My mom brought me and my two sisters (the third sister had not been conceived yet) to a friend's house. Was her name Jean? She had boys. Three boys as I recall. We were all instructed to go play in the yard.
My memory brought back automatic thoughts and feelings: I don't like boys. I feel intimidated by these boys. They play too rough. They are all about climbing and running and pushing and shoving. They were daring in their play. And they were loud. I don't like these little boys because I felt vulnerable.
It was the time of year that the maple 'copters were everywhere, falling and fallen. We began to play with them, throwing handfuls of them into the air, delighted by their spinning as they returned to the ground. This was okay. This kind of play was more comfortable. At some point, I decided it would be fun to pick out the seed. I sat in the grass and began peeling away at the endless supply, exposing their inner green seed. I felt less anxious. I could focus on what I was doing and the boys did not seem interested in my more sedate type of play. In fact, I think they made fun of what I was doing. Minimized the value of my activity. They climbed up into their metal clubhouse. I stayed on the ground. Kinda symbolic?
And then I had an insight, as this childhood memory flashed through my brain, start-to-finish in a matter of seconds. Truth is, I'm still not comfortable with males. I still feel a sense of vulnerability when I am outnumbered by men because to me they are, after all, just bigger little boys. And when I feel this same sense of intimidation, I find something to do that requires detachment from them and focus on whatever I can that will take me away. It allows me to politely say, "I can't. I'm busy right now. I'm doing THIS." Avoidance. My most-used coping skill.
Wow. All that from seeing a freakin' whirlybird!
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