This feeling in my back persists, but is smaller. I am wondering from where it came and what causes this feeling of constriction.
My father comes up, and all the “friction” that was always there between us. When did this start? Somewhere in my childhood. I did this every time he walked into a room, every time I had to sit next to him. It was extreme.
I have one memory of him standing before me, intensely questioning me ( he was a journalist ) and my sisters, and I remember being scared, wanting to stop the questioning.
Cultural conditioning comes up. We were being made, with words, to understand what we had missed in a vein of reasoning relating to whatever it was that caused this confrontation. We had to look at how things transpired to find where the “mistake” , in not having seen something and reacted accordingly, in the correct and proper manner, occurred. And I am trying to figure out, through the types of questions, interrogation actually, being asked are leading. I want to stop the wrath before it comes. I hold my self in in anticipation, I hold my self in to shield the verbal wrath, and anxiously watch to deflect the end goal, already set in my father’s mind, of accusation before it arrives.
This feeling of pulling my self in brings up this memory.
Also, I remember one time sitting in the car next to my father and having to drive somewhere. The whole time I was in the car with him I was this constriction, this holding my self in, like I was holding my breath wanting it to stop, wanting to not be there next to him in the car. It was extremely painful to have to sit in the car, contained, trapped, in close proximity to him and the friction between us.
I still cannot stand being in the same room with him, even thought we can talk to one another, even have moments where conversation is enjoyed. But still this “pulling in” is there.
If my father came home and things were not where they were supposed to be, or if something broke it was always because of something someone had done.
Direction, with my father, was often given through accusation. And knowing my grandfather, my father probably learned the same way.
So, every direction taken, every effort made, every accident was faced through accusation.
If I think about various violin teachers I have had, the overly ambitious ones were accusatory in their directing. They threatened and asked why something was not a specific way. It took me a while to understand the lightness of directing, as in a playful way to discover something, learned from violin teachers that enjoyed what they were doing.
Accusation is a form of punishment, used to force awareness, but in the meantime also create fear.
Even doing my taxes, I plod through the paper work wanting , anxiously, to make sure I will receive no accusation from my government.
And I sometime use the same tactic with my children. I approach them with accusations. Though, my sons admit I am much better. And I have to say that I avoided doing this with them, though sometimes I fell.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear being accused.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to approach tasks and endeavors conscious of potential accusation.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to believe that I cannot stand up to accusation.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear making a mistake for fear I will be accused of “not thinking”, “not realizing”, not being aware of what one is supposed to do, supposed to be, supposed to present oneself as in specific social interactions.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to worry that I will be accused of saying something stupid.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to accuse as a means to pointing out something.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting myself to not have realized that my father was accusatory out of fear.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to feel that ( this is making me really tired ) …
Actually, after these accusatory interrogations, I was exhausted.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear accusation all the time.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting myself to accuse another.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to become tired in the face of accusation.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear my father to be coming me to accuse everytime he calls.
I forgive myself for allowing my self to hate family gathering for fear of accusation from my father.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear the way I have parked my car in the driveway of my parent’s house for fear of accusation for not having been aware of which side of the car to leave enough space for walking.
I need not fear accusation.
I realize that accusation is based on opinion, belief and judgement, and does not define my self.
I accept all accusation and breath in remembrance of my self as all as one as equal.