Why I live the way I do
| Being a Hermit Ain't Bad|
After learning about my abuse, most people think I'm a hermit because of it.
I did withdraw from the social world so I could start healing from recovered memories.
But I still went to work. I still went to the grocery store. I still went out in public. I was never afraid of leaving my home.
One of the pluses that developed from my childhood was a sensitivity to the moods of other people. Since most of my jobs were in customer service, this empathy was useful for connecting with people, to make them feel comfortable, to show understanding.
Then I retired.
Little by little, I limited my contacts with the outside world. But this withdrawal wasn't from fear. It was from relief, pure and simple.
If I had to go to the store, or the bank, or the doctors', or my grandson's birthday party, no problem. I simply got into my car and went.
But if I didn't have to go, I didn't. I'm not a clothes shopper, I don't walk around shopping centers, just looking. I don't go to parties or any types of social events. My childhood, also, taught me the uselessness of stuff.
I started to wonder; was being isolated a direct result of lingering fear from my younger days? Then, I figured it out.
It was a lifetime of catering to entitled, spoiled people; to bosses who thought sex was in the job description or couldn't see me as an asset; people who demanded and demeaned and became violent to get their way, people who thought my intelligence was a threat. These types of people outweighed the courteous, the sweet, the very nice customers I encountered.
I've worked hard to have my own place; to have the peace that I needed. Now I have it. I have flowers and fields and fresh air and cats, and, most important, my writing. Why would I want to go out?
I am happy and I don't see living this way as a punishment. I think it is a gift.