Autrovert Diaries: The LAND OF SWAN

     Something awakens me at 3:00 a.m. (probably my husband's trip to the bathroom; not unusual). Sleep refuses to return, even after 30 minutes (not unusual). Off I traipse to the kitchen for laptop therapy. I mistakenly open a can-of-worms email which creates herculean restless and wrestling emotions. This night-owl is awake for 2 more hours (not unusual, but for longer than usual).

     Finally, I return to bed. Ah, sleep returns. Just before re-awakening, a brief but defining first-ever dream-scenario occurs. I am in a room with others, and I catch the eye of elderly Grandma Schoene (my husband’s grandmother). I approach her, and we warmly hug, for lengthy moments. She then whispers SIX. KEY. WORDS:

"It will all work out fine."

     I open my eyes to a most unusual, foreign, nurtured and warm calm. Who cares about that email, anyway? Everything will work out fine! 

     This dream and its therapeutic result may seem trivial to most, but it is my first-ever dream-hug. I awoke feeling warm and peaceful, and I now ask: Is it normal to have disjointed dreams and only rare dream-dialogues? Did I ever bond with my mother?

     My childhood mind was foggy, and I felt incredible tension and emotion. Eye contact and meaningful communication were rare. Two vivid, early childhood, eye-to-eye-like encounters include:

1. Age 6, after a night of loud fighting, my well-meaning Mom and Dad together make an (unfulfilled) promise to one very confused little girl: "I heard you crying last night... Daddy will never get drunk again" (the sole alone-communication with my parents that I recall prior to junior high).
2. Age 7-ish, I sled and re-sled a short mound of snow, when a random, nurturing female teen stoops to my level. She attempts to look this tousled, rumpled soul straight in the eyes and says: "Let me tighten your babushka."  



How do you tie a babushka? With a scarf knot.

     During the developmental ages 1 to 6, a figurative, powerful and crippling weather front hit our home... similar to the Midwest's 2014 polar vortex. The deep-freeze halted my relational development. Our manageable family of five swirled, adding three, stair-step, younger-siblings. The weather front hovered, with the freezing mix of one in-state move, an infant sister's near-death spinal meningitis, and Mom's 1960s invasive gallbladder removal, with 4-week recuperation.

     I was unable to pull myself out of the deep-freeze and have no recollection of older-sibling nor kindred-Grandmother help... maybe due to brain freeze? At age 6, random family dysfunction crashed into our world. Throughout my high school years it intensified, and I didn't know to console my younger three siblings. Desperately-needed training... to enter the Land of Family Connection... was iced.

I'm the dork, sandwiched between Barbie dolls & spears, photographed by older bro.
Mom's gallbladder issues & random family dysfunction were spinning

     Birthed in the mortal-middle of five other energetic siblings, sandwiched tightly between two dare-devil brothers, we enjoyed family ice skating, Mary Poppins "parades," and craft activities. I, unfortunately, felt too old for younger-sister Barbie fashion shows, and I was too young for older-sister Girl Scout meetings. My brothers' ritual ant burnings and savage frog hangings were unsettling. I later learned that the scallywags once hid on either side of our bushes, frightfully ambushing my best friend, viciously waving sticks and scaring her to death. Safety inspectors needed to label our home: Quarantined.

     I was generally the invisible floater; neither noticed nor teased, painfully alone and unable to break through to join age- and gender-cohesive family relationships. I was reactive. Dysconnected parental approaches failed miserably. I assumed a cat-like pose with arched-back scary hisssss. The deep-freeze continued to swirl, containing me. What was my relator-wannabe's essence?

Autistically P.o.l.a.r.i.z.e.d.

(dropping damaging ice balls to survive; with rare, selfless adult-yields to thrive.
Do I fall somewhere on the wide autistic spectrum? It's a jump-ball)

     A tender "yield" moment in the (somewhat cheesy and predictable) movie, The Princess Diaries, hits my vulnerable Achilles heel. It is warmly connecting and can almost be missed by the untrained autrovert eye. The unexpected death of gawky teen Mia's long-distance father (who unbeknownst to her was Prince of Genovia) creates tension for a microwave-speed, ugly-duckling TO graceful-swan, transformation.

      Queen Grandmother's recent, first-ever, face-to-face introduction into Commoner Mia's American life, combined with swan stressors, is ripe for relational deep-freeze. Rather than creating a larger grand-gap, the busy yet endearing Queen senses Mia's discouragement. She intentionally chooses "the important over the urgent" [Covey] combined with the warm, extended-hug, connection-approach:

"Let's have fun together...

will you be my San Francisco tour guide?

Yielding MUSTANG MOMENT: ...alright, Mia, we'll take your

undependable, treasured, vintage MUSTANG."

 

      Queen Grandmother's selfless "yield" to Mia unleashes my blubbery, all-consuming, ugly cry. Did her treasured little duckling successfully navigate: THE LAND OF SWAN?

      Will this autrovert healthfully model "Mustang Moments" and babushka-tyings to her ducklings?

My "Mustang Moment" is just a gallop (or easy click) away