My Daddy is such a Louisiana man. He doesn't cook because he wants to or has to. He absolutely loves to. Many men from my neck of the woods actually have an absurd love for cooking. This love for cooking and my father's dominate, overbearing personality has been the bain of my existence for as long as I can remember. My mother cooks because its necessary. She would much rather shop or decorate. My Daddy is a whole other story in and of itself. Being back in my parents' home is a constant reminder of the more things have changed the more they have remained horribly the same. Recently I was cornered in the kitchen by my Daddy with one of his cooking rants, or so thats my description of it. He believes whenever we cross paths in the kitchen he must "teach me" some culinary technique. This truly drives me crazy. The truth about it I believe is his way of doing it. My father still retains an uncanny knack for speaking to me most of the time as if I am fourteen and not forty one. So in our most recent kitchen encounter covering the proper way of making chicken salad I found myself wanting to yell "I know how to make chicken salad! Please leave me alone!!", but of course I did not. I reverted to what I did best as a child, I fumed and pouted and in my mind plotted about breaking camp right then and there. I found every cell in my very being enflamed. I was angry, livid, and infuriated that I was being talked to so disrespectfully and being controlled. I did not ask to make the chicken salad. I did not want chicken salad. I resented being forced to take part in a cooking demo period. I wanted out in that instant. Because I was brought up to be respectful I did not engage in an argument with my father at that moment instead I simply got mad and as soon as this mandatory cooking lesson/demonstration was over I fled. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Later that night it hit me that it was not about the silly chicken salad. It was about how I felt and more profoundly about how I responded. I slowed down that evening and actually gave it some thought. I do not like to be controlled, constricted or made to do anything or endure anything. I detest not having some form of control. If I feel that I am being talked to in some disrespectful manner not only do I not like it, I do not allow it. I leave. I have a propensity to exit situations that bring about discomfort to me. When stressed I walk. As an adult I feel empowered that I can leave. As a child I did not have this luxury. When I was younger I became very talented in the art of suppressing how I felt and simply doing as I was told. I had no wants, no voice. I did not have the liberty of leaving. Our home was not as progressive to allow for a tearful teenager's dramatic storming out of a room. As an adult I brought my masterful ability to endure and put on a happy face to both my place of employment and worship.
I discovered and unwrapped the wonderful gift of goodbye in my early thirties and I haven't looked back since. I felt free for the very first time in my life and with each relationship or scenario that brought me some form of displeasure I happily wielded my ability to bounce. After I put in what I believed was sufficent energy into anything, whatever that was, if results weren't visible in the allotted time I bounced. I've gone through some insurmountable challenges and difficulties in relationships. I have grown accustomed to dramatically ending and fleeing dead end relationships. If anyone can exit stage left with flair and verve, its me. Oh how I know how to part ways with panache! I do believe that I am a very patient woman but again once results aren't seen or experienced in a timely fashion, I bounce. The average shelf life of any of my relationships have been 2.5 years never evolving into a committed marriage. Upon reflection, I've fled my relationships if not physically always mentally once I knew within that I simply wasn't happy. In fact, I was always the one who walked and usually to the tune of some great women's empowerment anthem. The more that I evaluate my bouncing behavior I question if I have within me what it takes to engineer or welcome stability. Years ago when disillusioned by the mundane routine of what was my then long term position at a hospital, I allowed my discontent mixed with my obvious immaturity to set me aflight yet once again. When my spiritual walk was not aided to my satisfaction by my then church home I bounced. I see now a nasty habit of running has taken root and I do not like it one bit. I've grown tired of running and I question what could I have done differently to make my relationships work. What could I have done differently years ago at a job I had been on for several years? I now understand the importance of feeling what I feel and not allowing that experience to define me or direct me. I am not a ball bouncing from one place to another. I can have roots and wings. I can stand and still feel free. I can deal with what is before me. I can have a voice without running. It may be possible that I can illicit change by simply being myself right in the middle of what I detest. Bouncing may not always be beneficial afterall. Maybe the gift of goodbye when enjoyed routinely isn't all its cracked up to be. It seems I've grown far too accustomed to the high of packing up and leaving simply because I can. Wow, I've grown up! So, when the urge to flee comes upon me and I know it will, I must stay put and work through it. Maybe the answer will be to remove myself but not before facing what infuriates me.
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