My therapist once suggested that my heightened sensitivity may have always been a part of me, but it may also have developed because of the circumstances I grew up in. That I had to be hyper vigilant in order to feel safe, to survive and this made me sensitive to my surroundings. But also being bullied and frightened may have made me more sensitive to the feelings of others.
This surprised me. I’d never heard that sensitivity was something that someone could develop.
(For most of my life I thought being sensitive was a weakness. I’m now grateful for it. I know it helps me be the artist that I am.)
My therapist went on to say that since there was no one to protect me, I grew up without a foundation, so I had to make one for myself.
When I heard this, an image popped into my head of me balancing on the toes of one foot on top of a conical shaped mountain (point up like a witches hat) made from my childhood stuffed animals and books.
I thought of this today as I was moving last years firewood from outside the woodshed into the shed, preparing for this winters wood to be delivered.
I move the firewood by tossing it onto pile in the shed, then stacking it. As the stack of wood gets higher, I throw more wood into the shed then stand on the pile of wood as I stack it. This way I don’t have to lift the wood as far up over my head.
When I get to the second row, which is in front of the first, I stack more wood about two feet high and use that as a step to reach the very top of the first row.
So I’m literally standing on what I’ve already built.
I leaned to do this from watching our Amish neighbors build a barn. They use the frame of the barn that is already standing as scaffolding to construct the second floor and roof of the barn.
What a wonderful metaphor, I thought as I stood on the wood I had stacked, for the life I’ve built for myself.
Now instead of having to balance precariously on my tippy toes, I have created a solid foundation for both my feet to firmly stand on.
I can’t help it: look at that cute, brave 5-year old whose sneakers match her miniskirt.
Micki, you saw something I didn’t. Brings me good tears.
As an 86 year old woman I don’t stack wood anymore. But also as an artist my stacking was interrupted by the images I saw in some pieces. Of course I couldn’t use those in our wood stove, When our giant maple got struck by lightning, it left a heart shaped piece to remember her by❤️
Oh Greta, I have some of those too. Two pieces I made into figures. The heart from you maple makes my smile to think of. What a gift. :)
There’s a metaphor here about looking precarious and yet being balanced and secure. Will keep thinking about that.
I’ll think about it too Sharon…
Love this. Every chore holds a story.
It does Linda….
I too grew up thinking that my sensitivity was a weakness, an impression echoed by my family. Perhaps that is why I spent so much time climbing trees to find a place to stand, and to get perspective as I escaped.
Stacking wood used to be a favorite task of mine – what satisfaction!
Enjoy!!
That’s interesting about climbing trees LoisJean. I had my favorite trees to stand in. Now I still love being in the crab apple tree. I never thought of it that way. And yes! Stacking wood is immediate gratification!
You are just amazing. All I seem to do is read and write (started at the age of 3), yet you not only read, you maintain a blog, take care of animals and numerous chores on the farm, you sew and draw and paint and walk in the woods and belly dance and help with a Food Pantry and partner with Jon. Good for you to have built such a rich and solid foundation for yourself, indeed.
Reading and writing, Kaaren is so so much! I do the things I love to do and feel fortunate to be able to. :)