Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
I’m still working on where my shame might be coming from. I’m trying to figure out why I don’t feel I’m worthy of my own compassion and empathy. T has asked me what I was like as a child. I don’t remember much of my childhood specifically, and I worry that it’s because something happened. I don’t really think anything tragic happened…I really don’t. I think I just have a bad memory for things that are not important to my life right now.
So anyway, I asked my mother if I was a happy child, and she said yes. She told me I was happy and smiley, and I loved my Barbie dolls (but not baby dolls, much to her dismay). She told me I used to play with my brothers in our living room with the green carpet. I remember the living room and the (ugly!) green carpet, but I don’t remember playing with the boys there. I remember them playing with their matchbox cars, but I don’t remember participating.
Well, that was slightly off-topic. The issue I’m struggling with is whether or not I’m really finding a connection to the “shame” or if I’m pushing a connection that is not really there. How am I supposed to know? Did I make up a connection that isn’t really there? Did I over-analyze it so much that I forced a connection between a potential reason for my shame and the actuality of where the shame is originating?
Humph. Seems like no matter what I think, I bring up more questions than answers. How am I supposed to move forward if that’s the case? (another freaking question)