cynicism - criticism - cool

cynicism - criticism - cool

From what Brene says, I'd describe these three as the breastplates of invulnerability armor.  And all three, especially the last, was an integral part of my sister, Mim.

It wasn't until I started my elementary school teaching practicum that an observing master teacher had to TELL me, "Elsa, sarcasm doesn't work well as an education tool."  I didn't know what she meant. It was a natural part of conversations in our household, where cynicism reigned.  Not from Mom, but she was never the driver of conversations.  That was Mim.  It was so part of our daily give & take, I would never had identified it as a negative quality.  It just was.

And criticism - whew!  To this day, remember standing at the edges of a cousin's wedding reception & Mim ripping apart the food as tacky, poorly made, clumsily presented.  Vienna sausage in barbeque sauce is what sticks most in my mind.  We'd ditch the party, held in a social room of a very nice mall, and head for the hardware store.  Now, why we were checking out hardware instead of Hallmark is beyond me - didn't think to question it at the time.  Except that two young women dressed for a wedding certainly stood out more at the one than at the other.  

Standing out was very important to my sister.  I don't know if she wanted people to think of her as cool, but she certainly wanted them to appreciate that she was different.  Not cut from the same herd as the rest.  Uncommonly uncommon.  

Those three - cynicism, criticism, being special - were part of Mim's very warp & woof.  Ditto Peter.  Thinking back, I can't remember Mom ever calling either of them on their harsh critiques or withering comments.  Maybe to her, that was just who they were.  I doubt it would have occurred to her that, as their parent, she had any right (let alone responsibility) to say something.  

Parents are meant to call their kids on being mean-spirited.  Even when the children are grown, even when they have kids of their own.  Because that's what parents do.  My brother & sister were toast, because that was something Mom could not do.  It wasn't a responsibility she abdicated.  Something deep in her own past made it impossible.  

There I was, with heavily armored older siblings & a parent unable to spring to their defense.  Praise be for that master teacher, telling me, "Elsa, sarcasm doesn't work well..."  For opening my eyes to the pinching, immobilizing invulnerability armor I'd put on as my own, for helping me see it was a bad fit, for letting me wake up to better.