Sister Fights

Baby Sis (2) and I took the 2016 vehicle in for its annual inspection and sticker renewal yesterday. As is the nature of aging vehicles, this led to that and the next thing until the annual inspection dragged into a 3 hour affair. I think Baby Sis took the wait better than I did. I was expecting to have the entire errand list done in around 3 hours. Let's get this show on the road, fellas. . .

The last of the 3 hour wait was spent with a homeless(?) woman who introduced herself to Baby Sis with a declaration that she was a carbon copy of the baby she had been when she was a baby. I don't know that the woman is homeless, but she could have been one of my sisters who have been and possibly still are homeless. I was deeply triggered by the time the woman shifted her attention from Baby Sis to me. Her expectations of me were that I drive her into the nearby metroplex and help her take care of business. She was willing to compensate me for my time. There was no room for doubt that my errands were far less important than hers, especially with the promised compensation attached. Sure thing, Sis. I'm certain you will respect me in the morning, too.

After I firmly used "No" as a complete sentence, she shifted her attention back to Baby Sis, offering her sips of her iced coffee through a shared straw. My therapy tools worked well enough that I resisted the urge to act out one of the Sister Fights the 6 girls in my birth family were famous for. I was the family champ. Not even my 5 brothers would take me on. To my senses, there is no such thing as a clean fight. Corner me into a fight and I'm just looking for the most efficient route to the shower. Ya doesn't wanna get between me and my shower. I'll get even dirtier, if I have to. I promise. In the midst of my triggered state, I was convinced to paranoia that the woman was scheming like a broken sister while she cooed and courted Baby Sis.

This morning I think I am proud of myself for having been able gently take Baby Sis by the hand and lead her back into the garage waiting room. The mechanics inside knew the woman from previous encounters and had already called for help. Alas, **help** remains masked and socially distant. A zoom call won't get a homeless woman off a bench outside a business door. Those of us inside shared a prayer for healing hopes.

This morning I am tempted to view the encounter as proof that healing happens. The flashbacks to those Sister Fights are intense, but I feel like I am processing them well. They happened. I can neither run away from nor rewrite the past. Processing. . .

Again I leave the mood icon on the rapid cycling median. Nobody said the processing would be easy.