Underlying messages

As my day winds down and everyone is in bed, (I wrote this last night.) I reflect on my day and it dawns on me of a couple of failures. At the time I didn’t recognize them but later I am wounded with their memory. They were brought to remembrance by my Faithful Friend as I read a few pages before turning in. It’s fascinating how the brain works. It can be stirred by seemingly unrelated material and in an instance thought and emotion come rushing in – uhg!

Earlier today a faithful friend made me aware of an offence toward another that I was totally oblivious to . . . until he brought it up of course. Enter guilt. I can be so insensitive and intense that I step on others w/out thought. I had obviously talked down to a person at work without thought of my underlying message. What’s worse is I had to find out through a third party. (Thanks Eric.) I am so unapproachable is the message sent and received. So now I can enjoy the delicacy of crow. I’ve eaten it so much that I’m developing a taste for it. (I don’t even need ketchup anymore.) So first opportunity, I will apologize for my insensitive bumbling.

Now to the worst offense my Faithful Friend brought to my attention moments ago. Today, this morning, my son was pouring orange juice without stopping until juice was all over the table and the floor and my younger son’s left sock. He was doing a good deed and I scolded him for it, frustrated that I was inconvenienced for five minutes while I cleaned it up. Oh, did I say that today is his 6th birthday. (I can hear your thoughts. “What a monster” or/and “Should I call DFS?”) It wasn’t the scolding that was bad. I really don’t think I raised my voice. Worse . . . I conveyed a tone of disappointment with the underlying message, “You’re a screw up”, “You can’t do anything right”, “I disapprove of you”. Message sent and received like an e-mail you can’t recall. Now what does it really matter that sticky orange juice seeps between the cracks of the hardwood floors? It is easier to clean even if I pulled up the planks and re-sanded and re-stained than the seeping stickiness of the message I spilled on him – a message, my son unconsciously without ability to cognitively defuse (such trash and lies) received.

You see, it’s not the big things that are the real problems. They are relatively easy to deal with compared to the incessant dripping from the faucet of subtle negative messages we have drank from as well as poured overflowing into the glasses of others onto their left sock. I am so glad Father loves me enough to show me this. I could give you a list of parents (if it wouldn’t violate HIPPA regulations) who just don’t get it and the ones around them who suffer in silence unbeknownst as to why.