Who am I now that my parents are gone?

Was I social before they died? Was it me breaking out of my shell at conservatory? When did it become alcohol-fueled social "skills"? I lost these "skills" and the false confidence once I stopped drinking. I am back to the awkward---well, wait--I have, now, what I refer to as the 'dog and pony show' for public consumption. It's not a masquerade at all. It's just me, as a caricature of myself, revved up and excited to teach the class, or meet parents, or ....whatever. What I don't know yet about myself in my personal social life is how to be normal. My normal. Am I shy? Am I asocial? Am I more of a listener than a talker?   When I drank I remember the feeling of great doors swinging open, releasing my social beast. I could talk about anything to anyone.  (What is in doubt is the quality of the conversation, my ability to listen, and then to remember.)

I don't get that feeling now; what I feel before a social event is a slight twisting of my stomach, and a fear that I wont' be able to get myself into a conversation. These years of death, and grief, have temporarily taken away my ability to find the right word for the thing I"m trying to talk about. I endlessly search for words. In my past life, I was loquacious, having a large and creative vocabulary that I used with ease. WHERE has it gone? Surely, my intelligence is not locked behind the bar.  But now, in conversation, I listen, see, watch, eyes, body language--research in a way--before I'd step into a conversation. I sometimes speak awkwardly, scramble for generically appropriate language to use in this particular company.  I have been known to stutter. I am very careful, I am on alert, and I am exhausted after what most people consider "down" time with their friends.

This kind of exhaustion happens at the end of the 'dog and pony show' too.

I want you to know that I am still struggling with the eating disorder, so I"m sure that contributes to the exhaustion happening at the end of every day.  But really, it's trying to figure who I really am that is wearing me out. My father would always tell me I was a little hard edged, brilliant, articulate, strong-willed, stubborn. And I became those things. My mother told me I should wear make up because "other people had to look at me." And so I did that, too. I literally tried to become the person each of my parents wanted. It is been evident I made it quite a distance on this presumption. I became an accomplished person, dressed myself attractively, and was considered by most a successful person.  Never the words "likeable" or "well-liked" part of those forming years. I liked to read, and so I was a loner. I was a singer in drama class, so I was artsy.  Labels swirled around me during my time at home, the place of my development . All through college, I thought I was remarkably together: focused, articulate, strong, brilliant (at times).  Through grad school, same deal, all the way through my doctorate. I was the person my parents raised me to be, although they weren't thrilled with the outcome that I'd used their language to develop myself in to a classical singer. Suddenly I became foreign to them, and I breathed life into that person.

As a professional, there are standards and practices that one learns along the way that helps in preparing for a career. One achieves those, and concerts start rolling in. Gigs roll in.  Always the late night dinner and drinking parties afterward. This is what I became, because my parents now expected it.

As a professor, I donned all that I should, hence the 'dog and pony show" was born. My personal social life roared, fueled by bottle after bottle of wine. My father noticed this and said something. I became very aware of it, (especially because my mother had died of alcoholism-related organ failure) and I stopped.

Once my father died, the depth of grief pulled me back from all of life except the necessary. For the first year, I tried to be the self my parents and I had created. It failed miserably because that, in concert with the daily 'dog and pony show' was wiping me out. Everything was automatic, which should be easier, but it was SO hard, because my grief was so deep.

I became a hermit outside of the classroom. I could keep the 'dog and pony show' going if I did nothing else with people. Socializing was work, I had trapped myself in a cave of grief, and I had nothing to contribute to conversations around the table. And I didn't plan to drink again, so all those things committed me to my house, evenings and weekends. Luckily I had a great deal of work to do in the evenings, so this was not a sacrifice, but Friday-Sunday, I spent in the safe-zone of my house.

This does not sound like the brave strong woman I was created to be. This is not the woman who understood that make up was for other people (have) to look at you. This was not the outlandish life of the party who, at 35, was drinking and puking like a college kid. Where was I if not manifested in these pre-ordained roles?

Since my mother died (2007) I have shed a lot of the negative talk she used to give me about myself. I wear make up, daily, because I like to. It's fun and creative. And frankly, I think I look better with it than without it. But I do think there's an inner attractiveness to me that doesn't need make up.

When my father died (2010) it was clear I was strong enough to handle what needed to be done as he lay dying in the hospital. But my heart was breaking, and becoming weaker by the day. The only strength I had left was a push from the Universe and when that ran out, I landed in a cottage down in Florida to rest (March 2010). It was then I started to wonder: who am I without my parents? If I were to create myself, what would I be like? Where is my organic self? It is the organic self that I want to become.

Searching for this has been challenging with so much grief still, and my enormous teaching load.

I can say this, today: I am learning that I am a bit shy with people I don't know; I will choose not to engage someone I do not like; I am effusive with my peeps, and easy going. I am my organic self with M and T and H, and my husband. I see and feel it. I am not really laid back, but I'm very happy to listen to people; I reach a point and my time with people is done. I recharge alone. I used to think I recharged by being around people, like my husband. And I am socially awkward--slightly--without alcohol smoothing the way.

My parents, I don't think they ever considered what the impacts of their deaths would have on me. I can't speak for my sister. I don't blame them for never thinking about this. Although I have elements of my parents' desires for me, I have, since their deaths, found some of my own. There are growing pains involved, and awkward conversations, and some stammering, and often in class I will not be able to find the right words for something I'm trying to say.  I have a little "absent-minded professor" in me.
But I am strong, beautiful. I can be funny, especially when I'm around people with whom I'm comfortable. I don't like social scenes like bars--they tire me out; I'd rather be home early, in my loungewear, petting the cats, watching television or reading. I also believe I am an "acquired taste" type of personality.

Still working on the rest of it.