(silence)

As I mentioned in my previous post, lately I've been into smooth jazz. As in, instrumental music.

Up till this summer, I strongly disliked instrumental music. Where was the story? Where were the opinions? Where were the thoughts and the observations? One of the reasons I love Daniel Amos/Terry Scott Taylor SO much is because every lyric is a gemstone reflecting back at you a universe of observations, feelings, and experiences. I have always related to the written word, and that extended to the type of music I listened to.

But lately, good lyrics are losing their pull. I've been listening to a lot of synth/vapour/climate/retro-wave, and I've found myself actively skipping the songs with lyrics (I keep telling myself it's because I don't like the singers' voices, but I'm not sure I believe that). At the same time, my own love for and ability to communicate in the written word seems to be going downhill.

I think it started after I was banned from posting on Facebook by my in-laws (thus effectively murdering me in front of my primary audience), but that was in 2021 and the loss of the written word really only accelerated in the past year or so. Words suddenly don't mean anything to me anymore. Is it because I've believed and then been hurt by the words of one too many people? Is this part of my memory loss? Is this a normal part of aging? (Am I old enough to be 'aging?') Is this simple lack of energy from having every scrap of my soul siphoned out of me day in and day out at the fast food job as things happened too quickly to think... and my ability to think atrophied as a result?

I miss sitting by windows and looking out at trees and letting my mind wander and coming back with cool little intellectual trinkets. Sure, I'm still doing creative things, but without the written word, I feel like an imposter, like some mute alien took over my body and I don't recognise it anymore.

I'm not me without writing, just as I am not me without dance. I don't know who this other person is who is living in my body now, but I don't like her. She is not me. She's some namby-pamby watered-down butt-kissing wimp who has bought into all the things I used to rail against. The 9-to-5 job? She doesn't feel safe without it. The discipline of dance? She has put on an extra 30 pounds because she doesn't move around anymore. The contingency plans for every aspect of life? She melts my brain down trying to set them up, even though I know trusting God was so much easier (foolhardy, maybe, but at least my brain wasn't being eaten by acid every second of every day worrying about every possible potential problem the future might bring). The adventurous spirit that led her all over western Canada and created so many wonderful memories? She's pretending she's been buried alive in some hole in the ground where Satan cooks hot dogs in the summer heat.

I'm not sure how to banish this imposter living in my skin and get me back.

Respect

It's well-known here that I do not get along with my in-laws. Specifically, one particular in-law.

That infuriates my husband to no end. He's long since accepted their abusive ways (after all, for twenty years he had no choice) and thinks they're completely normal, but I, with 1. my strong sense of right and wrong/justice, and 2. my growth-and-learning mindset that my own parents very intentionally fostered in me, do not and will not. I decided after college that I will no longer tolerate abuse, and that very definitely extends to family. Including married-in family.

The problem is, my husband was raised to 'respect his elders.' Not because they have earned respect, but because they 'said so.' Because they're older than him. (This, I've heard, is pretty typical of abusers.) And he demands that I do the same, because they destroyed his mind and spirit so thoroughly that he cannot think of doing anything different.

I, however, have been raised to challenge the status quo. Mind you, I did this naturally anyway, but my parents were smart enough to redirect it rather than punish it. They taught me that respect must be earned, not given, no matter how old they are and how much authority they have. My own parents earned my respect by hearing me out whenever I challenged them on something. They didn't always agree with me in the end (sometimes they did, but definitely not always), but they listened to me and addressed the underlying concerns behind my challenge. (This was the problem with the profs at college... they prescribed quick fixes that treated the symptom, not the cause; they didn't listen and address. As such, I got labeled a 'problem student' and was relentlessly bullied and verbally abused BY MY INSTRUCTORS for the better part of five years because they thought they were better than everyone and couldn't shut up and listen for just five minutes.) My parents encouraged me to think. A lot. 'Critical thinking skills' is still one of my mother's favourite phrases, and it shows in the way she educated us. My husband classifies himself as a rebel, but he's regularly scandalised by the things I say over the course of a normal day because he was severely (I would argue brutally) punished for saying far milder things.

My in-laws have questioned EVERY SINGLE ONE of my husband and I's choices since we met. He and I planned our wedding together and then had the entire thing absolutely destroyed by my in-laws because they actively hated everything I wanted for my own wedding. I actively block out the memory of our wedding day, because it wasn't my wedding and it never will be. It was absolutely not the wedding I wanted. It didn't represent me at all, only them. And I will never get that opportunity again. We will never get to have the wedding we wanted. That's supposed to be a HUGE core memory for almost every married couple and I literally can't even think about my wedding without wanting to scream, or injure myself, or both. I'm crying as I type this.

I used to love posting my art publicly. I loved writing on social media. I loved posting my dance videos. I loved sharing about my life honestly, the good and the bad. I loved interacting with the (many) people who loved my work. All it took was one little 'good Christian' family to destroy all of it. As soon as my husband and I got engaged, every single thing I posted became grounds for World War III. It is absolutely not possible to overstate the intensity of the multi-day screaming matches, the awful words they would say, and the gaslighting whenever I'd call them out on their toxicity. Gas was $1.39 a litre here today. Their gaslighting is so thick they could charge eight bucks a litre. You could power a loaded semi truck for months with that stuff, and it's just as toxic for the environment.

What I don't understand is why I'm supposed to respect my in-laws when they don't do the same to me. 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you' goes BOTH ways, not just one, and I refuse to be bullied into being a pawn in their stupid little game of control.

I will respect them when -- and ONLY when -- 1. they start hearing me out FULLY instead of bullying me after one (1) word (taken completely out of context), 2. they start realising that they've never lived my life and cannot possibly understand it, let alone re-write it, and 3. they realise I'm my own person and survived the first twenty-five years of my life QUITE nicely without their interference/micro-managing, thank you very much.

And even then... only after they've made a long, consistent habit of doing those three things.