the year is 2024. I am watching The X Files 1x08 with my blissfully offline boyfriend. We reach the scene where, in confinement, Mulder and Scully examine each other's backs for alien marks. My boyfriend, who has never seen the show before, makes an amused noise and utters a strong contender for understatement of the year:
I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.
I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.
“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”
“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.
But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.
They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.
That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.
A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”
I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.
Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.
At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.
Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.
“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.
“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”
Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.
I was in the “blog-writing” mode when I remembered an old song, “I Believe in Miracles” written by Carl C. Buck in 1950. I started singing the chorus in my head.“I believe in miraclesI’ve seen a soul set freeMiraculous the change in oneRedeemed thru CalvaryI’ve seen the lily push its wayUp through the stubborn sodI believe in miraclesFor I believe in God.”
How beautiful and “miraculous” are…
Slick spot I found earlier in the week. Love going to comic book shops. Not the biggest comic book guy but still love the vibe. (And the Pokemon cards)
Shh babygirl, I know it's not actually 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar. It's actually 763, but canonically, it's 7,000. Shh, I know love. It's ok. It's Skyrim Darling,followers can get trapped in walls,people can swim in mid air and you can break doors with dinner plates. Let it go. It will all be alright.
It’s 40 acres of fields, meadows, trees, and streams to walk over, crawl through, climb up, and swim in.
It’s good for a couple of curious kids like us.
It’s there for us to explore and investigate, and we spend as much of our free time as we can exploring and investigating it.
The stream runs along the back side of our property.
We like to stand barefooted in it on summer afternoons and feel the smooth rocks against our heels and the wet sand between our toes.
We stand as still as we can and look at the life living just below the surface of the water.
Our farm gives us all the space we need to run freely until the calves of our legs throb and the cheeks on our faces glow.
When we want to see how the little world around us is living, changing, and growing, we walk and ask questions, researching ideas, making hypotheses, doing experiments, and sharing our findings.
Yep, it gives us our own space, our own room, to be us.
Our school is a long way from our farm so when we get there in the mornings and back here in the afternoons, we’re worn out from walking the four miles there and the four miles back.
We walk eight miles each day to school and back home.
GUYS NEW OFFICIAL SCOURGE ART DROPPED from the polish version of “enter the clans”, illustrated by @kynoph0bia on twitter! the urge to buy this book is consuming me