Saturday, October 17, 2009

Thinking and Meditating

No, there's no particular reason for my having that picture at the side of my journal entry. It's just that a house next to us (yeah, next to us, about a mile down the road) was broken into and had a bit of damage done. Apparently the thieves were after something specific and trashed the place while looking. Sad. So now the air rifle sits by the front of the house, where I can grab it in a rush. It doesn't do a whole lot of damage, but it looks rather like a full size rifle and I'd imagine coming face to face with it up close would be rather disconcerting. When it comes to protecting myself, the kids, and our home, I don't play games.

I've been working on my homework, and one of the exercises I need to do is actually making me cringe. I don't want to do it. Hence I'm blogging about it rather than actually doing it. I thought perhaps if I explained it, and why it makes me uncomfortable, I'd feel better about going upstairs after I hit "post."

Basically, my psychology textbook is exploring our "characters," what I call the masks we wear. I'm priestess, auntie, Mei Mei, lover, slut, etc. They're all ME, but each face is different from the others, and some are appropriate in some places, and some aren't. That part I have no problem with. I can identify (let's be fair: most of) my dark sides, and I don't generally shy away from them. I've been extricating them from the morass of my personality, labelling them, codifying them... No problem.

Then the exercise arrived. Meditate/fantasize myself as an object for five minutes. Oh. See, now that isn't a big deal for most people. Oh, I'm a table; oh, I'm a fridge, whatever. But wow, this one hit me from left field. I do NOT want to do it. I spent so many years as an object... the object-daughter of my bio family, the object-wife of my ex-husband, the object-girlfriend of my ex-boyfriend... I wasn't actually a person for those roles, I was a thing, and I fulfilled no more and no less of a role than a towel holder or a stove.

I don't want to spend even five minutes as an object.

Now, the other side of the exercise is spending a further five minutes fantasizing myself as a creator, possibly even god-like in abilities. It doesn't feel right to me though. It feels like a pay-off for spending time as an object. For me, that objectification is a slippery slope back to the Stepford Wife I used to be, and I don't want even one toe on the path.

I know this is just an exercise. The very fact that it bothers me so much tells me that I do need to do it, and then examine my own feelings and emotions surrounding the results. I think I will take the time to set up an emotional safety net for myself before I do it, though, so that if I need a hug or reassurance, it will be there for me.
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