Jul. 24th, 2015

lollypox: (Satyr)
I've recently run up against The Dance.
The Dance of Anger, though there are many other dances. In this dance, the dancer decides that something must change, but the process of change is too scary, so they return to the familiar steps of the dance, which is making them miserable. I know the dance. I pray always that I will have the strength to step out of The Dance whenever I can.

And I see so many people trapped in The Dance. Here's an example:


"Oh, woe is me... I'll never have a blue ball gown!"
"Blue? You're what, a size 14? Sure. Here you go."
"Uh. Whut. Er, yes, I'm a size 14, but this ball gown is turquoise."
"Ah, so it is. You were looking for Cerulean? More of a steel-blue? Royal blue? Navy?"
"I... no... that's not exactly what I meant."
"NOt blue? I have other colors. OH! Here's a silver one with blue twinkles. Just like Cinderella. Want to try it on?"
"No... no thank you. I... have no where to wear such a thing... and none of the right jewelry..."
"Shoes and jewelry are in the box behind you. There's a party tonight, or we could just go dancing."
"I can't afford to..."
"Nah, no cover tonight; I know the door guy. You do, too; he's an old friend."
"I'm not feeling very social..."
"Sure. It doesn't have to be tonight. When would you like to go out?"
"Uh, well, there's no where in the schedule..."
"Oh. Hmm, well I'm available for child care on Friday and Saturday night, or I could come on Wednesday."
"I don't think my husband would-"
"Are you kidding? I already cleared this with him."
"I'm not feeling well. I'm going to go lie down..."

And so the person who thought she wanted a blue ball gown talks herself out of a blue ball gown.
Maybe what she wanted was to feel like Cinderella. Maybe what she wanted was a dress like a bridesmaid she saw when she was a kid; all soft pastel chiffon layers that swish when she twirls. Maybe the dress doesn't even really enter into it; she wanted to feel like a teenager in an awkward but fancy and beautiful dress, surrounded by promise and opportunity. Maybe what she wanted wasn't the dress, or the party, or the dancing but to feel special. Maybe she wanted to be able to snap her own fingers and make such a dress suddenly appear, and is frustrated with her own budgetary restrictions.

Maybe she just wanted to go shopping.

But until she can articulate what she wants, she cannot have her blue ball gown.
And sometimes, the person who offers her the best blue ball gown isn't quite the right person, so it doesn't mean as much.

As the fairy godmother with hot-and-cold ball gowns on tap, I must say that my only selfish thought is that it hurts like a bitch when Cinderella doesn't want my gown, the shoes, the party, or the prince that I can offer her.
Especially when she's not interested in anything else I can give her, either. Like a hug.

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