of privacy…live and let live was the only way to survive. who wants to spend their life fighting every day?

in spite of all the patience learned, my emotions became a sleeping bear—snoring through most of the insanity—even if outside disturbances caused the occasional nightmare, they were my nightmares that i endured in solitude. However, at times the mania became too much to sleep through, and if pushed too hard, the beast would awaken…which was exactly the case with my now best friend, Traci. poor Traci.

i was always a well-behaved child. Mom made sure of it. always said please and thank you, never spoke unless spoken to, didn’t talk back (until my sassy teenage years), and never…ever…used foul language or mom would make me a nice plate of dial soap for dinner. but there was ONE time that i managed to expel the F-bomb without suffering punitive damages, and a 5-year old Traci was on the receiving end.

Traci lived up the block. my mom used to babysit her. we spent a lot of time together, which lent itself to plenty of opportunities to get on each others nerves, as i’m sure we did…often…i just can’t remember. As my mom likes to tell it, we were enjoying a lovely swim together in the community pool—a favorite hangout for the Terrace crowd—when Traci decided it would be fun to dunk me under water. not cool Traci. It happened quite a few times, (i’m sure there were tears and desperate pleas of release somewhere in there), before i climbed out of the pool, dramatically stomped my foot and in my best outdoor voice belted a single statement: “EFF* YOU TRACI!” [*substitute “EFF” with your favorite F-word and mine]. I had had enough.

that threshold is something that i’ve carried with me throughout my life…opting most often to internalize my frustration rather than voice it, often resulting in personal determent, but also personal growth. i had to learn to let MANY things slide. i constantly tested my limits and boundaries, making excuses for bad behavior or things that caused me pain, and ultimately it made me stronger—still a cry baby—but stronger.