In my psychological work over the years, which I no longer engage in, I have come to know a little girl who grew up very protected, quite pure-hearted, nieve, sensitive to others, and who cared for the world. She liked her time alone, often playing with her Barbie dolls, arranging them in her room in various ways over & over for hours. Or setting out all her dolls, of which there were many. She also loved sitting in the backyard driveway amidst thousands or millions of tiny rocks in gravel form, and picking out those she found the most interesting, unique, or beautiful. Her father was a scientist and taught her to discover the world and appreciate the life in it. Even in rocks millions of years old, there are stories. Fossils that speak of creatures who lived eons ago, come to visit us.
Because of various experiences in life, this primal innocence was lost. But it remained a part of her and I think is why, later in life, she was so forever destroyed by the unexpected loss of her father, and problems with her mother. She was in no way prepared for these things. So now, when possible hardships appear on the horizon, she imagines the worst possible scenario, because this is exactly what happened to her when she was 16. So if you imagine the worst thing, anything else is up from there and you know you will make it somehow.
I like to look back and think of this little girl, so unaware of the sufferings of life. I like to see her purity and it is not so much a self-love as an appreciation for who she was, and is, today. I am who I am. My experience is my experience, and if you think I should be more able to enjoy things like horror movies, tainted jokes, or the darker side of life, then you don’t accept who I am. I still cherish my time alone, and not only that, but need it, in order to stay sane. I am very aware of my strengths and weaknesses and needs. I know who I am.
Doctor Grandma 