A Crimson Cord;

I was so aware of all the obstacles I had to wend my way through in order to form a relationship with my dad that it never occurred to me that he might have some obstacles of his own. I don’t think he realized it either. Even the best of relationships are super hard. Love is supposed to cover a multitude of sins. And compassion, kindness and forgiveness are necessary ingredients to sustain relationships. Make no mistake about it - meeting a long lost parent is a tremendously hard road to travel. You may, in fact, find yourselves diverging paths at some point. And you know what? That’s OK. Everyone hears the story of me and my dad and they write themselves an ending…you know…the happily ever after one. They suddenly think that my dad will be what their dad was or what they think a dad should be. And I, having no idea what a dad should be, buy into those expectations. Furthermore, I buy into this idea of what a good daughter would or should be. But this is not a ...

My dad, Norma, half-sisters, niece and nephews seemingly opened their heart and homes to me. One day, my dad took me to the graves where my grandparents and great grandparents are buried. These were my people. Technically, they were part of my heritage. All those years wondering what nationality I was, I would never have guessed Scandinavian. And a wee bit Irish.  Nevertheless I still tentatively and awkwardly called my dad, “D…aa…a…d”. I was afraid I didn’t have everyone’s full permission to call him that. Not that I needed their permission because that’s who he was.  My dad. But in my mind I wasn't sure I have been given the green light to proceed down that road at top speed with total abandon. I was also unsure if it felt right to call him dad. Maybe because I was unsure if that was the role he truly wanted.   My newly discovered family and I started to make some new memories together. I have a picture on the hutch above my desk at work. Everyone who comes into...

“Shame is a soul eating emotion.”  - Carl Jung.   “Shame is a soul eating monster. Voracious. Insatiable. Blood thirsty.”  - Me. I have voices in my head. Not the Schizophrenic kind. No, these are the Shamers. They are loud and obnoxious. Vicious and unrelenting. Rude. Condescending. Highly abrasive and invasive. Merciless. They are the ones who, when you are trying to walk a reasonably normal path in life, sling garbage at you. And not just wads of paper and the dried-bits-of-things type of garbage that bounce off you, or that you can dodge or easily swipe away. Nope, they sling the rotten, slimy, stinking garbage that sticks to you and seeps into your being and stain. They also hurl the tin cans with the lids still attached that cut and slice you. Sometime they throw full cans (or packages of ground beef. True Story.) aimed at your head and if you’re not quick enough to catch them, you’re left concussed and confused. They throw it in massive quantities...

You get interesting comments and perspectives from people when you tell them your story.  “Wow, you’ve really known a lot of rejection your entire life, haven’t you?” said one woman.   Yeah - I guess I have. I never really got that before because, you know…it’s my life…rejection became a normal course for me. But when you see it through someone else’s eyes you realize - it’s not supposed to be that normal.  As I started to explore and educate myself I discovered all attachment issues are directly related to rejection. That was the site of an epiphany for me. The rejection I have faced in my lifetime started on day one.  To place my epiphany in context, it followed after reading some stunning conclusions from the meta-analysis done of 36 studies on parental rejection which encompassed research of approximately 10,000 participants.  (Note:  Don’t you think anything prefaced with the word ‘meta’ makes it extra cool!?!)   Anyway, this an...