Quote from Diane on September 2020, 1:03 pm

Here's a perfect example of how my persona differs from my witness self.  A couple of months ago, a serious boundary had been crossed by someone who, over the years, has ignored my boundaries time and again.  Something had been taken from my property--a cart I had purchased just the week before to help with the yardwork.  I was smitten; it had pneumatic wheels and, unlike the wheel barrow, I could easily roll it around the yard.  It was just what I needed.

When I discovered the cart was missing and realized who had taken it, I went sky high!  Unlike other times, I did not reflect on it, run the situation through my mental filter, write about it in my journal, or shed any tears.  I jumped in the truck and drove to his house to retrieve my cart.  He wasn't at home so I got his phone number from a cousin and confronted him over the phone.  "Bring back my Gorilla Dump Cart," I shouted. " It's brand new; I've used it less than a week, and I want it back.  Bring it back tonight, or I'm going to the police in the morning."  Click--end of conversation.

I had used my mean voice, and unfortunately, I had done it in front of our cousin as I was still sitting in the truck in front of the cousin's house. I didn't use any profanity or do any name-calling, I tried to tell myself later, but it was an ugly scene to watch, I'm sure.

I drove away, got around the corner, and my phone rang.  It was him.  I pulled over to answer.  "Hello,"

Unaccustomed to hearing my mean voice and not quite believing what he had heard, he asked, "Is this my mother?"

"Yes, it is!" I replied in the same tone as before.  "Bring it back.  Bring it back tonight."

His response was a bunch of rhetoric I wasn't willing to listen to this time.  I just said, "I don't believe a bit of what you're saying," and hung up again.

My cart didn't come back, and I did go to the police station the next morning to file a report.  "I just want my cart back," I told the policeman. He took down my information--said he would look into it, but nothing ever came of it.  Perhaps, standing there in my face mask, the officer had not taken me seriously.  There were other reports of stolen items in our local newspaper after that but not mine.

Still miffed a couple of weeks later, I'm with a trusted group of friends.  I say I need to talk about something, and I tell my story.  I rant and rave about how I can't be silent anymore.  "Why does he always have to come like a thief in the night?  Why can't he just come to the door and say he wants to get some of his things from the barn?"

My good friends listen until I run down.  Then I hear myself say aloud, but now in my normal soft-spoken voice, "But I've made a connection to nature, and I have cultivated an inner life.  This has made all the difference.  It's what sustains me." This is my witness voice.  It tells me that there is a bigger picture--there's more to us than meets the eye.  It says all is well, and all will be well.  The witness voice comforts me and gives me hope.

Quote from Mark Matousek on October 2020, 4:07 pm

Hi Diane,

Thanks so much for this story. It's a tricky trade-off between the witness and the personality.  Truthfully, it could be argued that the righteous anger you displayed here was justified, and that you did yourself far less damage (and more good) by expressing your raw honest feelings to your son, in whatever decibel range they came. There is a time for clarity and boundary-setting, and a time for appropriate resistance, provided it doesn't linger and become an obsession. Imagine if you had said nothing, stewed in hurt and anger, and wound up feeling like you'd abandoned yourself -- and what was right -- in order not to appear less-than-motherly.  I say, forgive yourself for losing your temper, lock up your belongings in the future, and write this off to experience.

Mark : )