I went back to my hometown last weekend and visited all the places too. I’m not quite where you are but it wasn’t as painful as I expected. This was delightful, Nan! You are such an inspiration.
I'm glad it wasn't what you feared. I think the space of time (many years), geography (I hadn't been in SO many years) and so many years of therapy, that it wasn't as painful as I expected. It was a happy surprise. xo
I also found a stack of Playboys in the bathroom of a family I babysat for LOL. In the master suite, not the main bathroom. I was fascinated by them! Also by a picture I found stuck in one of our encyclopedia volumes at home (I was the only child out of five who sat and read the encyclopedia for fun) - a Playboy centerfold but smaller. I think it was from a jigsaw puzzle, weirdly. But I was obsessed with it.
What a wonderful walk down memory lane with you. I really enjoyed the healed you looking back with a new perspectives. Although what that boy did annoyed me and I wasn’t as forgiving, but I softened a bit thinking he’s the product of the patriarchy and emotions are hard for boys subsequently. I just hope he’s grown into a nicer man.
Thanks, Sheila. I had a weird text exchange with him in the last couple of years. He had no recollection of what happened, and didn't want to know the details. He acknowledged that back then he as an asshole, but told me that he hates himself enough, and didn't want to add more to his pile by hearing the whole story and what it did to me. So I wrote about it instead. It's too bad that he's unhappy. I hope he can resolve his hard stuff, but that's his job, not mine. I did feel, again, like he'd taken something from me, by not wanting to know everything, but I understood as well not wanting to hear how he hurt me.
Oh wow, that does sound like quite the strange exchange. I wouldn't want anyone to hate themselves, ever, that's awful. But, if he didn't like himself then, and he doesn't like himself now, I feel like he needs to make some changes. Hopefully one day he can hear the story and that it could educate him into being a nicer person. We can also sit in self-pity and use it as a way to continue being a jerk, I'm absolutely sure I've been guilty of this, even though I can't think of a specific example.
I thoroughly enjoyed hearing the story and this extra part too.
At this point, his self-care or lack of ability to do something proactive for himself is none of my business. I even feel for him...a little. Glad you enjoyed.
Dead! Right! You're so right. I do have a bit of a problem in using empathy energy when it's just not needed, or useful. We've got our own shit to be getting on with!
I did, I do and I look forward to reading/listening to more of what you have to say.x
I loved the tone of the entire piece. I especially appreciated the phrases “recovered memories” and “turning toward love”. The actual size of the hill in my childhood yard explains why I never captured enough lift for my umbrella to carry me off like Mary Poppins. Loved your style and message.
Such glorious storytelling in this piece. The honesty makes me both happy and sad because we all have these stories, don't we? Thank you for sharing this!
First name is Vicki. Mimi is my favorite name, though, from my grands. I have a rather large group (ten grands plus two bonus grands that might as well be ours, too!).
"I marveled at how much the town I grew up in has changed, and how it hasn’t. I marvel at how much I’ve changed, and how I haven’t. The fear and anger are falling away, and the “me” who was always there––but hid herself––is shining through."
Nan, I had the same experience when I went back to the town I grew up in. By the way, the trees appear shorter now because when we viewed them as children we were much littler!
I was pretty hungry for male attention when I was 12 and behaved promiscuously with boys. Not full-blown sex, just heavy necking, which shocked the local boys. They didn't know what to make of me, so they started a rumor around school that I was a sex maniac. This isolated me in a hole I didn't want to be in, and I was laughed at and shunned by everyone. I was relieved when we moved to another town.
Years later, when I was 57 and happily living with my handsome partner of 31 years (now), we went to my high school reunion in that town, and the boys who ridiculed me were there. But no "Hi, how are you doing, Marilea?" Just smirks and stares. As though that were the only thing that mattered after so many years. Don't people grow and change (if they're lucky)? Apparently they didn't. I ignored them when they sat down at my table (to get a closer look, I bet), got up with the gorgeous love of my life, and Gene and I danced and smiled, said hi to a few others, and left feeling quite victorious. Thanks to my recovery program, I have grown and changed, and I have more self-confidence. And they were still the jerks who got a kick out of spoiling my life and self-esteem for quite a while.
People can be ridiculous. We have that experience in common, too, to a degree. You may have already read this one, but here it is just in case: https://nantepper.com/p/the-new-kid-in-town I went to one high school reunion 10 years after. That was enough for me! xo
Nan, you've crafted this essay exactly as needed to illustrate the healing journey you are on, even the step-wise approach to revisiting all those old memories. Naming and releasing, discovering that your heart has made room for new stories. Just beautiful! And Phyllis! What a treasure.
I'm curious about where on Long Island you grew up. You may prefer to not say publicly, which I could understand. Just that my husband also grew up there, and we lived there for three years together, mostly way "out east" on the north fork.
Thanks, Elizabeth! Yes, to Phyllis. She's the best. And a beauty, too. I grew up in Syosset on the eastern border of Nassau County. Long Island was not for me, but I probably would have enjoyed the North Fork more. Life is for learning and growing...that's my take. xo
His folks were from Brooklyn but moved their young family to East Islip. We lived there and out east. Even in the 90s, it was becoming very expensive and overpopulated out there. I don't think it would suit us at all now.
I like that you took yourself slowly backward through time, like carefully unraveling the knots in a delicate gold chain. I have been back to visit my elementary school and marveled at how low the bathroom sinks and water fountains now seem. I would love to get inside my growing up house and see if the maroon bathroom still holds its odd odor. I want to peer down the three-story laundry chute. I am consoled by the fact that details like those remain untarnished in my memory. Love your stuff!
This week I listened to your beautiful, reflective, vulnerable and so relatable essay, Nan. I love LOVE your oral storytelling voice (as I record my weekly essays, I am taking note of your superb pacing, cadence, pauses and emphasis in just the right spots!) Last year I visited my own hometown too and my old elementary school and high school; one of my closest and oldest friends still lives there, in the house she grew up in where she is raising her adopted son attending our same high school. So with her, we always cruise around, making stops around Memory Lane, marveling at what has changed and what is the same. My high school yearbook which I came across recently--what an artifact of a specific time and place, so meaningful for so many of us. I am so glad for all the insights your trip back home gave you and an affirmation that you are exactly where you need to be. And how funny about the Playboy magazines and that your friend has kept them all these years.
Yes here’s to letting go of perfection in all things. I know my voice overs are human, flawed, me…which is essentially what we are all doing here (on Substack & in the world 💗
Thanks for listening, Amy! I love recording my stories so much, and decided when I started that it's okay to make mistakes, to trip over words, and not worry about any of it being perfect. It's so helpful when I fall into the "I want everything to be perfect" trap. The old memories influence so much about how I hold my current world. I'm committed to healing my memories, since I can't heal the past, if that makes any sense at all. Letting go is a welcome choice. xoxo AND yes, to the Playboys. Jack died a few months after my biological father. He was my second dad and the complete opposite of my father (who I adored, as well). I miss them both very much.
Beautiful! Your story calls to mind the definition of recovery: to get back that which was lost. Your journey illustrates retrieving scattered pieces of yourself, getting back the energy that used to be trapped in pain, and recovering your innocence through self-compassion. I loved reading it - thank you!
Lovely. I’ve done the same, the giant hill I had to walk each day to elementary school was barely steeper than our driveway. There’s the truth of fact. And the truth of memory. The don’t always match. ❤️
I can so relate to your memory of finding your old house and how everything looked so much smaller. A few years back I attended my 50th high school reunion in Des Moines, Iowa. My dad was transferred there half way through my 9th grade year and transferred out just after I graduated as a senior. So I hadn’t been back there in almost 50 years. I didn’t recognize anything about the town except the area right around where my old high school was, but even it had grown three-fold. I ventured out on my own to find the house we lived in. It was hard finding it, the town had grown so much, but I eventually did after snaking back and forth on neighborhood streets. But similar to you, I had to really stare at it to make out THAT was our house. As I was parked across the street staring at the house, a guy was in the garage looking at me and asked if he could help me with something. (I think I was taking pictures too!!) I got out and started chatting with him and he invited me into the house as he was doing some renovation on it. We walked in through the garage (yep it WAS my house) and into the tiny dining nook with the tiny kitchen, next to the tiny living room where so many memories began flooding back. We walked down the amazingly short narrow hallway and yep there were the three tiny bedrooms (mine, my folks, and a guest room) and then the stairs to the basement. After a few more minutes, I thanked him for the tour and said “good-bye”. As I got back in the car and looked at the house - (where did that huge tree come from in the front yard?)- I marveled at how small everything seemed. And yet - what a big big world it was to me when I was 16.
As I reflect back now on the girl with so many dreams and aspirations, I feel tremendous gratitude - that I’ve been given the chance to truly live into and experience the challenges and joys of fulfilling on those dreams. And now, continuing to do so. Honored to be a fellow traveler on the path of life with you Nan. Xoxox
OMG, I love this, Mary Anne. Such a beautiful description of what you experienced in Des Moines. I thought about knocking on the door to see if I could go in. I wanted to stand in my bedroom, particularly. But I didn't. I passed. That season has passed for me in many ways. I keep some of it alive through these stories. My schools all looked exactly the same as they did when I was there which I found rather shocking, though comforting as well. Love to you, MAE. xo
I went back to my hometown last weekend and visited all the places too. I’m not quite where you are but it wasn’t as painful as I expected. This was delightful, Nan! You are such an inspiration.
I'm glad it wasn't what you feared. I think the space of time (many years), geography (I hadn't been in SO many years) and so many years of therapy, that it wasn't as painful as I expected. It was a happy surprise. xo
I also found a stack of Playboys in the bathroom of a family I babysat for LOL. In the master suite, not the main bathroom. I was fascinated by them! Also by a picture I found stuck in one of our encyclopedia volumes at home (I was the only child out of five who sat and read the encyclopedia for fun) - a Playboy centerfold but smaller. I think it was from a jigsaw puzzle, weirdly. But I was obsessed with it.
What a wonderful walk down memory lane with you. I really enjoyed the healed you looking back with a new perspectives. Although what that boy did annoyed me and I wasn’t as forgiving, but I softened a bit thinking he’s the product of the patriarchy and emotions are hard for boys subsequently. I just hope he’s grown into a nicer man.
Thanks, Sheila. I had a weird text exchange with him in the last couple of years. He had no recollection of what happened, and didn't want to know the details. He acknowledged that back then he as an asshole, but told me that he hates himself enough, and didn't want to add more to his pile by hearing the whole story and what it did to me. So I wrote about it instead. It's too bad that he's unhappy. I hope he can resolve his hard stuff, but that's his job, not mine. I did feel, again, like he'd taken something from me, by not wanting to know everything, but I understood as well not wanting to hear how he hurt me.
Oh wow, that does sound like quite the strange exchange. I wouldn't want anyone to hate themselves, ever, that's awful. But, if he didn't like himself then, and he doesn't like himself now, I feel like he needs to make some changes. Hopefully one day he can hear the story and that it could educate him into being a nicer person. We can also sit in self-pity and use it as a way to continue being a jerk, I'm absolutely sure I've been guilty of this, even though I can't think of a specific example.
I thoroughly enjoyed hearing the story and this extra part too.
At this point, his self-care or lack of ability to do something proactive for himself is none of my business. I even feel for him...a little. Glad you enjoyed.
Dead! Right! You're so right. I do have a bit of a problem in using empathy energy when it's just not needed, or useful. We've got our own shit to be getting on with!
I did, I do and I look forward to reading/listening to more of what you have to say.x
Thanks, Sheila! xo
I loved the tone of the entire piece. I especially appreciated the phrases “recovered memories” and “turning toward love”. The actual size of the hill in my childhood yard explains why I never captured enough lift for my umbrella to carry me off like Mary Poppins. Loved your style and message.
Such glorious storytelling in this piece. The honesty makes me both happy and sad because we all have these stories, don't we? Thank you for sharing this!
Thank you so much, Mimi (I'm making an assumption that that's your first name?) We all do have these stories, for sure! xo
First name is Vicki. Mimi is my favorite name, though, from my grands. I have a rather large group (ten grands plus two bonus grands that might as well be ours, too!).
Thanks for filling me in! I called my grandmother "Meme." Nice to meet you, Vicki. xo
Nice to meet you, and thanks for allowing me to participate in your Substack journey.
"I marveled at how much the town I grew up in has changed, and how it hasn’t. I marvel at how much I’ve changed, and how I haven’t. The fear and anger are falling away, and the “me” who was always there––but hid herself––is shining through."
Nan, I had the same experience when I went back to the town I grew up in. By the way, the trees appear shorter now because when we viewed them as children we were much littler!
I was pretty hungry for male attention when I was 12 and behaved promiscuously with boys. Not full-blown sex, just heavy necking, which shocked the local boys. They didn't know what to make of me, so they started a rumor around school that I was a sex maniac. This isolated me in a hole I didn't want to be in, and I was laughed at and shunned by everyone. I was relieved when we moved to another town.
Years later, when I was 57 and happily living with my handsome partner of 31 years (now), we went to my high school reunion in that town, and the boys who ridiculed me were there. But no "Hi, how are you doing, Marilea?" Just smirks and stares. As though that were the only thing that mattered after so many years. Don't people grow and change (if they're lucky)? Apparently they didn't. I ignored them when they sat down at my table (to get a closer look, I bet), got up with the gorgeous love of my life, and Gene and I danced and smiled, said hi to a few others, and left feeling quite victorious. Thanks to my recovery program, I have grown and changed, and I have more self-confidence. And they were still the jerks who got a kick out of spoiling my life and self-esteem for quite a while.
People can be ridiculous. We have that experience in common, too, to a degree. You may have already read this one, but here it is just in case: https://nantepper.com/p/the-new-kid-in-town I went to one high school reunion 10 years after. That was enough for me! xo
Yes, to the trees!
Nan, you've crafted this essay exactly as needed to illustrate the healing journey you are on, even the step-wise approach to revisiting all those old memories. Naming and releasing, discovering that your heart has made room for new stories. Just beautiful! And Phyllis! What a treasure.
I'm curious about where on Long Island you grew up. You may prefer to not say publicly, which I could understand. Just that my husband also grew up there, and we lived there for three years together, mostly way "out east" on the north fork.
Thanks, Elizabeth! Yes, to Phyllis. She's the best. And a beauty, too. I grew up in Syosset on the eastern border of Nassau County. Long Island was not for me, but I probably would have enjoyed the North Fork more. Life is for learning and growing...that's my take. xo
His folks were from Brooklyn but moved their young family to East Islip. We lived there and out east. Even in the 90s, it was becoming very expensive and overpopulated out there. I don't think it would suit us at all now.
Love your take!
Brava, Nan! I felt like I was there, driving around with you. What a lovely day.❤️
👏🏼👏🏼
Thank you!
I like that you took yourself slowly backward through time, like carefully unraveling the knots in a delicate gold chain. I have been back to visit my elementary school and marveled at how low the bathroom sinks and water fountains now seem. I would love to get inside my growing up house and see if the maroon bathroom still holds its odd odor. I want to peer down the three-story laundry chute. I am consoled by the fact that details like those remain untarnished in my memory. Love your stuff!
Thanks, Barbara! All those things you mention, yes, yes, yes. I loved those laundry chutes!
This week I listened to your beautiful, reflective, vulnerable and so relatable essay, Nan. I love LOVE your oral storytelling voice (as I record my weekly essays, I am taking note of your superb pacing, cadence, pauses and emphasis in just the right spots!) Last year I visited my own hometown too and my old elementary school and high school; one of my closest and oldest friends still lives there, in the house she grew up in where she is raising her adopted son attending our same high school. So with her, we always cruise around, making stops around Memory Lane, marveling at what has changed and what is the same. My high school yearbook which I came across recently--what an artifact of a specific time and place, so meaningful for so many of us. I am so glad for all the insights your trip back home gave you and an affirmation that you are exactly where you need to be. And how funny about the Playboy magazines and that your friend has kept them all these years.
Yes here’s to letting go of perfection in all things. I know my voice overs are human, flawed, me…which is essentially what we are all doing here (on Substack & in the world 💗
Exactly. xo
Thanks for listening, Amy! I love recording my stories so much, and decided when I started that it's okay to make mistakes, to trip over words, and not worry about any of it being perfect. It's so helpful when I fall into the "I want everything to be perfect" trap. The old memories influence so much about how I hold my current world. I'm committed to healing my memories, since I can't heal the past, if that makes any sense at all. Letting go is a welcome choice. xoxo AND yes, to the Playboys. Jack died a few months after my biological father. He was my second dad and the complete opposite of my father (who I adored, as well). I miss them both very much.
This sounds like a powerful journey. Thanks for sharing this, Nan.
It's my pleasure, Mary! xo
So glad you reconnected with people and places from your youth, Nan, and showed yourself compassion. Beautifully told.
Thanks, Wendy! xo
Beautiful! Your story calls to mind the definition of recovery: to get back that which was lost. Your journey illustrates retrieving scattered pieces of yourself, getting back the energy that used to be trapped in pain, and recovering your innocence through self-compassion. I loved reading it - thank you!
Thank you for reading, and for your beautiful comment. It was everything you say. A wonderful, kind day. xo
Lovely. I’ve done the same, the giant hill I had to walk each day to elementary school was barely steeper than our driveway. There’s the truth of fact. And the truth of memory. The don’t always match. ❤️
Exactly. I love the way you put it! xo
Really nice Nan!
I can so relate to your memory of finding your old house and how everything looked so much smaller. A few years back I attended my 50th high school reunion in Des Moines, Iowa. My dad was transferred there half way through my 9th grade year and transferred out just after I graduated as a senior. So I hadn’t been back there in almost 50 years. I didn’t recognize anything about the town except the area right around where my old high school was, but even it had grown three-fold. I ventured out on my own to find the house we lived in. It was hard finding it, the town had grown so much, but I eventually did after snaking back and forth on neighborhood streets. But similar to you, I had to really stare at it to make out THAT was our house. As I was parked across the street staring at the house, a guy was in the garage looking at me and asked if he could help me with something. (I think I was taking pictures too!!) I got out and started chatting with him and he invited me into the house as he was doing some renovation on it. We walked in through the garage (yep it WAS my house) and into the tiny dining nook with the tiny kitchen, next to the tiny living room where so many memories began flooding back. We walked down the amazingly short narrow hallway and yep there were the three tiny bedrooms (mine, my folks, and a guest room) and then the stairs to the basement. After a few more minutes, I thanked him for the tour and said “good-bye”. As I got back in the car and looked at the house - (where did that huge tree come from in the front yard?)- I marveled at how small everything seemed. And yet - what a big big world it was to me when I was 16.
As I reflect back now on the girl with so many dreams and aspirations, I feel tremendous gratitude - that I’ve been given the chance to truly live into and experience the challenges and joys of fulfilling on those dreams. And now, continuing to do so. Honored to be a fellow traveler on the path of life with you Nan. Xoxox
OMG, I love this, Mary Anne. Such a beautiful description of what you experienced in Des Moines. I thought about knocking on the door to see if I could go in. I wanted to stand in my bedroom, particularly. But I didn't. I passed. That season has passed for me in many ways. I keep some of it alive through these stories. My schools all looked exactly the same as they did when I was there which I found rather shocking, though comforting as well. Love to you, MAE. xo