The Life of a Shadow

The Life of a Shadow

As I have been thinking over my life, I have the faintest recollection of a children’s story. I think it must have been for small children because I remember pictures/illustrations from it. Unfortunately I remember little of the story and I doubt it was “high literature” and still exists. What I do remember is the shadow somehow got detached from the person to whom it belonged. It was helpless and looked just like a big black ink blot. Then at the end of the story they were reunited – and I believe the shadow was sewn onto the heels of the person.

Trivial memory, but maybe it explains why I associate being a shadow as a form of powerlessness. All the life is in the owner, the shadow barely exists and certainly has no existence of its own. The shadow is always at the heels of its “owner”. Now that is not all that unusual for a very young child, but I think the glue at my mother’s heels was stronger than average and that she had no desire for me to have a separate existence – she liked having a human shadow. Her comment about my cousin Brian was “he was my shadow” – I inherited his role.

In the last few weeks I have said a few times that my mother cloned me – I am not so sure about that any more. Yes, I did learn to do many things that she did – the art of denial being the most obvious – but maybe I was too intelligent not to have my own mind on many things – but because shadows (or clones) don’t have that right or ability, I developed much of my thinking in secret. Because children are not the best judges of people – or maybe they lump everyone together with their “owner” – I never shared myself really with anyone. I most regret that I never shared myself with my Dad – and even with my sister Jenny, though that would have been harder, Daddy would have welcomed my confidences – there was a mother-made barrier between me and Jen.

So back to the shadow – a shadow follows its owner, it imitates its owner, it is hard to separate it from its owner. Probably most little girls want to imitate Mummy, but I carried that through beyond the normal age for such activities. The thing I most dreaded – even through to age 19 was that my mother would die. After all, when the “owner” dies, the shadow disappears for good.

And a person only has one shadow – no matter how hard Jenny tried to win my mother’s approval , the shadow spot was already taken. Maybe she thought being a shadow was an enviable position. It isn’t – and maybe in some ways she was the lucky one.

The shadow is the ultimate in powerlessness – it can do nothing that its owner doesn’t do. The owner’s relationship to its shadow is, therefore, the ultimate in control.

But a shadow is also a shrinking thing – people don’t often pay attention to a shadow. When did you last hear someone complimenting you on how pretty your shadow looked? In my shadow role I could sit quietly by my mother’s side, almost unnoticed, and absorb adult conversation. I don’t remember ever hearing the expression “Not in front of the child”. And if my recollections are true, when I did speak, I was told that people didn’t like little girls who spoke too much – but of course, when did you last hear a shadow speak? Shadows don’t have opinions of their own.

But the emotions of the owner affect the shadow – if the owner is dancing with joy, so is the shadow. If the owner is bowed with grief, so is the shadow. If the owner is in darkness, well, the shadow disappears!! My desire for invisibility links in with the shadow image. On a bright shiny day, the shadow is clear, but if the sun gets covered by clouds of conflict. where has the shadow gone? She has got her wish – she is invisible.

Shadows can be hard to read because they have no features (except perhaps in profile) – no tears are visible on their cheeks, no smiles visible on their faces. It is no wonder they are easy to miss. Even if they are not totally invisible, they are always part of the background and not of any great importance.

It must be hard for the owner to deal with a shadow growing up, a shadow that is no longer interested in doing what shadows ought to do, a shadow that wants to separate from its owner. Is it any wonder that my mother always seems to be trying to “get me back”. Also as an owner knows what a shadow will do (as she controls it), it is not so surprising that my mother still will answer for me (usually incorrectly), if I take a second to draw a breath before speaking.

As for this shadow – well, she has spent a large part of her life looking for another owner – for someone to “belong to”. She learnt to disguise that longing because she knows over-dependence is the easiest and quickest way to lose friends – normal people don’t want “shadows”. And now at last she no longer even wants to be a shadow; to belong, yes, but in the sense of two equals. Most of all, however, she wants to be herself, to know who she is, to be seen and enjoyed for who she is, but where is the exit from shadow land? And is there really a life for an ex-shadow?