A tribute to my sister

This week is the start of the seven month anniversary of my blog. For some reason I have always loved the number seven.  For example, each day I complete seven rounds of Surya Namaskar. I decided to celebrate my anniversary with a number of different posts this coming week. I feel quite festive about it. I survived my first blog crisis this month, and August is the beginning of a new era for me as I start arranging my office, meeting new colleagues, and preparing courses for my new position.

This first post of my 7 month anniversary celebration I dedicate to one of my two sisters. Back in January when I set out as a novice blogger, I wrote about my siblings. Danny had suggested I try blogging and I was quite nervous about it. After all, one mega-blogger in the family seemed enough! Nevertheless I set out on my blogging adventure with trepidation and awe.

Reading Sandhill Trek this morning I was reminded of sisters.

But the real reason I pay tribute to one of my own sisters is because today I received an e-mail from Sue - the eldest. She is, in fact, twelve years older than me. These past few years she has, in no small way, helped me save my emotional life.

Let me explain.

As an early childhood educator one of the most important things I feel I can do for children is give them safety and space to express their anger. I allow young children to rage with me. And as they scream, kick, yell, spit, thrash about, I stay beside them, hang in there, sit as solid as an oak - strong and quiet and with great love. I watch them calm down and most often rest their weary heads in my lap or on my shoulder as they allow me to hold them close, stroking them as I do and saying softly: "Everything is all right. I'm here. You are okay. I am not leaving you. I love you." I especially love it when I hear them give a sigh of relief as the anger abates and they give themselves up to my love.

My therapy with Bob really took off when one day, a couple of years ago, he said gently to me: "Tamar, I want you to be yourself with me. Say what you feel and do what you need to do in our sessions. I don't know if you understand what I am saying to you but I want you to know that I will not leave you. There is nothing you can do or say here with me that frightens me or will push me away. I am not going anywhere." I looked at him directly and understood exactly what he was saying to me. He went on, "All your life people have left you or tried to squeeze you back into the boxes they made for you, when you tried to be yourself. They have made it look like you were to blame when they could not handle who you were or what you were saying. People have been afraid of you. I am not. So try it out! Go ahead! I am not afraid and I will not leave you."

It was not until I had arrived home from seeing Bob that day that I allowed myself to lay my head to rest on the desk in my study, weep and sigh deeply with relief. All my life I had been wanting to hear what Bob said to me that day. Indeed, from then on I started to break out of my chrysalis just as any old butterfly would, and it seems that even though my wings are old and quite a bit tattered I have allowed myself to spread them in many different ways.

These past few years, Sue has been there for me. Spreading my old wings and finding my voice has not been easy. It has been accompanied with not a little rage and things that I needed to say. Somehow, somewhere, Sue understood and allowed me to rage safely with her, never leaving, remaining constant and loving throughout some of my toughest battles. She bore the brunt of my rage even though most of it had nothing to do with her and she was not to blame. With great honesty she told me her point of view even though at times it would set me off again! Each time she returned more loving and stronger than ever.

Now, I could have written about how, as my oldest sister, she taught me to fry an egg, hang up laundry or iron a shirt. I might have told you how she described, in detail, ways I could be an excellent manager as I struggled with learning how to be a Director of an enormous child care center - 200 families and 45 teaching staff in a major university setting. As her younger sister I have always admired the way she dresses and how tall and beautiful she is. With all her trials and tribulations in life (and she surely has not had it easy!), she stood solidly by her daughters even wandering off to the Greek Island of Patmos, or high up into the Himalayas to visit one of them sharing in her living experiences including doing without electricity and running water - whatever it took. I could have written about all her courage and strength in the face of amazing odds over and over again.

But, instead, I choose to write about her standing solidly by me. Because, thanks to her making it safe for me to express my years of built-up rage and anguish, I have been able to heal - really heal - and turn it into forgiveness and love.

Here's what she wrote to me after one of my outbursts:

Pity to be having these kind of talks via email - and not face to face - always comes across more harsh than is meant - without facial expressions, without the ability to clarify with underlying love and understanding - but distance requires this and prevents real understanding - Hope your health is better and you're feeling liberated for having had your say - I regret the angry reactions, you expected them but better to speak out.

Don't you all wish you had a sister like that?

This is my reply:

I dedicate this post to you, Sue, in gratitude and appreciation for not trying to push me back into a box, and especially for hanging in there with me. I am sure it has been terribly painful, confusing and exasperating for you many a time with me. But I am equally as sure that you are, in fact, helping me save my emotional life.

This week is the start of the seven month anniversary of my blog. For some reason I have always loved the number seven.  For example, each day I complete seven rounds of Surya Namaskar. I decided to celebrate my anniversary with a number of different posts this coming week. I feel quite festive about it. I survived my first blog crisis this month, and August is the beginning of a new era for me as I start arranging my office, meeting new colleagues, and preparing courses for my new position.

This first post of my 7 month anniversary celebration I dedicate to one of my two sisters. Back in January when I set out as a novice blogger, I wrote about my siblings. Danny had suggested I try blogging and I was quite nervous about it. After all, one mega-blogger in the family seemed enough! Nevertheless I set out on my blogging adventure with trepidation and awe.

Reading Sandhill Trek this morning I was reminded of sisters.

But the real reason I pay tribute to one of my own sisters is because today I received an e-mail from Sue - the eldest. She is, in fact, twelve years older than me. These past few years she has, in no small way, helped me save my emotional life.

Let me explain.

As an early childhood educator one of the most important things I feel I can do for children is give them safety and space to express their anger. I allow young children to rage with me. And as they scream, kick, yell, spit, thrash about, I stay beside them, hang in there, sit as solid as an oak - strong and quiet and with great love. I watch them calm down and most often rest their weary heads in my lap or on my shoulder as they allow me to hold them close, stroking them as I do and saying softly: "Everything is all right. I'm here. You are okay. I am not leaving you. I love you." I especially love it when I hear them give a sigh of relief as the anger abates and they give themselves up to my love.

My therapy with Bob really took off when one day, a couple of years ago, he said gently to me: "Tamar, I want you to be yourself with me. Say what you feel and do what you need to do in our sessions. I don't know if you understand what I am saying to you but I want you to know that I will not leave you. There is nothing you can do or say here with me that frightens me or will push me away. I am not going anywhere." I looked at him directly and understood exactly what he was saying to me. He went on, "All your life people have left you or tried to squeeze you back into the boxes they made for you, when you tried to be yourself. They have made it look like you were to blame when they could not handle who you were or what you were saying. People have been afraid of you. I am not. So try it out! Go ahead! I am not afraid and I will not leave you."

It was not until I had arrived home from seeing Bob that day that I allowed myself to lay my head to rest on the desk in my study, weep and sigh deeply with relief. All my life I had been wanting to hear what Bob said to me that day. Indeed, from then on I started to break out of my chrysalis just as any old butterfly would, and it seems that even though my wings are old and quite a bit tattered I have allowed myself to spread them in many different ways.

These past few years, Sue has been there for me. Spreading my old wings and finding my voice has not been easy. It has been accompanied with not a little rage and things that I needed to say. Somehow, somewhere, Sue understood and allowed me to rage safely with her, never leaving, remaining constant and loving throughout some of my toughest battles. She bore the brunt of my rage even though most of it had nothing to do with her and she was not to blame. With great honesty she told me her point of view even though at times it would set me off again! Each time she returned more loving and stronger than ever.

Now, I could have written about how, as my oldest sister, she taught me to fry an egg, hang up laundry or iron a shirt. I might have told you how she described, in detail, ways I could be an excellent manager as I struggled with learning how to be a Director of an enormous child care center - 200 families and 45 teaching staff in a major university setting. As her younger sister I have always admired the way she dresses and how tall and beautiful she is. With all her trials and tribulations in life (and she surely has not had it easy!), she stood solidly by her daughters even wandering off to the Greek Island of Patmos, or high up into the Himalayas to visit one of them sharing in her living experiences including doing without electricity and running water - whatever it took. I could have written about all her courage and strength in the face of amazing odds over and over again.

But, instead, I choose to write about her standing solidly by me. Because, thanks to her making it safe for me to express my years of built-up rage and anguish, I have been able to heal - really heal - and turn it into forgiveness and love.

Here's what she wrote to me after one of my outbursts:

Pity to be having these kind of talks via email - and not face to face - always comes across more harsh than is meant - without facial expressions, without the ability to clarify with underlying love and understanding - but distance requires this and prevents real understanding - Hope your health is better and you're feeling liberated for having had your say - I regret the angry reactions, you expected them but better to speak out.

Don't you all wish you had a sister like that?

This is my reply:

I dedicate this post to you, Sue, in gratitude and appreciation for not trying to push me back into a box, and especially for hanging in there with me. I am sure it has been terribly painful, confusing and exasperating for you many a time with me. But I am equally as sure that you are, in fact, helping me save my emotional life.