Christopher

There was always a part of me that was different. My ideas were different, my interests did not always match the norm, and I loved my jeans and hi-tops. I loved to explore and build, I loved to take things apart and see how they worked, and I always was trying to invent things one way or another. I was creative and imaginative.

I am not sure what the "correct parameters" were that I was supposed to fit into, yet I excelled at not doing it. Although always told that we could be anything, do anything, there seemed to be an exception clause. From a young age and into adulthood, when I expressed my uniqueness, I was reminded how it was wrong. I grew up hearing the derogatory meaning phrase, "I should have named you Christopher" as I did not fit into the "girly" category.

Each time it was said, I would buy into this idea that there must be something wrong with me. I am not who I am supposed to be, I am disappointing people. All those things that made me unique, were apparently wrong. It was not long that I started adding the self-destructive thoughts and the self-harming behaviors into the mix. I was wrong for feeling as I did, being who I was.

The "Christopher" comment became the cruelest thing you could say to me. It simply said that I was not the child one had hoped for. Already with a fragile self-image, it seemed to define that I was broken, defective, and not what was expected. Referring to me as "just Christy" has the same sting. I didn't understand what was wrong with wanting to be who I felt I was, yet I just knew it was wrong.

In the development of the kids, there was a dark role. This was that role that stepped in and made sure that I paid a price for a thought or action (whether it was warranted or not). It was the role that fed the destructive thoughts. It was the role that, when I made attempts to "be myself", reminded me that this was wrong. This role, along with the general darkness that came and went, was overwhelming. It was behind the destructive thoughts and images that went through my head. It was who came forth when I injured myself. Whether it was through anger of "you deserve this" or an escape of "this will make things quiet" it was there.

After writing the last narrative and drawing the violent images that kept coming up, I quickly realized something - this was "Christopher" and even though the actions were destructive, the irony of it all was that they were only trying to protect me. Kind of confusing, yet I understand it. The destruction was the reminder that I had to be a certain way (or not a certain way) because that is what I had been taught and it was important to do what makes everyone happy and keeps peace and no contention.

Once I put the connection together, the hard work started. A lot of dialoging went on, a lot of trying to comfort and explain that it was ok to be whoever I felt I was, and that this did not have to come with destruction. Sometimes it was me explaining it, sometimes it was Christopher. One thing with the kids, they have taught me as much as I have tried to teach them. We have had to work together through this, there was not one of us greater than the other, we were all healing together.

At one point, Christopher and I seemed to reach a point of peace. Knowing that I would continue to fight with the desires to be destructive, the key was not acting on them. Under our tree was planted yellow roses, my favorites and when it got bad, I could close my eyes and go there. I could feel the pedals, see the colors, smell the fragrance, and calm myself down. Christopher and I could sit together checking it all out, knowing that we could get through things without choosing harm.

A few years ago I planted a rose bush. I loved it yet had to move it to put in a set of steps. It did not take to replanting. I never got another one. I do believe that is on the to do list for this year. Maybe a couple of them. It was always fun to go out and look at it, especially as it blossomed. I thought that they blossomed all at once, yet not so. Through the season at different times, new buds would form and open. I would trim them and share them with others. I was pretty proud that I managed to keep it alive and that it produced so many buds.

There was an exercise in the book, one of the last ones which you were to draw your creative child. I really didn't know what was going to come of it, yet as soon as I started drawing I was not surprised, it was Christopher. The picture at the top is the one that was drawn. It made sense. All that I felt I really was, that seemed to be the things that were "bad" to be, had become associated with "Christopher". The thing is, that it wasn't that it should have been bad and bad, it was actually good and good.

I have allowed myself to be that creative and imaginative person I have always felt I am. There have been times it has come out and I have been fine, and there have been times I still struggled with the negative thoughts.

It is getting better. It is amazing how understanding how things relate and all gives you strength. So, whether it was building fences, making clocks, baking and decorating cakes, and more, it was not whether it was perfect, it was that *I* did it and I *allowed* myself to do it. 

Christopher soon started showing up in drawings wearing a bandana with shorter hair. Although there are not really photos to accompany Christopher, I did laugh when I ran across this one of Ali and I building my fence in Charleston. These were the projects I found joy in doing. They are the ones I am looking forward to doing again this year.

So, the next time I ever hear, "I should have named you Christopher," I will gladly reply, "That would have been fine because Christopher is an amazing person."