When Wynne and I chatted recently in our podcast with Jack Canfora, his anecdote about the Beatles’ song, Eleanor Rigby, was like a lightning rod for readers and listeners. It’s an amazing story – one that I won’t recount here, but feel free to give the episode a listen if you missed it.
Knowing that prolific songwriters like Lennon and McCartney may have been quietly, subconsciously influenced by a headstone in a Liverpool cemetery is a story that strikes awe. Even for those who are awe-averse. The power of stealth-like, innocent inputs of info is a testament to the wonder and beauty of the universe. We may not be aware of all the input flowing our way. We may be unable to discern the source, but the lingering and languishing of thoughts, ideas, images…even names? Magical, I say.
All of which brings my mom, Sue, to mind and the ever-present sub-texts in my life with her. In “Surviving Sue” I refer to these as the ‘unspokens’ – the moments where Sue and I accurately detected each other’s thoughts. I saw her engage in thought-grabbing repeatedly with her sisters as I grew up. Puzzling and captivating. My aunts, plus Sue would engage in full-on, intuitive convos right before my eyes – with ease.
I learned it was a communication method developed by Sue to seek safety. Born from trauma as a survival skill, Sue learned how to hide in plain sight, cloaking her thoughts by eschewing words – her own audible trail – while decoding the thoughts of those around her. Sue could converse with ease through body language alone while “reading” those around her, creating her very own invisibility cloak, rendering her incognito.
Did Sue develop her skills like a superpower, to help her navigate around her punitive mother? I’m thinking so, but as Sue’s life unfolded, her gift became her undoing. The harboring of secrets and distortions comes at a price and in Sue’s case there was a cognitive bill to pay when the webs became too intricate to map.
Sue’s intuiting ability allowed her to accurately read my thoughts; the most dangerous moments coming when I was unimpressed by her distortions and deceit.
She’d look at me with knowing eyes…the narrowest of gazes. When I was brave, I’d return “fire”. No words. Just this: “I see you. I know what’s really going on.” Her expression in return? Rife with animosity and the worst of her ‘unspokens’. The look that said, “You’ll be sorry if you cross me.”
Early on in “Surviving Sue” I wrote about Sue’s curious and unspoken conversations with her siblings. Here’s a snippet:
I was five when I began to tune into their unspoken conversations – the intriguing looks and thoughts they exchanged about inside jokes and secrets, all without speaking. Occasionally, Sue would look at me, wide-eyed, wondering if I was following the subtext of their “chats.” They spoke, but I also saw thought bubbles, like subtitles, swirling around their heads and disclosing their thoughts. Often those “unspokens” were shameful, nasty comments. The things they didn’t dare say out loud. I was both fascinated and frightened, but I never let Sue know that I could “tune in.” I wondered if they also did that with their brother, my Uncle Keith, or if it was just a girl thing. He was the youngest and the only boy, and I knew the sisters terrorized and tormented him. Because they could.
“Surviving Sue”, p. 5
As I grew up, I saw how Sue’s natural intuitiveness paid dividends in building connections and forging friendships. Always short-term in nature, her natural charisma entranced newbies and drew them in. Sue was magnetic because she knew how to morph into the person each new friend desired. Sue read thoughts and intentions and could mold herself accordingly. Before dementia took hold, Sue was a quick study – learning to play bridge and canasta and briefly becoming the worst sommelier ever. Every time we moved, she would adapt and meld, as best she could, but the long-term outcome was exhaustion.
Looking at the sunnier aspects of family intuitiveness, I’ve known since our daughter Delaney was a wee one that we communicated well without words.
Largely playful and less confrontational, the connection that I have to now grown-up Delaney is silly and lighthearted. An example? The moment when I reached out about the most mundane of topics – the joy of doing laundry in your own home.
I shared with Alegria recently (Life with Alegria) that I had a moment of joy last week when I folded laundry. Yup – simple stuff. Task completion. Sunlight, home and hearth duties can be oh-so restorative. Tackling a basket full of towels, I recalled the delight I felt in a conversation with Delaney recently. Reaching out – even though it seemed weird to do so – to tell her I “agreed” with a wave of unspoken intel from her – her unspoken gratitude about being able to do laundry any time. One of the greatest delights in home ownership, I say.
Delaney moved recently and she’s in a new space – one that will require plenty of fixer-upper skills, but the routine of washing clothes, folding and doing it all without needing to share with other occupants in her condo building is gratitude and glimmer worthy. A dose of joy. Task completion? Especially restorative in busy lives that are often fraught with loose ends. Unfinished business. Not so when you’re folding laundry. It smells good, as you summon order and command wayward, warm textiles into alignment. Neat corners, tidy stacks. Done and done.
I almost didn’t text dear Delaney…again, thinking it was silly to reach out about a wave of “laundry wonder” but I’m so glad I listened to the voice that said ‘Yes, it’s the moment – go ahead’ even though it was early on a Saturday morning.
Here’s our text exchange:
Me: Good morning! I know it’s early but I’m thinking about you and remembering – many years ago – how much joy I felt living in my own house for the first time because I could do laundry whenever I wanted without sharing machines with others. Simple stuff makes us happy, right? I dunno. Just wanted to share.
Delaney: OMG – how odd! I just said that out loud…it’s the BEST to be able to do laundry whenever.
Me: Well, if you said it out loud, I must’ve heard you…you sent me the thought!
Delaney: I love that. We’re silly humans loving simple luxuries. Same, same.
And before you ask, yes – of course! There were emojis in the convo. I just spared you from seeing them. You’re welcome.
Just like that – I felt filled to the very brim. A reminder that the ‘unspoken’ connections that Sue had with her sisters, her powerful intuitiveness is something that I share with my own daughter. I’m ever-so grateful that soulful reverbs through unknown means – empath skills, psychic somethings – exist in joyful ways, not just as a by-product of Sue’s fears. I suspect the trick is paying attention and I’m promising myself to be more aware. Quieter…so I can hear the rustle of insight when it rolls up. Intergenerational healing…and intuitive legacies. All wrapped up in “Surviving Sue”.
Vicki ❤
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Victoria Ponders 
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