The Wheel

I stared in the mirror, wearing my long, lacey, wedding gown at the last fitting. I asked the dressmaker for a few last-minute changes. I wanted a bigger bustle, something more dramatic and theatrical. I needed a veil that was at least 20 feet long, maybe something with feathers. I wanted more lace and ruffles. 

At that time, the look of my dress was the only thing I had control over. My parents were spending a lot of money to throw me their dream wedding to impress their friends.

A month before everyone’s big day (everyone else's big day, but mine), a shrieking pain surged down my neck causing me to whimper with each micro movement. My pediatrician said it was from stress. Yes, I was 30 and still seeing my pediatrician. Dr. Janet prescribed a muscle relaxant and sent me home with a cervical collar.

I spent the next several days in bed on my back, wearing my collar, staring at the ceiling, and listening to The Grateful Dead.

Although I claimed to be a fan of The Dead, up until then I had only known the music, not the words. As I listened to the words, they spoke to me. The song, ‘The Wheel’ in particular.

“The wheel is turning, and you can’t slow down,” they sang. “You can’t let go and you can’t hold on, you can’t go back, and you can’t stand still…”

“Yes,” I cried, “that’s me.”

The Dead continued, “If the thunder don’t get you, then the lightning will.”

 “The lightning will get me,” I sobbed even harder and cried, “You guys. I love you guys. You know me so well.”

I needed help.

I had been dating my fiancé for six years and he was a nice guy… aside from his short temper. If only I wouldn’t get him angry and “poke the bear”, he would stay mellow. He was charming when he wasn’t having a tantrum. But after his outbursts, he would apologize by taking somewhere nice and explaining why I had made him “flip out”. Sometimes the reason would be because I wanted to accept a job that would be good for my career but that would mean I would be gone for three months. He would’ve missed me. That’s how much he loved me.

What was my problem? He loved me. He never hit me. With the wedding only a month away, my secret plan was to go through with it and then get a divorce a few months later. I did not want to disappoint anybody.

Then I heard ‘The Wheel’ again.

“Won’t you try just a little bit harder? Couldn’t you try just a little bit more?”

The Dead made up of a band of men, but their voices were comforting.

“Okay,” I said in between sniffles, “I’ll try.”

“Round, round robin run round, got to get back to where you belong, little bit harder just a little bit more.” The Dead inspired, “A little bit further than you’d gone before.”

With the help of The Grateful Dead and a new therapist, I mustered up the courage to cancel the wedding. Telling my fiancé and parents tore me up inside. I felt as if I were being ungrateful. My therapist encouraged me to think about myself and what I wanted. This was a new concept. I had denied my own feelings for so long, I felt physical pain expressing them. My parents and fiancé did not take the cancellation well. After their rage storm quieted, something magical happened. I was able to move my neck again. The pain had gone away. I felt lighter. I said what I truly wanted, and I was free.

Like the Dead said, “you can’t go back, and you can’t stand still.”

The therapist I had been seeing everyday said, “what you were doing, stopped working for you.” What I had been doing was what I was trained to do. To make everyone else happy and cater to their needs and put me last.

My body was telling me that I was at a crossroads. Either I wanted my life to continue as I had known it or there was something else out there.

I was a product of my environment. My childhood was sheer survival. I was conditioned to read my parents’ moods, match their energy, and serve their needs. I learned that their tempers and outbursts were my fault because I hadn’t jumped fast enough when they called out a command. Thinking back as an adult, their parenting was more like training a dog rather than nurturing a child. They were immigrants from mid-century Korea, and I was a female. Useless to them.

At the dinner table, while I was in the middle of eating, my father would tap me on the shoulder and order, “Water…Napkin…Rice”. This was how our family dinners went. Never a questions like, “how was school?”, like I had seen on television. The only interest they showed in me was how I could serve them at that time.

When I was twelve, I finally responded to my father, “why can’t you get your water?”

Silence fell over the room. It was like when the outlaws from Krypton landed on Earth in Superman II. No one at the table made a sound.

I was drawing in adrenaline. My father’s face was red and distorted. “What did you say?” he asked.

My father stood up and knocked over a plate and yelled at my mother for raising such a disrespectful girl. He held his hand up in a motion to strike me but held back.

“Look at everything we do for you. We feed and clothe you. You even get to live in Beverly Hills. You are a like a spoiled brat,” my mother piled on before turning to my father, “I didn’t know she would turn out that way. She’s learning this from her horrible friends.”

I ran and hid in my room.

Hours later my mother softly knocked on my door. I opened and let her in.

“You should be more respectful towards your father. He works so hard for you to give you this life,” she said. Then she handed me a hundred-dollar bill. 

 It was no surprise that I found a similar relationship as an adult. What was familiar to me, I had mistaken for love. I thought I was free of one situation only to find myself trapped in another.

This was my first of many painful steps towards living my truthful life as a grown-up. I’m still amid the transition from unconscious cave dweller to self-aware, evolved individual. It hasn’t been smooth but I’m a work in progress.

I finally stopped going to my pediatrician for medical needs and found a doctor for adults. I was on my way to autonomy.