Reject Cement - Chapter 17

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 analysis was done by Ronald Rohner from the University of Connecticut, who is an expert on the effects of parental rejection. He is quoted as saying the following on the subject (bolding is my emphasis):

“In our half-century of international research, we’ve not found any other class of experience that has as strong and consistent effect upon personality development as does the experience of being rejected, especially by parents in childhood. Children and adults everywhere, regardless of differences in race, culture and gender, tend to respond in exactly the same way when they perceive themselves to be rejected by their care-givers and other attachment figures.

The pain of rejection -- especially when it occurs over a period of time in childhood -- tends to linger into adulthood, making it more difficult for adults who were rejected as children to form secure and trusting relationships with their intimate partners...

…emerging evidence from the past decade of research in psychology and neuroscience is revealing that the same parts of the brain are activated when people feel rejected as are activated when they experience physical pain. Unlike physical pain, however, people can psychologically re-live the emotional pain of rejection over and over for years,"

Let that seep into your brain for a bit.  

I’ve had three natural childbirths with no drugs. I can’t remember a second of the pain. The rejection I’ve encountered however?  Yeah. It doesn’t fade.

My early emotional and psychological abandonment from Carolyn laid a foundation for the rejection in my life. When I realized, later in my childhood that I had no dad, it only added another layer of “reject cement” onto that initial foundational belief about myself. Certainly, when he never answered that second letter, another truck full of fresh reject cement was poured over all those other layers of rejection I had experienced to that point.  

It's not an understatement to say that I’ve experience my fair share of rejection. It has not been isolated to Carolyn or my dad. As I alluded to previously, there have been a lot of people who have chosen to depart my life. 

“The memories that linger mark us…change us”

(Entirety 2016). 

Indeed. I read the conclusions by Ronald Rohner and can attest to their veracity.

“People can psychologically re-live the emotional pain of rejection over and over for years.”

It can be easily said that only those that go through the same experience can fully understand it in another. And this is where an evening conversation with a man named Doug comes into play.  

I have a favourite neighbourhood pub. It’s my favourite because:

1. It’s the only restaurant in our community that overlooks the ocean (can I just say…missed opportunity people!);
2. It had a bartender named Misty. She kept everyone there on their best behaviour so it’s a safe place for a single woman to show up for a glass of wine and a good meal after a long day at work. After your first visit, she will remember your name and your drink.  

I know a lot of people probably think that single people sit at the bar so they can “hook up”. But there are other reasons actually. First of all, it’s set up for single seating. You don’t have to stare across at an empty seat as you would if you were seated at a table. Those empty seats are not good company. I’ve also found that at the right places, it can be a place of great, albeit momentary; camaraderie among strangers, particularly if there is a hockey play-off on the television. Additionally, it is a place to have interesting conversations with people you might never have another opportunity to speak with.  Doug was one of those conversations.  

In the initial get to know you banter, I told Doug that I was trying to write a book about meeting my dad. Of course, that led to me telling him my story and then him telling me his.  

He grew up with an older sibling in a two-parent home but when he turned 12 years old, his parents kicked them both out of the house. It was not long after that his parents actually moved away. He spent his teenage years living with friends or various relatives that would consent to take him in for periods of time.  When he graduated high school and turned 18 he left everyone behind and found work in the oil fields where he focused all his energy on learning the trade and moving up in the ranks. He has never been married or had a long-term relationship. He said to me, “Unless a girl can guarantee me she will never leave, I won’t consider a relationship let alone marriage”. In my heart I felt overcome with sadness for Doug. Life has no guarantees, love is a huge risk at the best of times, and, in my experience, people’s promises don’t mean a whole lot. He would be alone forever.  

He went on to tell me how he comes and goes, doesn’t really have a place to call home, but sometimes he will spend holidays with friends. The previous Christmas he had spent it alone. When good friends found out he had been in the city and spent Christmas alone, not having contacted them so he could join them, they were very upset with him.  I looked at him and said matter-of-factly, “Well, they don’t get it. They can’t understand that you’ve lived your life knowing, at the deepest part of your being, you were an inconvenience to people and that you never want to be an inconvenience to anyone ever again.”  He shook his head and I could tell he was speechless for a moment. Then he said “I’ve never had anyone get that before.  An inconvenience – that’s totally it.” I tell you this story only to illustrate that until you have experienced a similar profound event, you can never fully understand what that experience means to a person, nor how it has shaped them. You can’t say “don’t think that way” or “change how you think”. It’s not a thought. It’s not a feeling. It’s a belief. A core belief that is imbedded into your soul. Then entombed in layer upon layer of reject cement.

I think Doug would likely know where I’m coming from in this next statement:

There isn’t a person in my life that does not have an asterisk beside their name.  

That asterisk references the very real likelihood that these people will exit my life. There are a variety of reasons this could happen. Some might not like me that much. Others might choose to leave if they no longer need or want what I have to give. Or, if they decide they disapprove of something I’ve done. (I saw a big exodus by these people when I left my marriage.) Others still have people who are a bigger priority in their life. I was having lunch with my new friend Kathleen (which - if I told you her connection to me and my Dad and Norma - it would make you go “What?!”).  Kathleen and I have heart to heart talks. We talk about real stuff. We are vulnerable with each other. I’ve never met a more generous, understanding and wise heart in a person. On this occasion I told her that I have a hard time fully embracing or accepting relationships of any kind because my experience has told me, everyone leaves. She responded by telling me of her sister who has lost several of her children to illness or accidents.  When another child was diagnosed with a life threatening illness, her fear of losing that child was high. Kathleen said to me, “You can’t say to her, don’t be afraid, you won’t lose him, that won’t happen, everything will be fine”. The fact is, she knows only too well that it is a very real possibility because it’s happened to her before. In the same way, life has taught me that it is a very real possibility that whoever enters my life will choose, at some point, to leave. 

Given my need to organize and categorize I suppose those asterisks might also be colour coded too. Red for those who are at high risk of leaving, yellow for those who are at a median risk of leaving, and green for those with a low risk of leaving. (Lizzy has since told me I need to add another colour classification.  Blue - as in true blue friends who will never leave - of which she is chief among them). Either way – everyone has an asterisk. So – when I think about my relationship with my dad, it comes with an asterisk too.  Initially, he had a red asterisk.  It’s since been downgraded to a yellow one. Yes, I still hold the fear that he may decide, once again, to walk away.  

One of my biggest concerns when I was little was that I might lose my salvation. That there was something I could do to make God reject me. It was an anxiety that was clearly rooted in my everyday worries, that I had to be a good girl and do nothing that would make Granny and Grandad send me away. I remember finally posing that question to my Sunday School teacher, Marjorie Clark. She answered by quoting  John 10:29 “My Father who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.” I clung to that.

Years of rejection have left me mired knee-deep in layer upon layer of reject cement. How does one extricate oneself?  

I’ve had many a discussion with God about this rejection thing. We’ve talked about it from all sides. And wept. Well, I’ve mostly talked and wept while He’s listened and collected more of my tears. but when I am spent from talking and sobbing, what is His answer to me, over and over? You just sit there and rest – I’ll take care of this reject cement. And just like my dad knelt in the grass to chip the prairie clay from my runners, God my Father, sits down at my feet and I watch Him chip away at that reject cement as I rest. And watch. And I’m uncomfortable with it. I don’t want Him to be on His knees. He doesn’t need to do that for me, I tell myself. I can do it. You needn't bother. And what I want is for Him to magically make it disappear so I can be free from the rejection, but also free from this uncomfortable new state of being. But He doesn’t wave a magic wand or snap His fingers. He is careful and gentle in His approach. And I finally realize that He doesn’t want to hurt me further. So He’s measured and strategic as He carves my freedom. I am impatient. I want Him to just blast that cement away. I’m tired of being held by it. I want to run and jump and kick up my heels, anticipating being released. It’s imprisoned me for so long already. So I start the chatter again. The impatient chatter. Laced with frustration. Frustration at the time it’s taking. Frustrated at myself for getting myself stuck like this in the first place. Frustrated that I should be doing something to help this process along. And He reminds me, He’s at work, doesn’t need my help, and He’s got this handled. Just rest. And I sit back again - because what else can I do. And we talk. About other things. Joys. Wounds. Hopes. Despair. Love. Disappointments. Loss. Dreams. And while we do, I am suddenly aware that He has broken through one layer of reject cement to reveal the next. I stare at it, overjoyed to see one layer gone but devastated to see so much still remains.  The memories flood and the heartbrokenness returns and I weep and spill out my hurt and pain to him again. And He listens. Continuing to chip away at that next layer. And so it goes.  

When I left my marriage, everyone asked me if I would ever want to have another relationship again.  (FYI - in the first year of a separation/divorce that question is TOO SOON!) My answer at the time was ‘yes’. In the throes of this tremendously painful upheaval of my life, I initially had hopes about that. But as time passed, and I walked away from the destruction, found some stability and realized that I was up to my knees in reject cement, my stance became ‘no’.  

“I don’t ever want to have to survive another relationship.”  

That was my mantra. That is my mantra. As I survey the years of rejection - layer after layer - it makes one thing clear. Virtually all relationships - particularly key relationships - all end with a dump truck load of reject cement. So, I have learned to keep my distance. Take each new friendship with a grain of salt. Not to lean too close into it. And that is what stands in the way of me fully embracing this relationship with my dad.  

Transforming my perception of this long arduous process - the chipping away of the reject cement - was a friend of mine telling me about some sculptures of Michelangelo; his incomplete works or non-finito.  Four sculptures, chiseled free-hand by Michelangelo, from marble.  

The description from the accademia.org website explains that the sculptures look as though they are trying “…to free themselves from the bonds and physical weight of the marble…Michelangelo is famous for saying that he worked to liberate the forms imprisoned in the marble. He saw his job as simply removing what was extraneous.This endless struggle of man to free himself from his physical constraints is a metaphor of the flesh burdening the soul.” In particular, the Atlas Slave depicts “…the force of weight pushing down, and that pushing back up, (which) create(s) a vigorous tension. There is no feeling of equilibrium here, only an eternal battle of forces threatening to explode in both directions. This pressure generates a power which perhaps more than the other Slaves, expresses the energy of the figure struggling to emerge from marble."

Why the art history lesson? Well that’s me. No longer do I see myself as a pitiful figure entombed in reject cement, rather I see a soul that is slowly, meticulously and artfully being liberated; the extraneous is being removed and what is being revealed is the result of a masterful artist. 

Michelangelo - The Atlas Slave circa 1530-34