Unexpectedly Moved (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about Unexpectedly Moved & What Surrounded Me.

Website: https://inspiremereads.com
Books: https://amazon.com/author/emily-kay-tan.2021_ 

Chapters

• 0:22 Introduction
• 1:01 Unexpectedly Moved
• 14:56 What Surrounded Me
• 19:51 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #164 of Eye-Opening Moments where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about Unexpectedly Moved & What Surrounded Me.

Unexpectedly Moved
I stood there trembling. I hoped it would stop soon because I didn't know how to control my body from shaking. Why was there a tremor throughout my body? I sat down to write a story about sitting by Grandma Betsy on her deathbed. As I wrote what she said to me, I could feel my face heat up and my upper body quiver. I was puzzled. What was happening to me? As my fingers wrote about the value of me, my fingers began to show little jolts before my eyes. Was I going to have a seizure, or did I develop some ailment? The trembling, quivering, and jolting were initially cause for panic attacks, but luckily, minutes passed by, and then they stopped. Maybe they were red flags for forthcoming health issues; I wasn't sure.

The synapses of my body seemed to rapidly bounce sparks of electricity up and down my body, giving me the jitters. The minutes waiting for my cue to begin my speech were unnerving because I couldn't wait to start. I had something to say; I wanted to speak. The contents of my story explained my desperate craving for attentive listeners. The hunger pangs made me dizzy and nearly faint. As the nine-year-old me shared my ideas of what to bring to a family picnic, my ideas fell on deaf ears. No one heard me, or no one responded to my ideas. Tugging at Auntie Cassie's sleeves, I continued in my attempts to share my thoughts, but she ignored me and then said stop bothering me! I tried telling my ideas again, and then Auntie Cassie and Grandma Sandy said shhhhh! 

My stomach emptied as if it had vomited because no one listened; no one cared to hear me. At that moment, I stopped speaking because my eyes began to water, and I was fighting not to let a tear slide down my face. After all, I was speaking before a few hundred people! I could only mentally will myself not to let any tears fall. I paused a few moments as my arms quivered and my insides trembled. I continued to speak, and I could hear my voice that sounded like I was about to cry mixed with trembling. Upon reflection, I had inadvertently made my speech more effective because my physical body showed my pain from my emotional turmoil of not being heard as a child. The agony of an unheard voice was hard to bear, but in that speech, the Toastmasters audience heard me.

The room was silent, with no one even moving to make a sound. But I could feel all the eyes staring at me and listening attentively. Soon, my eyes watered again. Still, I didn't want the tears to roll down my face. I could feel the captivated audience staring at me and feeling my pain with their wrinkled foreheads. They started to look a little blurry through my watery eyes, but it didn't matter. I didn't need to see; I needed to be heard.

Soon, the speech contest ended, and the judges announced the winners. In first place was Emily Kay Tan: I was heard, I was heard; my voice was heard! Through the crowd of people, all leaving their seats as the competition was over, one stranger after another from different directions came towards me. Each one said they knew how it felt to be unheard because they also endured their unheard voice. Some even held my lower arm or shoulders to comfort me or to say, "I understand how you feel." The comments surprised me because, before that day, I thought I was the only person who ever felt unheard! My audience released me from decades of a boulder that slowly crushed my soul and brought uncontrollable smiles to my face. I wasn't alone.

Because it was the first time I had ever been moved by myself or my own story, I didn't know the meaning of my trembling when shaking. I thought something was wrong with me physically, but that was not it. The sensations were perhaps a mixture of pain and joy. As I relived the nine-year-old me trying to share my ideas for a family picnic, I felt the pain of an unheard voice. But in the next moment, I could feel the audience feeling my pain. I was overjoyed because I was heard. Surprised that others shared my pain of an unheard voice, I smiled with joy. As described in my podcast episode number one, A Lost Voice, I unexpectedly overcame my adversity and moved myself.

I never thought what happened before could happen again, but it did. My mouth quivered. My arms and torso trembled uncontrollably, and I wanted to cry. This time, I knew it was because I was moved. After all, it happened once before when I gave a speech at a Toastmasters competition. As I sat on Grandma Betsy's deathbed, I didn't know what to say to her. Grandma Betsy had terminal cancer. What do you say to a person who is dying? I had no words. All I knew to do was to keep her company, as my uncle, who was busy working on his business, asked me to do. I was twenty-something and knew nothing about being deathly ill. Grandma Betsy was too weak to say much, and I thought she didn't have much to say to me anyway. We were never close, as my mother's side of the family never liked my father's side of the family. Because of that, our interactions were limited. However, family is family. We bonded by blood.

Though I didn't see Grandma Betsy much as a child, I could take the initiative to connect with her as an adult. Because Uncle Sheldon had moved to the same state as me, I got to know him a little in my early twenties. Before long, I got the news about Grandma Betsy. Uncle Sheldon said she would be moving from the East Coast to the West Coast, where we lived, so he could care for her. It was during this period that I got reacquainted with Grandma Betsy. 

Grandma Betsy told me I lived with her when I was a one-year-old. I was alarmed and shocked to learn about something I had no recollection of. Uncle Sheldon told me how I kept moving a chair on the cement in the backyard of their house as if it needed to be in a position in a certain way in a particular spot. He mused and said, "Don't you remember?" I didn't remember and was disturbed that I could not remember any part of what he said. Uncle Sheldon went on to share more things about my early childhood, as did Grandma Betsy. The more they talked about me, the more distraught I became. Why could I not remember any detail of my life before I was five? How did Uncle Sheldon and Grandma Betsy seem to know so much about my character and behavior before age five? 

To this day, I have no recollection. However, one thing became clear to me. They knew me, who I am as a person, and they knew my mom. Grandma Betsy knew Mom was not kind to me. Uncle Sheldon said something about how my mother treated me like an outcast. I didn't say anything, but my head hung down. Grandma Betsy said, "Don't mind your mother; that is how she is." Grandma Betsy, my father's mother, said so little, but at that moment, I was convinced that she knew all about my family, and she knew Mom made me the family's black sheep. I learned for the first time that it was not all in my mind. It was comforting that someone knew how troubled I felt, but it was also disheartening to be labeled the black sheep without knowing why. From age one to five, I lived with Grandma Betsy (Dad's mom), and from age five to seventeen, I lived, for the most part, with Grandma Sandy (Mom's mom). That was my evidence for being an unwanted member of the family.

Grandma Betsy seemed to know me well even though we never had much of a relationship. But perhaps we had one when I was one to five years old. I don't remember. Despite such a fact, I am glad I got to spend some time with Grandma Betsy before she died. As I sat by her side on her deathbed, she made a significant impact on me, and I didn't even know it as a twenty-something.

As I began to write the details about me sitting on Grandma Betsy's deathbed, my head warmed, my mouth quivered, my body trembled, my eyes watered, and a rush of tears rolled down my face. I began to sob profusely, and I never cried like that before! Overwhelmed with recalling the few words Grandma Betsy said to me when I was twenty-something, the eye-opening moment came to me as a fifty-something.

As the days passed and Grandma Betsy's illness worsened, other relatives flew into town, knowing that the end was near. I saw Auntie Jessie, Grandma Betsy's daughter, sit on the bed talking to her mom. Through the corner of Grandma Betsy's eyes, she saw me pass by her door looking in. As weak as she was, she was still alert, and she told her daughter that she needed me and told her to call me. Auntie Jessie left the room, and I went to sit by Grandma Betsy once again. 

Grandma Betsy told me that she told her daughter she needed me because she wanted to let her know that I was important. Grandma Betsy continued, "Don't mind them," she said. Her few words let me know she knew my pain. She knew my parents and other relatives did not treat me nicely or important. The twenty-something me didn't realize all that until the fifty-something me began writing the story about Grandma Betsy and me in my podcast episode entitled Only She Understood. 

On her deathbed, Grandma Betsy let me know that I was important and that I mattered. No matter how others treated me, I was a valuable human being. Grandma Betsy left me with the most precious gift. Her message was to let me know not to let anyone make me feel like I don't matter and not to let anyone take away my importance. When the fifty-something me grasped her message, tremors shook my body, and tears rolled down my face. Unexpectedly, Grandma's words from thirty years ago gave the older me food for thought, inspired me, and moved me.

Moved by realizations, my fingers continued to write more stories. The economic crisis of 2008 led to a memorable 2009 for me. That was the year I thought I lost everything. I lost my business, house, bank accounts, and boyfriend. When I lost all those things, I lost myself too. Who was I without my possessions, accomplishments, job or business, and significant other? As my fingers typed about my adversities, they shook and jolted like twitches. What was happening to me? Was it the side effects of the pain of losing everything in midlife? I pressed on and continued to write. Suddenly, my fingers told me I hadn't lost everything; I had myself. I had the most important thing with me, and I was always there for me. My tenacity, resilience, strength, courage, and adaptability always help me overcome challenges and stand back up when knocked down. I began to tremble as I shared my podcast episode When I Began to Value Myself. I lost everything but discovered the value of me. Unexpectedly moved, I was tickled to find the value of me.

Once more, I remember Grandma Betsy. She must have been looking and smiling down at me from heaven because I remember her message: Don't let anyone or anything take away your importance. Still moved by Grandma's words, I was also unexpectedly moved by discovering that I have a voice others can hear. I have value for who I am and not what I have, and I matter because I say so.

What Surrounded Me
"Emily, you are as stupid as a pig because you are like your father," Grandma Sandy said. "You are not smart enough to go to college," Uncle Holden said. "You need to smile, and you will look better, Emily," Auntie Cassie commented. "Stop being so quiet and talk more," suggested Uncle Rick. Growing up with my grandparents, aunts, and uncles, I should have had a supportive environment because they were all older and wiser than me. However, I was surrounded by no praise or encouragement; no one bothered to monitor or watch over me because everyone was too busy working, going to school, or doing their own activities. You could say I could do whatever I wanted; no one was around to watch me. However, I'd hear those snide comments around the dinner table or here and there. How did I turn out?

Negative comments surrounded me; it seemed to be the norm. Unsurprisingly, I took them all in as if they were the truth. After all, they were my family; they were supposed to tell me the truth. Since I was told I was not smart enough, I studied hard to get good grades, but even one A- that made me short of a straight "A" report was not good enough for Grandpa. Since I was told I was too quiet, I tried to talk more, but then I would be told to be silent because my opinions or ideas did not matter or count to them. I tried and tried, but I was never good enough at anything.

Despite not being good enough, Grandma found me useful in helping her wash vegetables, marinate meat, wash dishes, and set the table for dinner. On weekends, I was also used to carrying laundry with her to the laundromat and folding all the clothes for the family with her. I carried groceries with her from the supermarket, too. Household chores of wiping dust off furniture, sweeping and mopping the floors, and tidying all areas of the house as Grandma's little helper was me. Since I was not out working like my aunties and uncles, it was my duty to help at home. Any pleasant comments would never come. While assisting Grandma, I constantly heard about how I needed to be a good girl, learn how to do housework, and get good grades in school. Grandma was a nonstop lecturer and nagger. Her efforts paid off. I grew up knowing how to do house chores for my abode and got good enough grades to earn a graduate degree.

The not good enough idea harped into my head kept me trying and working to do better at whatever I was doing, but it did not improve my self-esteem. Amazingly, when I grew up to be an elementary school teacher, I gave my students lots of praise and encouragement. I gave them what I didn't have; I gave them what I wanted. I know they needed it because I needed it to comfort me and give me hope that I could be good enough. Growing up, I never got much praise or encouragement, but I gave plenty daily while teaching children. Sometimes, I wonder how I could have so much to give when I received so little praise and encouragement. The smiles on their faces give me the satisfaction I need to know I did something good.       

Though no one had time to keep track of whatever I did as a child, and I was free to do as I wished, self-discipline came from within. It has also carried into my teaching career, where I managed students' time and productivity, and I continue to manage my time and productivity.

Though what surrounded me as a child was negative, my reaction to it did not need to be. Perhaps my instincts told me what to do to help better myself. Still, the injured self-esteem needed healing. And I found some of it through giving praise and encouragement to children. Other gaping wounds healed themselves through writing and discovering that self-worth is a choice granted to yourself rather than provided by others. What surrounded me did not need to control or determine my worthiness. I can take charge, choose, and declare my worthiness. Thankfully, as a mature adult, I know and can move forward to enjoy better days.

Key Takeaways
Though some happenstances moved me, I discovered the value of me.

Though negativity surrounded me, I chose positivity to help me move forward.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called Why They Cried for Me & To Dutch or Not. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!