A Work in Progress
A few years ago I was asked by a friend whether I’d like to share an allotment. They’d been waiting five years for one. They suggested it would be a good way to spend time together, learn about growing your own fruit and veg, and get some exercise in the fresh air. I get plenty of fresh air and exercise but even so I liked the idea so said yes of course I would.
The plot was pretty big. Big enough for two. The allotment was in their name but I presumed it would be a fair division of labour, land and produce.
I was happy to put in the hours to tidy the plot up and prep it for growing. I contributed towards the costs of things.
It got to the point where pretty much all of the site had been dug over. My friend had started planting out one half of the plot, asserted ownership of a top section of established soft fruits and was making plans for the remaining land. There was a relatively small area that still needed to be dug and weeded. My friend declared that this was my ‘allotted patch’.
I’d found myself in a micro feudal system. The council was king. The allotment manager a baron. My friend a knight. I was a peasant. I worked the land, paid my taxes, and was allotted a small patch of left over ground.
Not long after this I told my friend I was handing the keys back. When asked why I said lot’s of reasons but that I was choosing to tell them I no longed wanted to invest time and energy in our endeavour. I said I was missing the time riding my bike and coding. This was all true.
They were a bit put out. Disappointed but had been expecting it. They talked about how I had been full of enthusiasm initially but was clearly not up to the “hard work of allotmenting”. They said they’d never have taken on such a big plot if knowing they’d be looking after it on their own. I told them to treat me like a “helpful friend” and to just ask when they needed support. I have been true to this offer and have helped out every time I’ve been asked.
I could have dealt with this better. I should have tactfully challenged their approach and negotiated fairer treatment. I did not. I silently judged them instead. I wrote them off as someone that would only see things the way they saw things. It may have been true. The truth is I was simply not inclined or perhaps confident enough to challenge and argue my case.
The vulnerable/angry child ran the show. It was how I coped with a father who told but did not listen or appear to care. Sadness supplanted by quiet anger. Sullen compliance. Silent critical judgement a substitute for agency and control. Suppress the protest then opt out rather than risk conflict and rejection. In some ways it worked but at the cost of connection and met needs.
It’s tragic how survival strategies we used to protect us as children often remain throughout adulthood. Insight alone does not change a thing without courage, action and acceptance of feelings. The last one being the hardest to get a handle on and what gives purpose and direction to the first two. Happy to say I am a work in progress. If I was not I might never grow up.