[Photo courtesy of the movie Bridget Jones’s Diary]
A few days ago, I tried to make the big leap. I tried to quit my job. I actually tried twice. The first time, she really didn’t hear me and made a plan to try to accommodate me, so I thought I’d give it a try. Then she did some things that made me sick to my stomach and I decided that I had no other choice than to quit. Firmly. For good.
I sent an email to get it out there clearly and succinctly. I knew I’d have to talk to her, but with my intention made clear, I thought I’d be able to stand firm in my conviction. However, there was crying (not me), guilt, and begging and I caved. She thought she had won. She started planning my future, but I told her I wasn’t interested in the long term. I want to pursue my passions. Then she put me on the schedule doing the things I told her I couldn’t do. Foiled again!
As I tried to figure out how she had once again gotten her way and I hadn’t, I became reacquainted with the idea of the shadow self and luckily I hadn’t given away my book called The Shadow Effect by Deepak Chopra, Debbie Ford, and Marianne Williamson. (Yay for being a book hoarder!)
The concept of the shadow is that we have parts of ourselves, that for one reason or another, we don’t like or approve of. These are usually traits that our parents and teachers deemed unacceptable, so we decided to shove them down deep. So deep, in fact, that we often don’t even know they’re there.
For me, the shadow has resulted in me creating the same situation over and over again and not being able to figure out why I keep ending up miserable and depressed. It mostly happens in my jobs, which affects my life so greatly that I can’t move forward.
In the book, Debbie Ford said that everyone we meet is a mirror. They mirror back to us who we are and those people who drive us crazy, who make us angry and frustrated, are the mirror of our shadow self. My first thought was “Well, shit.” I don’t want to be like the person causing me the most frustration and grief, but I decided to take a look at it and see if that’s true.
My job isn’t super bad. It’s my boss who is the source of my pain and agony these days, so I wrote down all the things that irritated me most about her.
She’s mean and judgmental when talking about her clients.
She can’t focus long enough to complete a thought.
She is inappropriate. (She changed pants in front of me. Stripped down to her underwear. Made me very uncomfortable.)
She can be intimidating.
She doesn’t hear you when you tell her what your needs are or ignores them and does what works for her.
She creates chaos and seems to thrive on it.
I try so hard to do what I’m supposed to do, to please people, to be helpful, to rein in other people’s chaos so that there’s some sort of order to things. Surely I’m not anything like that, right?
I don’t think it’s that I’m like her, but that there are parts of me that can be that way, those part I learned early on that were unacceptable or unpleasing – the shadow. Those shadow parts make us choose to go the complete opposite way most times, to leave it at far behind as we can.
So, I unpacked each one of these points and here’s what I came up with:
I remember my dad always saying that the women in my family were mean: my grandmother (she kinda was), both my great-grandmothers, my mother. I’ve tried my best not to be mean to the point of being mute. Instead, I became a people pleaser, so that I don’t appear demanding or mean.
I don’t focus on anything very long either. I call myself a Jill-of-all-trades. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never found my “thing”. I start learning about something, but soon get bored with it or I get distracted by something else that catches my fancy. I’ve never become a master of anything, which in my mind makes me flaky and it’s kept me from having a “real” career. I feel like a loser because I can’t stick with anything. I keep trying though, which only leads to more frustration.
I don’t think I’m inappropriate, at least I try hard not to be. I think this one comes from the fact that both of my parents always walked around in their underwear and it always made me feel icky. Especially when my dad walked around in his tighty whiteys.
While I admire people who say what they mean, I don’t handle intimidating people very well. Intimidating people are scary to me. They demand things from you. They demand that you act as they want you to. They make me feel small and scared. My mom could be that way and my grandmother was definitely that way. I know I can be intimidating with my own intensity about things. I like to talk about deep, esoteric subjects. Small talk and chitchat bore me to tears. I’m sure that’s intimidating to people, which is why I tend to be quiet and isolate myself. I don’t like to intimidate people.
My parents were very wrapped up in their own drama and trauma. They couldn’t hear what we kids needed. Even when I was living at home at twenty-five, drinking every day, and basically messing up at life, they didn’t try to get me any help. They went to an Al-Anon meeting one time and decided that I was nothing like that. That was the extent of their “help”. I cried out for help and they didn’t hear me. They never heard me.
The biggest thing that bothers me about my boss is that she is a tornado of chaos. She likes it, I think, and seems to thrive on it. I grew up with a mentally ill mother and to me chaos meant mental illness. An inability to control your thoughts. Chaos, to me, was scary. We never knew what each day would bring and we were often left to fend for ourselves without any help from our dad. I compensated by trying to control everything, being the responsible one, so that I would feel safe.
Now what? What do I do with all this insight into my shadow? The problems arise when you try to hide them. They tend to come out with a roar (remember what happened to Tiger Woods and Bill Cosby and Mel Gibson and and and?) or in very damaging ways, like addictions and depression. The key is accepting your shadow side as an integral part of who you are. We need both sides of ourselves – the parts we like and the parts we don’t like – to be whole.
So, to become more whole, I’m going to work on accepting the parts of me that I’ve deemed unacceptable.
I’ve recently met a lot of Texas women and the thing I love most about them is that they are straightforward and say what they mean. They are strong women and the women in my family were all strong women. I’m going to embrace that “mean” Texas woman inside of me, because she’s not mean. She’s just strong and asks for what she wants and needs.
I’m going to embrace the fact that I’m a dabbler, not a focuser. I like to learn and I love knowledge. Just because there’s not a job that calls for love of learning and knowledge as a requisite doesn’t mean I can’t make money off of what I know. It just won’t come from one source.
I’ll speak up next time my boss drops trou and tell her it makes me uncomfortable.
I’ll keep on being my deep thinking self, but I’ll allow myself to not be so intense all the time. Maybe I’ll even start having a little fun.
My body tells me what I feel most of the time. I’ll start listening to it and changing those situations that make me feel icky.
As far as chaos goes, I read this article by Leo Babauta where he talks about all the ways in which chaos is actually a good thing. I’ll work on embracing uncertainty and trusting that the Universe will lead me where I want to go. I live with chaos in my brain every day. I look all calm on the outside, but inside, I’m a ball of chaos. However, it’s what leads me to explore new thoughts and ideas. It’s what led me to this point in my life where I’m finally unraveling the tangle of lies I’ve made up to keep myself safe.
So, I guess it’s okay that I couldn’t take the leap. It wasn’t time for me to quit my job. The Universe wasn’t done using my boss to teach me what I need to know. But hey! I love learning, right? Soon, I’ll be on to something new.
I’ve aired my mom and dad’s dirty laundry. It’s only fair that I air mine.
If you haven’t read any of Brené Brown’s books, I’d highly recommend that you do. She is a research professor at the University of Houston with a doctorate in the Philosophy of Social Work. Her research revolves around shame, vulnerability, and how to be your authentic self. Shame is why we hide away certain parts of ourselves that we deem undesirable and it forces us to live in a way that is not true to ourselves.
I credit Brené Brown with helping me see how badly shame has impacted my life and showing me that I can let it go. She says that shame cannot survive being spoken. Once we tell our story and it’s met with empathy, the power that shame holds over us vanishes. I would like to thank those of you who have read my story so far, those who have reached out and shared their stories with me, and those who have given me a big old virtual hug in the comments. I appreciate you more than you know.
So far, I’ve written of a mother who couldn’t be the mother I needed, even though she tried and of a father who didn’t care to be a father beyond keeping a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. I was told to keep quiet (shame) about my mother’s illness and so I did. However, that family shame was just the beginning. The decades of shame that came after are all mine, so if it’s true that shame cannot survive being spoken, then I’m willing to speak of mine. I’m tired of being ashamed of my past and who I’ve been so far. Being part scientist, I’ll consider this an experiment to prove or disprove her theory myself.
I like to think that I first learned shame from being told to hide my mother’s illness, but it started before that. When I was eight or nine, I loved to perform “shows” for the neighborhood – mainly my parents and their friends across the street. I would perform a one-girl variety show with my brother doing puppet shows while I got ready for my next act. Our audience was small, but appreciative.
One day, I decided to go all out and do a dance skit that involved a choreographed number utilizing the entire backyard and the swing set as a prop, like Gene Kelly and his lamppost. I was rehearsing my big number, Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” at the top of my lungs, when a couple of boys popped their heads up from behind the fence and began teasing and taunting me, laughing about how stupid I was. I was mortified. I promptly cancelled my performance. From that day on, I have suffered from tremendous stage fright, terrified to look stupid in front of other people. I even have trouble trying new things because I don’t want to look dumb and chance having people laugh at me.
I used to spend summers with my grandparents, especially after my mom got sick. Until I was about thirteen, I mainly hung out with my grandparents and their friends. I got lots of attention, so I didn’t mind. However, my grandmother’s hairdresser suggested that I meet her niece and two of us became fast, summer friends.
She was the person I first started drinking with. The first time, I was spending the night at her house, when she suggested we sneak a drink out of her parent’s liquor cabinet. I don’t remember exactly what the drink was – some kind of hard liquor and Coke – but I do remember how it made me feel. It was warm and soothing. Although I didn’t necessarily like the taste, it washed away all my anxiety, as if someone had swaddled me in a big, warm blanket. That feeling made me happy.
My friend and I would drink whenever we got the chance, which wasn’t all that often. We used the old tried and true method of refilling the liquor bottles with water each time we took some. The first time I got truly drunk though was on beer. We knew some older girls who could get beer, so we planned a night at the drive-in. That was my first experience with binge drinking. Beer tasted awful, but it made me feel good. There were boys around too, and being drunk made me more outgoing and comfortable with them. The first time I made out with a boy was that night, in the backseat of the car. Luckily for me, the girls were watching out for me and knew how drunk I was. They kicked the boy out of the car and drove my friend and me home.
Being a night of firsts, it was also the first time I ever threw up from drinking too much. We got home and tried to act sober as we chatted with her mother before we rushed off to my friend’s room. After a while, as I was laying in bed, the room began to spin and my stomach started to churn. I leaped out of bed to make a run for the bathroom, but I didn’t quite make it. I threw up in my hand and it leaked out as I ran. After I’d gotten everything out of my system, I went back to bed and passed out.
The next morning, my friend’s mother asked if one of us had gotten sick in the night because there was vomit on the carpet. I said that it must have been the dog. So, she said okay and made us breakfast, and although I was in no way hungry, my friend told me to eat or else her mother would know that we were hungover. So I ate with what I’m sure was a very green face as her mother eyeballed me closely. She knew it wasn’t the dog.
I started drinking for real my freshman year of college. The drinking age in Kansas at the time was eighteen, so I took full advantage of it. I would go out five nights a week. Thursdays, I stayed home to prepare for the weekend and Sundays were reserved for recovering from the weekend. Every other night, they had drink specials to entice me. How could I turn down dollar pitchers?
I loved drinking while I was drinking. I became outgoing and talkative and wasn’t afraid of anything. However, I didn’t love the after effects. Not only did I have what I believe to be the world’s worst hangovers, I was also always horribly embarrassed by how I had behaved while drunk. The outgoing, talkative, brave person I was while drinking was the very person I was embarrassed of the next day. Ever since the incident with the boys, I hated looking foolish and I felt that drinking made me look foolish. It didn’t have to be anything major to embarrass me, perhaps just talking too much or showing too much emotion. Sometimes it was major, like passing out in a bar or going home with the wrong guy. I didn’t like being out of control, but that was also part of the reason I drank, to relax and loosen up the reins I kept myself restrained with. I was ashamed of my behavior and every time I went out, I promised myself I would maintain control and not get hammered, but I always did.
Drinking wrecked my first college career. I went to several universities, only staying a year or two at each. I usually did fine in my classes despite my partying, but soon I would wear out my welcome. My friends would get serious about school so they could graduate, while I was still only interested in partying, so I would transfer somewhere else to start fresh, because “this time will be different.”
The last university I went to before I dropped out was Colorado State. At the time, Colorado State was the #1 party school in the country. I didn’t know that when I went, but I soon found out why. They had a bar in the student center, so all I had to do was walk across a field and I had all the beer I wanted. I even took a bowling class because you could drink during class. I took it twice. I found the party kids right away, so I was never at a loss for someone to drink with. I had tried a few drugs in the past, a little speed and pot, but at CSU, I had access to cocaine. While I liked it quite a bit, alcohol was still my drug of choice, so luckily for me, I didn’t add cocaine addiction to my repertoire.
Colorado State had a yearly event at the time called College Days. A few weeks before finals, they let classes out for a couple of days so that the students could let loose a little. That year, my favorite band ever, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, performed for us followed by a few teeny, tiny, unscheduled riots in which things got burned, bottles were thrown, and kids were injured. We weren’t mad about anything. It was simply a case of too many kids, and a whole lot of drugs and alcohol. Needless to say, they don’t do College Days anymore. (Read about the riots here).
Naturally, I started the party a couple days early and by Saturday, my body couldn’t take any more booze. It shut down. I passed out at a friend’s apartment in the early afternoon on Saturday. When I awoke, I thought I ought to rejoin the party. (FOMO is a real thing.) However, my body had different ideas. My legs wouldn’t support me going down the stairs, so my friends had to drag me home and put me to bed. It took me a couple of days to recover from that binge, but I was so ashamed of myself that it left me in a severe depression. To top it off, during dead week I came down with strep throat. I didn’t study for any of my finals and I didn’t even bother to go to a couple of them. When I got the letter over Christmas break saying that I was on probation, I decided that I had had enough of college for a while.
Not only was I ashamed of how I acted when I was drunk and the amount I was drinking, but I was ashamed of my drinking and driving. It is truly a miracle that I never hurt myself or anyone else while I drove with one eye closed so that I could drive in a nearly straight line. Or the times I drove completely blacked out and not remembering how I got home. I’ll tell you just a couple of those stories.
One night, during my freshman year of college, some dorm mates and I went to a frat party where they were serving Purple Passion. It was the best bathtub mixed drink ever. It was made with grape juice and grain alcohol, so it was sweet and went down easy. As was my way, I wasn’t done drinking when the Purple Passion ran out, so I decided to go to another house to do some more drinking. Since I had already been drinking grain alcohol, I decided that I’d bypass the grape juice and just drink Everclear straight. Everyone told me not to, but apparently I took that as a challenge and took a few long swigs straight out of the bottle. It didn’t take long before I decided that I had better get back to the dorm. I knew I’d crossed the line. I got in my car and even though I was only blocks from campus, the next thing I knew, I was out in the country headed away from town. I tried to turn my car around, but having little control of my body by that point, I ended up in a culvert and couldn’t get out.
I swerved and staggered the mile or so back into town and found a gas station that was still open. I told the employee what had happened and asked him to help me. He drove me in his tow truck out to where my car was, but because it was on private property, he had to get the owner’s permission to pull the car out. Unfortunately, the people wouldn’t open the door to give permission (probably because some crazy person had just been gunning their engine trying to get out of culvert)so the guy said that he’d have to get permission from the sheriff. Again, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), the sheriff was out working a motorcycle accident, so we had to go out there to get him to sign the paper, which gave me a chance to sober up a little.
I suppose the gas station employee told him how drunk I was and what had happened, because when I got there, I had to do a field sobriety test. The sheriff told me that he didn’t know how, but I had passed the test and he said he would sign the paper as long as I promised not to drive the car home after we got it out. Drunk driving laws back in the early ’80’s were not as strictly enforced as they are now. Who knows if I really passed the test or if he just took pity on me, but I’m grateful to that sheriff for not throwing me in jail that night. And of course, I drove the car back to the dorms that night.
Several years later, I was working in Vicksburg, MS as a plasma center manager. I decided that I wanted to go back to Colorado, so I packed all my stuff into my Land Cruiser and headed back to Colorado. I left in the late afternoon, and to celebrate, I bought a six-pack of Budweiser tall boys for the road. I didn’t get through Louisiana before I had gone through them all, so I stopped for more.
The plan had been to drive to Wichita Falls and stay the night, but at some point I missed my turn and ended up in Dallas. I stopped to use the restroom at a convenience store and I had to ask someone what town I was in. Even though I could clearly see the skyscrapers on the Dallas skyline, I wasn’t supposed to be in Dallas, so I didn’t believe that’s where I was. After I accepted the fact that I was truly in Dallas, I headed back out to try to find my way to Wichita Falls.
At some point, somewhere on a two lane highway, I realized that I was never going to make it. I wasn’t even sure where I was and I was nodding off at the wheel, so I simply pulled over, leaned back in the front seat, and went to sleep. I slept for eight hours on the side of the road. I awoke to the wind from the passing semis rocking my car. I looked around to try to figure out where I was and wondered how I had made it through the night without getting arrested or hit by a semi in the middle of the night. I thanked my lucky stars once again and took off back down the road.
There were many more, less dramatic, drunk driving incidents. I am mortified and deeply ashamed that I put so many people at risk, but I am so very grateful to whomever is watching over me for keeping everyone safe, even me.
Another big part of my shame has to do with some inappropriate relationships with men. I dated a few guys in college, but after one particularly painful rejection, I gave up. I was convinced that I was unworthy of love, so I quit looking for relationship while I watched all my friends get married. I still dated from time to time and some of them probably did like me, but I would deem them losers, because only a loser would like me, right? Besides, the most important marriage in my life was my parents’ and I didn’t want to end up like them. I found most of the guys I dated to be needy and I had no desire to take care of anyone, like my dad had to take care of my mom.
That’s not the shameful part though. The shameful part is the fact that several times over the years, I had what I term “booty-call relationships” with married, or otherwise taken, men. It didn’t happen often, but when it did I felt like the worst person in the world. They would tell me “I’m not leaving my wife, you know” and I said that I knew. Their being unavailable made it easier for me not to get attached. It kept me from being rejected because there was nothing to be rejected from.
Even though you claim that’s not the kind of person you really are when you do something like that, people argue that you wouldn’t do it if that’s not who you are. I’m not sure how I feel about that. All I can say is that I would never have done it if I had been sober and I have never fooled around with a married man since I got sober. The problem at the time was I wasn’t sober that often.
Eventually, all that shame and embarrassment piled up on me. Although I couldn’t stop drinking, I also couldn’t allow myself to keep doing things I knew were wrong, so I simply started drinking at home alone. I figured if I stayed home and drank, at least I wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
I bargained with myself to try to keep my drinking under control, because I couldn’t imagine never being able to drink again. I would go buy a couple of beers, promising myself that that was all I would drink that night. Inevitably though, I would want “just a couple more.” However, I was embarrassed to go to the same store where I’d bought the first beers, so I’d have to go to a different store to buy the next ones. Every time I went to buy beer, I had to go to different stores, so the liquor store employees to know how much I drank.
I tried to quit drinking numerous times, but inevitably I would con myself into allowing just one or two. I really thought I could keep it under control. and it even worked for a day or two., but very soon, I got right back up to speed.
As the years went by, I started to become more and more afraid that my luck would run out and something bad would happen. I knew I was biding my time. I was terrified of getting a DUI. Sometimes, on my third trip out for beer, I wouldn’t remember whether I had paid for it and I wouldn’t go back to that store for fear of getting arrested. I did everything I could to try to control it, but there was no way I could.
One day, I was at home with my nieces. I had been drinking a little, although I did maintain a little control when I was with them, and it dawned on me that that was how they were going to know me. I would be their “drunk auntie.” Despite the embarrassment, the drunk driving, the unavailable men, and my fear of running out of luck, the thing that ultimately made me quit drinking was the fact that I didn’t want “Drunk Sissy” to be how they remembered me. So on September 4, 2007, without any fanfare, I quit drinking.
Quitting drinking was by far both the hardest and the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve been sober for almost ten years now and I am finally rediscovering the person I came into this life to be – the real me and not the lie. I’ve kept the real me hidden away for a long time, because I was embarrassed of who I thought I was. I thought alcohol made me better, but it only masked a whole lot of sadness and shame and drove the real me deeper undercover.
I wasn’t even sure I would be able to survive the pain I felt, but there was always a tiny spark of light hidden deep within me that kept me going. I like to think of that spark as my true self – my soul – and I hope to honor my soul by throwing off the thick, heavy blankets of shame that almost smothered it, so that I can be more authentically myself, whoever that is. As Marie Forleo says, “The world needs that special something that only YOU have.” I hope I can find my special something soon.
My relationship with my father was not as cut and dried as the one I had with my mother. With her, there were distinct guideposts by which to tell the story. With Dad, it’s not as clear, even to me. So, instead of trying to explain a relationship that took me decades to unravel, I’ve decided to make it into a fairy tale of sorts, and let you glean from it what you wish. My Dad was beloved by many, but he wasn’t the benevolent martyr that he proclaimed himself to be, especially when it came to his kids.
Once upon a time, there was a King who ruled over a small, but independent kingdom called Narcissa. He didn’t inherit his kingdom. He came from very humble beginnings as the son of a farmer and struggled to build it on his own. He was proud that he had escaped the labor of farm life.
As was the way of royalty, he married a Princess from another, more wealthy kingdom to build upon his own kingdom. This Princess was unhappy under the strict rule of her mother, the Evil Queen, so she was relieved to marry a man who vowed to protect her and allow her to be the Queen of her own kingdom.
The King and Queen soon had a child, a beautiful dark haired little girl called the Dark Princess. The King remembered the day he fell in love with the little girl. She was sleeping with her head on his chest, when she awoke briefly, looked up at him, and smiled, then went back to sleep. The King loved the idea that someone could be that innocent and dependent on him. He thought he could love no one more.
After a few years, the King and Queen had a son, and the King went off to war. When he returned to his castle, the Queen was beside herself with joy. She bounded down the great stairway to greet him, leaving the Princess to struggle down the long staircase on her own. The Princess quickly found the King amongst all the soldiers and he was never so happy to see anyone, not even the Queen. A few years later, they had a golden haired daughter called the Golden Princess, and their family was complete.
The King was often out with his men, surveying his kingdom, and basking in the adulation of his subjects. The King was away more than he was home and the Queen, being prone to madness, became increasingly frightened that thieves would come and steal her youngest child away. Unbeknownst to the Dark Princess, the Queen would pace around in the nursery at night, keeping a watchful eye out for kidnappers. The Dark Princess heard the footsteps and knowing of her mother’s fears, began to fear for her own safety as well. She did not feel safe with her mother and would only feel safe when the King finally came home.
This went on for quite some time and the Dark Princess became increasingly afraid to be alone with her mother. She would wait to go sleep until the King got home, then she would lay at the foot of her mother and father’s bed. She would awaken before the King so that she could sneak back to her room, but one night the King found her and became angry. He said through clenched teeth, “I told you, there was nothing to be afraid of.” The Dark Princess cried as he dragged her around the castle, opening doors, trying to prove to her that no one was there. He told her that she was too old to be acting like a baby and, always wanting to please her father, she decided to hide her fears and do as she was told.
The Queen, however, could not suppress her fears. Instead, she built a tower and locked herself away. It was the only way she felt safe. The King would go visit her in her tower every day, while the Dark Princess watched over her younger siblings. The King gave her chores to complete and would get angry with her if he came home and the chores weren’t done. The Dark Princess didn’t understand why she had to make up for her mother’s absence and she resented all the work that she was expected to do. She was still a child after all, but the King and his confidants felt that the King was already terribly burdened, taking care of his sick wife and three small children, so the Dark Princess was urged to be good, be quiet, and help her father.
The Dark Princess missed her mother terribly. She couldn’t understand why her mother locked herself up in the tower and left her all alone. The King, not understanding children, did not try to help her understand what was going on nor did he try to convince her that everything would be okay. He simply left her to try to make sense of everything on her own.
Physical beauty was of the utmost importance to the King, and the older the Dark Princess got, the more disappointed in her appearance he became. She was not as pretty as she had been as a baby and he was afraid that he would never be able to marry her off. He resented the fact that the wealthy King and Queen had burdened him with an unhealthy wife and now he had a homely daughter he was going to have to care for as well.
The Prince and the Golden Princess, however, seemed to be everything the King wanted or at least that’s what he led the Dark Princess to believe. He boasted about how handsome the Prince was, how intelligent he was, and how extremely talented he was at all things creative. He also bragged that the Golden Princess was such a pretty girl, that all the young noblemen were enamored of her, and that she could dance like a fairy. Whenever the Dark Princess tried to gain her father’s approval with drawings, stories, or even her ability to compete in the hunt with all his men, he would simply pat her on the head and talk to her about how beautiful the princesses in other realms were or how smart, talented, and creative her siblings were. The Dark Princess finally gave up trying. She knew that nothing she could do would ever please her father and win back his love.
The King was not able to provide the Queen or her children with everything they needed, so the Queen’s parents often had to help them. This angered the King and he accused them of being coddled by the royal grandparents. Despite his resentment, the King was also dependent on the Queen’s parents to help him maintain his kingdom. He felt, however, that they owed it to him for taking their sick daughter off of their hands. He was not spoiled. The rest of his family was.
The Dark Princess, seeing no place for herself in the castle, ventured off on her own, but she was ill prepared for the real world outside her father’s realm. She had no confidence in her own abilities after years of negative comparison to others and had never found encouragement or support in anything she did. She didn’t even know who she was, she had spent so long trying to find a way to gain her father’s approval. However, she didn’t feel safe out in the world after depending on her father for so long and soon, she slunk back to the castle and locked herself up in her own room as her mother had done. She spent some time with her mother, telling her about her failures and her grief. The Queen confessed her own fears and did her best to shore up her daughter’s confidence, but by that time, the damage had been done and the Queen was too far gone in her isolation and madness to know how to help her.
The Prince and the Golden Princess eventually went their own ways, while the Dark Princess stayed in the castle with the King and Queen. She convinced herself that she was helping them, but she knew they merely saw her as a burden. Eventually, the Dark Princess knew the time had come for her to strike out on her own again and this time, she was able to eke out an existence for herself. She knew she could never go back to the castle again.
Eventually, the Queen succumbed to her madness and died alone in her tower. The King, after so many years trying to make the Queen happy and blaming her for his own unhappiness, was at a loss. He sat dejected on his throne and didn’t move for many years while his kingdom slowly deteriorated around him. Soon, his wife’s parents died as well. The King hoped that the influx of money from his wife’s inheritance would allow him to get back on his feet and repair his kingdom. He felt that he deserved that money after all of his years of sacrifice.
However, the inheritance went to their daughter’s children, the young Prince, Golden Princess, and the Dark Princess instead. The King was furious. He demanded that the children give him part of their inheritance and they acquiesced to his demand, even though they knew that the King had been given large sums of money throughout his marriage to the Queen. With that demand, the King hammered in the wedge that had been growing between he and his children for many years and they began to see the King for who he truly was.
The Dark Princess, despite her dour demeanor, was ever the optimist when it came to others. She believed that one day, her father would realize that she wasn’t worthless. She also hoped that he would finally start doing things for himself, instead of depending on others to do everything for him. She also wanted for him to quit seeing himself as a victim of his circumstances. She hoped, but she didn’t believe.
Over the next several years, the King’s health began to fade. He developed dementia in addition to the very weak heart he had lived with for several decades. The dementia removed the already porous filter he had on his thoughts and he began to pick at his children’s emotional weaknesses with vicious glee. Eventually, they decided to stop subjecting themselves to his abuse and refused to see him.
While her father’s health declined, the Dark Princess began to find her true self. She had hidden away those parts of herself that the King didn’t approve of for most of her life, but now she felt free to explore what it was that she truly wanted out of life. She returned to her drawing and other creative pursuits and she was happier than she had ever been. The King came to visit her in her own tiny kingdom one day and she decided to give him one last chance to realize that he had been wrong about her all those years. She showed him her artwork and told him how excited she was to be doing it again. The King looked at her work and said, “Uh huh. That’s nice. Do you remember that drawing I did for you many years ago? Do you still have it? I’d love to see it.” And with that, the Dark Princess smiled and knew that the King would never be able to see her for who she truly was. After so many years of trying to please him, she finally gave up trying to win his love and she let him go.
She didn’t see the King again until he was on his deathbed. The Prince and the Golden Princess convinced her that she should go see her father one last time, although she had no desire to put herself in the position to be hurt by him again. However, she knew she would regret not going, so she agreed to go. While her brother and sister attended to their ailing father, the Dark Princess remained distant. The King was aware enough to know that his children were there and he tried to act as he normally would have in healthier times, but he he was too far gone to fool anyone. The Dark Princess was relieved when it was finally time to go. She leaned over her father, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “Bye, Dad.” Soon after, he was gone.