Once upon a time, in American suburbia, there was a little girl who grew up with two parents who were sociopaths. She did not know they were sociopaths at the time, nor that her brother would become one too, but she learned very early on different life skills than other children in order to survive the daily devastation of violence and abuse.
What most confused this little girl was there were also moments of normalcy mixed in with utter chaos. As soon as she would relax for a moment, and begin to relinquish her hold on terror, the moment of enjoyment would soon be replaced by a juggernaut of excruciating abuse. Her brain had to work overtime to protect her from it; she floated through life as if unfettered by much but not holding on to closely to anything either.
One day, at the age of six, she found some boxes stored in her secret hiding spot up in the attic. As she peeled them open, she stared in amazement at the beautiful, ornate teapots that gleamed shiny once she wiped the dust off with the hem of her shirt. They were fragile, she could tell, so she was sure to be very careful with them. There was a square green one with a bent, silver metal handle, a white one with light pink flowers which had a bulbous pot with the handle on the side, and another darker green one which was the color of her house plants with a wicker handle reaching over the top where the water was poured in. She piled them back into the box carefully and tucked the memory just out of sight.
When her parents were dividing up their belongings, as the inevitable divorce finally arrived, her body flitted around the edge of the living room looking at all of the teapots finally removed from their boxes. There were thirty-one in all. Twenty-seven were in perfect repair. She loved these teapots like nothing else in her home, and she wasn't one to become attached to things. However, they held a type of familiarity, a kindness of times that were softer? But, this was strange, as there was no gentleness to speak of in her memory.
Her mother came in with masking tape and told her to mark anything she wanted for herself after she had died. She hated her mother. There was nothing she wanted from her - except those teapots. Pride got the best of her and she left the pen and masking tape on the shelf and walked out of the room. She never saw the teapots again.
As a young adult, she sat with a woman who wanted her to share her memories and feelings. This felt pointless - as it all felt and looked the same to her. Numb. As they sat sipping tea, the girl would gaze off as if she lived in another world no one really was allowed to access. This woman tried, but the girl just smiled and coldly denied her. On purpose.
Then, as if a zipper had ripped open the back of her head, a flood of raw memories and feelings flooded the girl to a point where she could not move, see, speak, stand, pee, or eat. Her defenses were swallowed up in one moment's time. This was the girl's passage into womanhood. She still pined after those teapots though.
While the years wore on, she reclaimed herself inch by inch. The struggle was arduous, the journey long, and the hills were steep. There were not many breaks. She wanted to quit many times. For everything that was stolen, she now began to gain measures of confidence, self-esteem, love, and joy. Her physical abilities came back slowly, one by one. While friends fell away and relationships were hard to maintain, she stuck to her truth; this was central to keeping her own budding family together.
At one point, the woman who held her hand through all this, watched as she viewed a few scenes from a life that had already passed. There were lingering memories of karma that needed to be addressed so she could move forward without interruption. She saw herself holding the hands of many people from around the world in a healing embrace. In exchange for payment, they would present her with the gift of a teapot. Instantly, she recognized the teapots. These were the teapots from her attic, the ones she vowed not to show any emotion over, the only coveted possession of her childhood she had denied herself. Tears of relief flowed freely. She understood herself at a level that was unimaginably healing. She was free.
All grown up, she ran around addressing the details for her best friend's wedding this past summer. Since she is a very private person, her spiritual nature and the haunting of her past are only known by a few, including this friend. The day before the wedding, she was awash in Gerber daisies and roses trying to put forty centerpieces together; her hands were full! The bride arrived at her home to bring flower reinforcements. Upon her arrival, she offered her friend a cup of tea.
As they sat on the sun deck discussing the excitement of the next day, what each of their respective daughter's were going to wear, and how to deal with the assertive mother issue, the bride presented her with a luxuriously wrapped ‘thank you’ gift. Without hesitation, she began peeling away the layers of ribbon to get at the treasure inside...
And, she lived happily ever after, because I know she will.