Tag: Personal Boundaries

The Red Cloak

My dad said you should always wear a red cloak to stop people seeing the blood.

I really bought into this idea of his of wearing a red cloak and thereby not allowing people to see blood from emotional wounds. These days I’m not so sure if it’s a good idea. In social situations, in this modern world, the red cloak was meant to stop people taking advantage, to protect us from predators and users. No harm in that. But do we overdo it?

Roman soldiers would wear red cloaks when they marched into battle, believing it would protect them from harm. If the enemy didn’t see the stain of blood on the red cloak, they couldn’t see that you were injured and that may give them the advantage in a battle situation.

Yet the colour red isn’t just about being wounded. It’s also the colour of power and leadership and connected with wealth and luxury.

When Little Red Riding hood wore a red cloak, it was all about innocence, purity, danger and passion.

In Christianity, the red cloak represents the Blood of Christ and the sacrifice He made on the cross.

In terms of the red cloak as self defence, lately I’m seeing a tendency in some people to always be smiling or laughing and acting like nothing can hurt them. Not only does that deplete their mental and physical and emotional energy to breaking point, it makes other people think they are absolutely fine and that they don’t need help from anyone. Some people think they aren’t hurting and can take the knocks and they might even feel free to deal them out. After all, smilers can take it right? After all, the chances are you’re gonna come up smiling, like you always do.

Now that I’m seeing it in others, I can see it in me. When I was young one of my nicknames was ‘Smiler’ but now I’m thinking far from it being an expression of a happy soul, it may have been a trauma response, or as I like to say ‘The Red Cloak Response’, a desperate need not to show the blood for fear of further attacks. After all, I’m pretty sure the wounded gazelle in the savannah does not want the lion to know they are wounded and that makes perfect survival sense to me.

We say about people when they unravel, when they are undone, or are having difficulties that it is a ‘cry for help’, but at the same time, they may also be trying to hide. There is definately some merit in hiding at certain times but when you hide too well and too much, people think you’re okay and that you don’t need help. They may even think you’re thick skinned at best, inauthentic, false or fake at worst. I’ve seen how ‘appearing strong’, i.e laughing things off when you want to cry and smiling when you’re far from it, can backfire. When I was younger, someone once said to me, ‘Everything’s a joke to you isn’t it?’ but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was the red cloak speaking. So while we don’t want to appear too vulnerable for very many reasons, some show of vulnerability, at the right time, in the right place, with people you can trust, is actually essential for survival. But this is the crux of the matter isn’t it? How do we know who to trust? It’s not always cut and dried and we don’t want to trust too quickly.

Some of us grew up in environments where we walked on eggshells and it was essential to constipate our feelings in order to placate one or both parents or other family members, or just someone in authority, like a teacher. It could even have been another child who was bullying us. It wasn’t cost effective to show our feelings at the time. So, as a feint, appearing happy or jolly or like we don’t care was preferable to being kicked while we were down.

Far from the red cloak being a defence, it can be a liabilty, if it’s not tempered with assertiveness. Assertiveness is the real red cloak. The red cloak on its own is not enough. It’s all very well to act like we’re invincible, laughing off the insults of others, smiling all the time and generally acting like nothing is wrong but when we don’t show our disapproval at the way we’re being treated, nothing will change, red cloak or not. If we don’t make that change, by either letting someone know they are overstepping boundaries and/or taking advantage or using and manipulating us in some way, the red cloak is really just a costume change. It means nothing. So, there has to come a time when you say I’m not putting up with this or that or a certain unfair situation.

Wear the red cloak by all means, the red cloak has some purpose but it has to be accompanied by expressing yourself when you are feeling used or abused, or simply when you need help, when a situation isn’t right, whether that’s at work, or a friend is taking advantage, or maybe there’s an imbalance in a relationship that needs more balance. Sometimes, just voting with our feet will work, that’s a very powerful message.

So, we have to speak up, whether that’s with our body language, or our tongues or with our silence, or walking away. The red cloak is not going to protect us from anything, although it might may us feel good temporarily. It’s time to let our feelings show and not hide them. Our feelings, rather than being detrimental, give us validity. When we tell people what we’re thinking, or at least show what we’re feeling on some level, people then have to take notice. They then can’t say ‘Well, I didn’t know you felt that way. You never told me,’ or they at least have to acknowledge it on some level. When we hide or wear a red cloak, they may feel they can legitimately turn a blind eye. We always thought red cloak helped but it never has. Time to take responsibilty and give ourselves permission to show our feelings.

Space Invasion

Ever wondered why that person sat next to you on that empty bus? Yes, me too. It’s one of my pet hates. I’m pretty sure it’s one of yours. Space invasion. Why do they do it? Are they predators? I would surmise so, in some way. Do they have a need to control you? Yes, unfortunately, I think so.  Are they sad? Yes. Are we being horrible by thinking they’re sad? Perhaps. Do they just want company? Yes. Are they lonely? Yes, no…I don’t know. All these questions are making me loco.

In a recent post, I talked about agoraphobia, briefly, and how I managed to get out on my own after three years of, well…not getting out on my own. I once did a seven year stint, but that’s another story, for another time.

I now go out for approximately two hours, all on my own, on weekend afternoons, to my local town centre…and I’m loving it! After the self imposed prison, there is freedom! And it’s sweet, so sweet.

I’m blessed enough to live less than two minutes walk away from a beach. I love the sea, so it should be easy. I’ve been keeping it up for about two months now, every Saturday, but something happened a couple of Saturday’s ago that almost stopped me getting back in the saddle.

My agoraphobia never felt like a waste, until lately. I’m starting to think, I’m almost fifty and I’ve let it rule me with an iron rod, all these years. I don’t want to carry that particular monkey on my back anymore. I’m sick and tired of it. I’m cheesed off, browned off, fed up.

For me, it’s a hereditary thing, both my parents suffer from it, particularly my dad, but he’d rather die than admit it. I’ve just outed him. Sorry dad. He’ll never read this anyway and I’m not saying anything bad about him and what I’m saying is the truth. Perhaps he never thought it was a problem. When I was sixteen, I knew I had a problem and I got the courage to talk to my dad about it after my mum had gone to bed. It was a nice, relaxed, cosy atmosphere, just us two, late at night, both reading. When I revealed my fears, he told me that I was just trying to make myself seem ‘special’.

After that, I never spoke about it again, until now.  If this is ‘special’, I don’t want it.

I could have done without ‘special’ for my whole life.

Of course, when I met my husband, it all rubbed off on him and contaminated him. He had to deal with the fall out, which was considerable. I realise now that my father had to deal with his own agoraphobia and just couldn’t admit it, to himself, or to anyone else. And he certainly couldn’t admit that I had it too. He probably never will, and that’s okay. If he’s happy with that, then that’s fine. In fact, he has said that he’s very happy with hardly ever going out, but I’m not happy with it anymore. I don’t want to be crippled by it anymore. So, in my eyes, it’s not happening. Agoraphobia? What’s that? It’s not something in my experience. It’s something other people have. If you don’t admit it, it doesn’t exist. Right? Well, it does…but…now it’s a conscious effort. It’s psychological warfare. And I’m kitted out.

I was out at the beach recently, one innocuous Saturday afternoon, writing miscellaneous stuff and enjoying my freedom after several years and perhaps feeling a bit raw and vulnerable, but dealing with it, and there were plenty of empty seats, for miles around, yet, a couple came to sit on my bench.

I thought, okay, it’s a free country. You’ve got the WHOLE beach (with very many empty benches) and yet, you come and sit by me. But it didn’t end there. I was writing at the time, in my little pad, just writing crap, for comfort, and minding my own business and this very weird…don’t mean to be judgemental, but these guys were weird, or at least acting weird…there was an undertone that I didn’t like.  Things like this just don’t happen on a sunny Saturday afternoon here. It was odd. Perverts are quite low on the ground here. Sweeping statement, I know, I can’t say that for sure but the Fylde coast (apart from tourists) has a good amount of retired or semi retired people, or at least people who are healthily interested in their own lives and their dogs. There’s a lot of dog lovers here. It’s a great place to have a dog, but people here are still interested in other people…to a point…perhaps not beyond that point. It’s a bit like Florida. Another sweeping statement.

Well, anyway, this guy was wearing a band type t-shirt, I don’t know, I didn’t pay too much attention, but he was the same age as me, roundabout, perhaps a bit older, and obviously thought himself as a ‘Peter Pan’,  and the blonde woman with him, well, she had sunglasses on, so I couldn’t see her eyes. Ah, cowardly lion territory. That’s not playing the game, man.

After about a minute, of the man grinning, smiling and staring fixedly at me and throwing a few little comments in her direction, alarm bells began to ring. The lady in the couple positioned herself bodily, adjacent to me, and was staring, like I was an animal in a zoo.

Both of them were staring, unashamedly and fixedly, and I thought, what is your problem? Shall I sell you some tickets maybe? I continued writing and I admit, I was a bit impish in the end, because I decided to write, look at them and then write…to make them paranoid, like I was writing about them. Well, it would work for me. Then I thought, you know what, I’m getting a really sleazy vibe from you guys. I should stop trying to be clever. This is back firing. I’m outta here. The goods are not for sale. This stall is closed. Go swing somewhere else.

So I got up and walked on. Years ago, I would have thought, I don’t have the right to walk on, to walk away, or, I don’t have a right to stand my ground, or some such idiotic thinking. My instincts are starting to serve me well. I have at least gained some sense of self preservation after all these years. It felt so good to walk away. (I’m sure they were nice people really. Perhaps, it’s my problem for being so sensitive and paranoid)!

So I walked down the pier, found a very pleasing alternative position and never looked back. I spent a beautiful hour writing by the sea. However, I have become a bit paranoid since then and a bit apprehensive. Being in a more isolated part of the beach is a double edged sword. It may be nice to be alone but it can also make you vulnerable to predators. I have started to snarl at people when they come too close. Elvis lip. Maybe I snarl too much. How awful that I’ve become so defensive. But defensiveness can be the best form of attack.

Before that couple approached me, I remember thinking, how awful that we have become so unapproachable, through fear. I don’t know about you, but I am becoming less tolerable of predators as I get older. I’m relieved that I can call them out quicker, that I’m better at nipping it in the bud. That’s priceless, because they used to walk all over me.

The thing is, whatever happens, remember , there are people and forces who will try to STOP you progressing in your life journey. Isn’t it strange that they turn up at the most inopportune moments, when you are getting somewhere? You will find that they turn up at your most vulnerable moment.

Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

Walk on.