Unpack It & Grieve (If Appropriate)

Compartmentalization is the process of capturing and subsequently locking away pain.  That container is constructed of a series of emotionally reinforced mental partitions, often hastily and no doubt in reaction to the intensity of the (oft unexpected) situation.  

For experience (life) is like a river that carries you along.  Especially during childhood.  But when you find yourself unexpectedly dejected (or otherwise) like I wrote about a few posts back (Wednesday, 1/5), the most viable reaction at the time may very well be compartmentalization.  For emotional overload is just that.  Overload. 

Please consider this post as a "Part 2".  I'm going to detail how I successfully unpacked my aforementioned childhood swimming pool physical assault experience - over the course of our end-of-2021 vacation week - prior to discussing what I've determined to be the next step (within an inevitable "Part 3" post).

-------------------------

Unpacking takes strength and visibility of oneself (whilst in relation to what was compartmentalized) relative to both the why and what is compartmentalized.  The strength is what powers the workload, and the visibility of oneself acknowledges your ownership ("You did this.") of what actually got packed away.

What's lovely about the strength component is, as I've found personally, there are opportunities where within certain circumstances, other men can indirectly assist.

And this is where I'm going to descend (go deeper personally).  I'll do my best not to confuse you.

My defectiveness (see "Part 1" post) is centered on me having such a weak, if not completely absent sense of masculinity, therefore whilst relating to certain other guys, I do find myself, at times, leaning into theirs.  But only if I sense that they're respectfully relating to Rob.  

And when I say respectfully, I'm not referring to mannerisms.  That's not it at all.  I'm referring to the root word:  respect. 

Respect:  a feeling of deep admiration for someone or something elicited by their abilities, qualities, or achievements.

Too often, this respect is hinged on their seeing me as a mentor-type friend, but I digress.  It's the respect portion of the relationship that's critical for me to slip past my shame long enough to do some covertly coupled (to them & the situation) internal work.  

-------------------------

We all have our childhood selves living inside.  In spite of our physical age, they're there.  I believe they can be especially present (during adulthood) as it pertains to a traumatizing childhood event(s).  For Rob, that subconscious boy is who's appeased / entertained when I choose to look at gay porn.  It's his eyes who're satiated with imagery that harken back to teenage lust-filled fantasies.  

Realizing this truth, I have found that one of the best questions to ask of that inner child is "What do you really want?"  

Mine inevitably answers "I want to be pursued by my masculine archetype in order to receive the affirmation that was held back from / escaped me when you (adult Rob) were my age."

-------------------------

Whilst vacationing last week in Sandestin, I spent a good bit of time in the resort Fitness Center either alone or with the girls.  On the third day of me going about my routine there, there was an older white male patron who was being quite the prick.  His MO (hopefully only during that particular day) was to obnoxiously chide others over his insistence that equipment be thoroughly wiped down (after usage).  He'd stationed himself right in the center of the space, moving back and forth between two benches, all the while eyeing everyone with eagerness as he anticipated antagonistically barking their way.

I remember taking note of a few of the younger clientele simply aborting their workouts in response to his noisy outbursts, though most chose to ignore him (as I did).

This man was well into his 70s or perhaps 80s, and he was going at it like quite the stallion there on the floor.  The decidedly heavy dumbbell free weights, incline barbell machine, and one end of the cable weight rack were his mainstays.  

I stationed myself directly in front of him on an adjustable bench well before even sardonically considering leaning in.  As such, I was simply determined to outlast this geezer, but my cockiness eventually segued to respect.  From there, I found myself pumping iron for far longer than I'd normally commit to.

And yes, after I finally concluded my ad Hoc routine there under his cantankerous eye, I took a moist towelette and did the right thing.  That was my way of subtlety thanking him for garnering my inner boy's respect.

After the fact, I could not remember a time when I'd worked out for as long and with as much fortitude.  In spite of this, I felt renewed and energized.

-------------------------

The photograph of the two boys wrestling at the bottom of "Part 1" of that post isn't an arbitrary image.  The boy facing the camera is the Minnesotan (older of the two brothers).

From what my inner boy Rob recalls, this athletically built teen looks very similar to and has the same masculine swagger of the teen who physically assaulted him / me as a child.  Yet, other than that, the similarities drop off.  

As you might imagine, it took a number of evenings last week to finally coax my inner boy to come around, but once he did, he leaned into this kindhearted jock no holds barred.  And you should know that I believe wholeheartedly that the nighttime swimming pool setting was God breathed for this opportunity to present itself.  

And oh my goodness, it was such a healing experience for boy Rob / me.  

So what do I mean exactly by leaning in?  Respectfully acknowledging (cross pollination) the attention / respect.  That's the first step.  From there, it's observing very closely who the individual is / how they're engaging - WITH ADULT (IN RECOVERY) ROB EYES.  And that's super important.  Because the last thing I want to happen is to fall back into juvenile lust.

As I'm sure you've figured out, this respectful observational process is where the unpacking occurs.  For as I'm annotating / updating my childhood experiences with these new experiences, I can't help but see my boyhood self gleefully taking part whilst using my adult Rob strength to pull it off.  And no, this doesn't change or blot out my childhood trauma, but I can now at least sit with it out of the box.

  

Throughout all the years that I've had the privilege of being involved in Samson Society, there's been no better lesson learned than how to do this.  For if you could quantify the amount of compartmentalizing I've accomplished, it would amount to the contents of an entire set of 1980s Encyclopedia Britannica's.  Hence, there's a boatload to unpack.  Thanks be to God for the men who've come in and out of my life, who've allowed me to lean in for such a time as that.  I'm no doubt a better, more settled man for it.  

Contemplating Suicide? Lost Someone To Suicide? Recommended Viewing

"How To Grow A Beard & Mustache In 2022: Tips, Styling & Products" - Recommended Reading

 How To Grow a Beard & Mustache in 2022: Tips, Styling & Products | SPY

Ebenezer, Mississippi Place Workshop - Samson Society Exclusive Offer

 

For more detailed information about this opportunity, please contact Mr. Justin Schwind at dukex55@gmail.com.  

Bad / Poor Mouthing

Bad / poor mouthing is the practice of tearing others down behind their backs.  It's usually executed amongst a triangulated peer group - friends, family, co-workers, and it's done because we all feel - at times - entitled to do so.  

Entitled means "believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment."

Arrogance is what fuels feeling entitled.  Arrogance means "the quality of being arrogant."

Arrogant means "having or revealing an exaggerated sense of one's own importance or abilities."

Exaggerate means "represent (something) as being larger, better, or worse than it really is."

-------------------------

Individuals who poor mouth should be wary of not experiencing one distinct side effect:  guilt.  Usually it's immediate for it doesn't take but a split second to hear one's own callousness.

If you're one of the fortunate ones subjected to these reactionary pangs, be thankful (whilst heeding them).  For that's your conscience doing its good work on your behalf.  

From there, drop to your knees and thank God that you still have a conscience that's properly calibrated and functional.

If you're one of those whose innards stay silent immediately following bad / poor mouthing, please make a point to read (& commit to memory) James 3 as soon as possible.

And just so you know, James was the brother of Jesus.  That makes his words that much more relevant.

Lagniappe

Recommended Sniffing - LOL

 American Households Face Their Worst Fear: ‘Ew, What’s That Smell?’ - WSJ

Reclaiming Childhood Trauma With The Help Of Unexpected New Friends (From MN Of All Places)

The +/-300-400 ranch housed 'hood I was reared in (Madison during the '80s) had a neighborhood pool that had been constructed as an optional amenity for the homeowners.  There was no homeowners' association to govern this mid-70s' subdivision, yet this pool was fortunately maintained - seasonally - by a group of volunteers - paying utility bills, overseeing upkeep, and distributing pool "membership" keys each summer.

The inground pool was a large rectangle with a slide, diving board serving the 12'-0" deep end.  As such, it was more than sufficient to accommodate the Traceland North throngs during the summertime.  

There weren't many occasions during my childhood where swimming at night within this pool was encouraged / allowed, but I do vividly recall spending countless mornings / afternoons there.  Bob & Darlene always ate dinner fairly early, therefore usually by 5 PM, we'd have vacated the swimming pool for the short drive back home.

Yet, there was one distinct occasion during my childhood where I did find myself at this pool at night, and it was then that I discovered how quickly a comfortable, very familiar setting can be so easily robbed of all its noteworthiness.

-------------------------

The photo below is from the glossy cover of a 1988 wall calendar I kept "in my secret stash" as a teen.  The model shown here (gotta love that mullet!) was featured a handful of times within the publication, but it was this cover photo that mesmerized / captivated young Rob.  I nervously purchased this wall calendar at Northpark Mall's Spencer Gifts under the tutelage that I was "needing a gag gift" for one of my imaginary sisters.  I can still remember the excitement of removing the plastic wrap once I had it home.  And from there, sexual fantasy after sexual fantasy ensued, most of which centered on this guy pursuing me tenderly.  The fantasy made me feel safe, loved and important.  It was as reliable as daybreak, yet situating itself with great reliability as indwelling sin.

-------------------------

When I was around the age (11 - 12) of my youngest daughter, Darlene entrusted me to some older neighborhood boys one evening while she and my dad went out.  This was during the summer, and the plan was for these teens to keep up with Rob whilst night swimming at the aforementioned neighborhood swimming pool.  I was understandably a little anxious about this setup, having never been put into this situation before.  These older boys were around the ages of 16 and 19 at the time.  They were brothers and both lived with their 'rents on the opposite side (from us) of our 'hood.  Though I didn't know them well, I'd agreed to this setup in order to accommodate my parents.  Plus, I sort of liked the notion of spending time alone with these older boys at the pool outside the bounds of routine.  I remember them as tough, carefree teens whose overconfidence far exceeded my own.  

Unfortunately, what happened that evening truly served to turn my love of that venue as well as any semblance of love for myself on its head, and the outcome here had all the more voracity due to Satan's impeccable timing (early adolescence).

-------------------------

Last week (the week between Christmas and New Year's), we vacationed in Sandestin, FL, renting a condo overlooking the beautiful Gulf.  We'd never been there during the winter, yet we were pleasantly surprised at the (unseasonably?) balmy weather and overall smaller crowds.  The swimming pools are heated this time of year which helps with the comfort level - particularly if you choose to swim at night.  My daughters love swimming, but they especially love ending their vacation days with a swim.  For me though, swimming at night has never been an especially enjoyable experience, and up until last week, I wasn't exactly sure why.

Because of the breezy, chilled night air, even fewer resort vacationers joined us in the water after the sun went down (early).  Yet, during our first evening there, two boys did surprisingly appear.  I'd taken note of the older of the two (an unusually athletically built 16-year-old) as he slipped into the hot tub a few minutes prior with his younger brother.

After a few minutes of continuing to toss a glow football between my girls, I waded over to these (obviously) brothers and inquired if they'd be interested in joining in the fun.  And this set the stage for a very unique, temporary friendship.  A friendship that resulted in all of us rendezvousing most nights, within that same hourglass-shaped pool, throughout the time we were there.

You need to know that the boys were from rural Minnesota.  As such, having never been to this sprawling seaside resort (much less FL), they truly were fish out of water.  We had the best time getting to know and having the privilege of being hospitable to them.  Later in the week, I also had the good fortune of meeting their father (poolside), and from there, both of our families agreed to share dinner at a local pizzeria at the conclusion of our time together.  It was a blast.

-------------------------

Through all of this, God tenderly reminded me of the physical assault I experienced as an 11 - 12-year-old boy at my long since compartmentalized Traceland North swimming pool.  It was as if he literally walked me back to the horror hand-in-hand as night after night we'd reconvene with our routine there at Sandestin.  Observing these MN brothers' masculine character, in such sharp contrast to what I'd experienced as a boy, served as the perfect reformative sauve.  For it so clearly demonstrated how much I'd longed to be / understood how I could have been affirmed within that swimming pool setting all those years ago.  

The physical assault was a childhood horror that I'd never spoken of to anyone.  For in and through that, I'd had impregnated within me the notion of young Rob being defective relative to his masculinity.  Hence, from that point forward, I simply refused to face my defective self.  Immediately following, I began hiding and turning inward to placate / medicate my trauma.  And that's where homosexual fantasy, in many ways, became my "adolescence preserver".  

Please know that I cannot underestimate the intense shame I experienced as a result of being treated, by these adolescent guardians, with so little respect.  What little masculine dignity I had - at that time - as a very young man, was literally stripped clean that night.

In closing, I'm grateful to have clear direction relative to my work ahead.  For 2022 will definitely be a year of focusing on unpacking / wrestling with this notion of childhood me being internally labeled as defect(ive).  Combined with all the ramifications therein, I hope to best position the boy inside, going forward, in opposition to that label.