LJ Idol Season 9 Week 23 - My Weakness is That I Care Too Much
o/` "I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life" o/`
-- "Scars" performed by Papa Roach
You can't 'fix' someone.
Unlike a 'handyman's special', bought in disrepair with the prospect of being restored to a semblance of its former glory by the loving hand of the property owner, the effort you put into it is only half of the equasion. The person in question has free will and can choose not to repair what is broken or to replace unhealthy prospects with healthier pursuits. In some cases, one wonders if the person offering such succor isn't the one in need of help. Does the issue really need addressed? Or is it a matter of the other wanting you to become something you're not, never have been, and do not wish to become?
I am, by nature, someone who wants to help. By misfortune, I attract folk who either want to 'fix' me or drain me of all useful resources before casting me aside.
There was Suzi, a single young mother going to the local university, who professed to need me as a teacher and role model in the magickal arts. She had always been somewhat arrogant, convinced like most of those new to paganism that she had superior and special powers if only they could be unlocked. Ordained in those arts and (so I thought at the time), unable to refuse when a seeker should come to me for teaching, I did my best to show her those things which I was not oathbound to keep secret. For almost a year, we held between us a kind of mother-daughter bond and shared meals, potions, herbal remedies...and nearly my husband. By then I'd become aware that she used what she learned to attract and manipulate others but I still hoped by showing her other means, however slower to give satisfaction they might be, she'd make better choices.
She repaid me one night by literally edging me off of the couch while the three of us watched movies, and then putting poor Mr. Shapeshifter in a most difficult position. He and I had always had boundaries for this kind of relationship, should it ever come to pass. Suzi broke them all in one night, including a rule I had which was non-negotiable: anyone getting involved with my husband had to at least maintain a close friendship with me. Her actions made it plain that she and she only would be the woman of the house. The next morning, I politely told her that I thought I had taught her all I could and we would be better off not meeting again.
Witch wars are so ugly, especially when the only defense is truth and speaking the truth get you labeled a sociopath.
There was Drake, referred to me for teaching by my old high priestess. In theory, he already had his first degree initiation into our shared Tradition but when he presented me with the Book of Shadows all neophytes are required to keep, I found it to be little more than a disturbing mix of DJ Conway's Dancing With Dragons, pieces taken from Gary Gygax's Dungeons & Dragons gaming manuals, and some material genuinely derived from Wicca. I told him from the get-go that he would have to become a seeker again and work his way through the initiatory degrees with me. Drake, of course, didn't want to learn how to properly handle material that in an inexperienced person's hands could create a helluva mess for someone (probably me, since no one else lived in proximity) to clean up. Eventually I learned that he too wanted something I couldn't give: initiation consecutively in all three degrees, recognition as a high priest, and leave to teach his own 'family' of six.
I became an uncooperative sociopath, someone hungry for power who didn't want anyone else to learn the Tradition.
There was Trey, who thought he was --- no kidding! --- the ghost of a Texas Ranger and wanted my help getting back into the Rangers. He was so certain that he needed only a priestess' blessing to accomplish this act. In his rantings and ravings (most of which barely touched on history and more often sounded like one of those dreadful penny novels of the era) he managed to alienate everyone who dined with us that night. Denied as gently as possible the magickal help he thought he needed, I suggested medical intervention. We could, I assured him, talk over his spiritual inclinations once he had his psychological issues in hand. It's unfortunate convention security didn't take me seriously when I reported the incident. Mr. Shapeshifter and I came back to our hotel room from a late visitation with friends to find our roommate disappeared and Trey, dressed in jeans and black buckskin with a wolf tail attached to the belt, informing us she wouldn't be our guest for the rest of the weekend.
Great. Now I'm an uncooperative sociopath who could have helped her friend and didn't follow through. You're supposed to know when someone has used a glamour on you (yes, they do exist, they just don't work as most people think they do) especially if you've been a priestess as long as I have.
There were others down through the years and I had pretty much the same results.
It's only now occurring to me that their problems were theirs, mine are mine, and never the twain shall meet. I am not the world's savior and I am not responsible for 'fixing' those around me. I can point the way, I can give instructions, but I can't 'fix' them any more than you can fix history. It's simply not mine to fix and it's not even fair of them to ask.
I don't need fixing because I'm not broken. If they need fixing, they need to do it themselves. I am neither the answer nor the cure. I'm just a fellow traveler through life.
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life" o/`
-- "Scars" performed by Papa Roach
You can't 'fix' someone.
Unlike a 'handyman's special', bought in disrepair with the prospect of being restored to a semblance of its former glory by the loving hand of the property owner, the effort you put into it is only half of the equasion. The person in question has free will and can choose not to repair what is broken or to replace unhealthy prospects with healthier pursuits. In some cases, one wonders if the person offering such succor isn't the one in need of help. Does the issue really need addressed? Or is it a matter of the other wanting you to become something you're not, never have been, and do not wish to become?
I am, by nature, someone who wants to help. By misfortune, I attract folk who either want to 'fix' me or drain me of all useful resources before casting me aside.
There was Suzi, a single young mother going to the local university, who professed to need me as a teacher and role model in the magickal arts. She had always been somewhat arrogant, convinced like most of those new to paganism that she had superior and special powers if only they could be unlocked. Ordained in those arts and (so I thought at the time), unable to refuse when a seeker should come to me for teaching, I did my best to show her those things which I was not oathbound to keep secret. For almost a year, we held between us a kind of mother-daughter bond and shared meals, potions, herbal remedies...and nearly my husband. By then I'd become aware that she used what she learned to attract and manipulate others but I still hoped by showing her other means, however slower to give satisfaction they might be, she'd make better choices.
She repaid me one night by literally edging me off of the couch while the three of us watched movies, and then putting poor Mr. Shapeshifter in a most difficult position. He and I had always had boundaries for this kind of relationship, should it ever come to pass. Suzi broke them all in one night, including a rule I had which was non-negotiable: anyone getting involved with my husband had to at least maintain a close friendship with me. Her actions made it plain that she and she only would be the woman of the house. The next morning, I politely told her that I thought I had taught her all I could and we would be better off not meeting again.
Witch wars are so ugly, especially when the only defense is truth and speaking the truth get you labeled a sociopath.
There was Drake, referred to me for teaching by my old high priestess. In theory, he already had his first degree initiation into our shared Tradition but when he presented me with the Book of Shadows all neophytes are required to keep, I found it to be little more than a disturbing mix of DJ Conway's Dancing With Dragons, pieces taken from Gary Gygax's Dungeons & Dragons gaming manuals, and some material genuinely derived from Wicca. I told him from the get-go that he would have to become a seeker again and work his way through the initiatory degrees with me. Drake, of course, didn't want to learn how to properly handle material that in an inexperienced person's hands could create a helluva mess for someone (probably me, since no one else lived in proximity) to clean up. Eventually I learned that he too wanted something I couldn't give: initiation consecutively in all three degrees, recognition as a high priest, and leave to teach his own 'family' of six.
I became an uncooperative sociopath, someone hungry for power who didn't want anyone else to learn the Tradition.
There was Trey, who thought he was --- no kidding! --- the ghost of a Texas Ranger and wanted my help getting back into the Rangers. He was so certain that he needed only a priestess' blessing to accomplish this act. In his rantings and ravings (most of which barely touched on history and more often sounded like one of those dreadful penny novels of the era) he managed to alienate everyone who dined with us that night. Denied as gently as possible the magickal help he thought he needed, I suggested medical intervention. We could, I assured him, talk over his spiritual inclinations once he had his psychological issues in hand. It's unfortunate convention security didn't take me seriously when I reported the incident. Mr. Shapeshifter and I came back to our hotel room from a late visitation with friends to find our roommate disappeared and Trey, dressed in jeans and black buckskin with a wolf tail attached to the belt, informing us she wouldn't be our guest for the rest of the weekend.
Great. Now I'm an uncooperative sociopath who could have helped her friend and didn't follow through. You're supposed to know when someone has used a glamour on you (yes, they do exist, they just don't work as most people think they do) especially if you've been a priestess as long as I have.
There were others down through the years and I had pretty much the same results.
It's only now occurring to me that their problems were theirs, mine are mine, and never the twain shall meet. I am not the world's savior and I am not responsible for 'fixing' those around me. I can point the way, I can give instructions, but I can't 'fix' them any more than you can fix history. It's simply not mine to fix and it's not even fair of them to ask.
I don't need fixing because I'm not broken. If they need fixing, they need to do it themselves. I am neither the answer nor the cure. I'm just a fellow traveler through life.