Last week, I was looking forward to Saturday to enjoy much more time for blogging/Desteni Participation and process, when my husband said, ‘I invited P. and G. over for dinner on Saturday night, are you ok with that?’ at which point I should have said ‘No, its not a good night/week for me to have them over for dinner, can we do it another night?’ BUT NO, my social engineering, as being in front of the tv for 12 years for 3-4 hours a day, kicked in and completely possessed me.
It goes something like this:
A good wife (good wife=the wife that does not get dumped) supports her husband by being available and having a lovely home to show off at dinner parties for his business associates/friends. A good wife spends the day making the home look lovely, shops, prepares, cooks and serves/clears, does some/all of the clean up (he bbq’s, takes all of 10 minutes, receives great praise for this but the good wife is modest and quiet). The good wife does not mind that her identity is almost gone as she is just referred to now as ‘honey’, but hey, you gotta pick your battles.
Well, this sure doesn’t describe me (how I act daily) however, because of my upbringing, I stumble and fall my way around trying to be who I am within my process, of becoming one and equal to my physical body and all in existence, and my programming/social engineering role models: Samantha, Carol, and Jeannie who, although were waaaay cooler than my Mom (June Cleaver-Leave it to Beaver generation) were subservient nonetheless. So what happened is that I rushed through my blogging/process and I was resentful toward my husband and it came out all wrong at dinner. Shit! So here, I face myself and take responsibility for what occurred that day and evening.
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to think getting ready for a dinner party is fun and easy compared to facing myself in the process of writing.
In that, I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself connect preparing for a dinner party to a positive feeling of light/easy movement, in which I judge myself quite competent, and to choose this positive energy experience to replace the supposed negative energy experience of writing, so deciding to postpone writing, with the thought, ‘oh well, this all has to get done anyway, I’ll write later’.
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to postpone writing, to such a late time in the day, that I felt under pressure to rush to get my daily commitments within process done . In that, I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to then hold resentment, in and as me, toward my husband that I had to rush because he wanted this dinner party but he was at work all day, while it was my day off.
In that, I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to blame my husband, and justify the blame, for the fact that I had to rush and still did not complete my other daily responsibilities within process (DIP).
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to carry this underlying feeling of blame, resentment/anger throughout the evening until, when there was a discussion about head shaving as a form of protest, I ‘let him have it’, not yelling but nonetheless went full into the Desteni Rebel character, not giving up on my point, then made the argument personal and this caused discomfort for our guests.
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to become the dutiful housewife. I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to, as the dutiful housewife, think my partner/husband will leave me/divorce me if I do not play the part/role, in this case give up time I required, on my day off, to accomplish tasks I could not get to during the week and put him/his want and needs first.
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to, as the dutiful housewife be controlled/directed by the emotions of fear and guilt that he will leave me/divorce me if I am not subservient and I will not have enough money to live decently, will be lonely and miss his company, will not have another sexual partner as I am too old, basically I will be poor/old and die.
I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself, as the dutiful housewife, secretly use this role and the victim role within it, to blame my lack of self-will/discipline to face myself in daily writing–and not postpone– on my partner, and then to let my anger (towards myself) fly inappropriately towards my partner, thus making our guests very uncomfortable and putting our friendship in jeopardy, which if I decide to do, is one thing, but it is unfair to put my partner is that position.