Before I started kindergarten at age five, I knew what was expected of me and adjusted to my good girl role. I was quiet, flexible, easy to get along with. With my brother, my sisterly acts came across as bossy and Mom threateded that "he would get me back" one day. But, for the most part, Mom was content with my behavior and Dad was unconcerned.
When I started kindergarten and then grade school, I was a fish out of water. I was much better at daydreaming than paying attention. My mind-wandering inclinations caused hurtful consequences imposed by my teachers that caught me off guard. I felt ashamed. Yet, I remained silent about my difficult feelings. I suppressed, then buried how I felt to maintain peace and harmony between Mom and myself. And I was afraid of her.
Silence about my negative feelings made them invisible. I was comfortable having my dark side invisible and the “good girl” aura it created. I believe my quiet demeanor helped me to adjust in school, find a niche in drawing and painting, and enjoy the positive attention I received from my artwork both at home and at school. I finally felt safe and was satisfied with the way things were. I understood and adjusted to the terms and conditions of remaining in Paradise and I was OK with it. Most of the time.
On occasion I would test the waters to see if my emotional needs would be met. When I was in sixth grade, I complained to Mom that I didn’t have friends. I shared my observation that at the beginning of each school year, I was constantly being placed in a different class from the rest of my classmates. My classmates were able to form bonds because of the constancy they shared, whereas I didn’t have that opportunity. Mom responded with pride: “ But Wendy, you adjust so well”. The terms and conditions of Paradise remained intact: my difficult and unpleasant nature stayed submerged. The buried feelings would later erupt in an artistic explosion of work that rediscovered the hidden parts of me.
