Up in my Highchair, Banging my Spoons
Like most phrases or sayings I use, this post’s title is something I’ve heard at some point rather than an original thought/phrase of mine. In fact, that I seem to hear it used as often as I do in my travels from a fairly diverse group of people lets me know I’m not unique in identifying with the words. So what does it mean to be “Up in my highchair banging my spoons?”
Saying that I’m up in my highchair banging my spoons, or any iteration of the statement with varying subjects (ie. He/Your/I’m/They’re), kind of hopes that whoever hears the words thinks of a baby in a literal highchair using spoons as drumsticks. Of course, the words are meant metaphorically and not to infer that infants resembling Ringo Starr are drumming a catchy melody in their highchair; rather that the individual referred to is venting or even attention seeking! Interestingly, while a baby’s tantrum (be it wailing or loud crying) typically draws attention to an unfilled need resulting from a lack of ability to communicate with language, an adults “spoon banging” usually is more of a type of venting or expressing exasperation.
While I can’t remember my years in a highchair (although I may still need a booster seat) or my brand of temper tantrums from years ago, sometimes I wonder if my continued disordered eating is a form of “spoon banging”. If it is me sending a flare, so to speak, the unmet need remains mysterious to me and oddly; I myself seem to be the intended target, yet am unable to decipher the need? It is obviously extremely frustrating regardless.
This discussion makes me think of a time when this pattern of behavior, attention seeking/spoon banging was necessary, adaptive, and rewarded with corrective action. I was born with a hernia. While the cause is suspected to be that I had to do all the work in labor because my mom wasn’t enthused to have a second child within a year, I may never know the truth! Regardless of the reason, I spent the first 3 months of my life crying in pain as a result. When I was taken to the doctor about the constant wailing, possibly triggered by my father repeatedly finding my unattended basinet stationed on the front porch upon returning home, a hernia was diagnosed and surgery performed soon after. Do not be overly alarmed dear reader, this was in rural Southern, NH where other than some wildlife, I was safe! Of course; with my medical issue solved, I became a perfect baby (my assumption). I only recount my experience as an infant to illustrate how “banging my spoons” can work in getting to a solution.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the perspective, I’ve had enough treatment to know that the genesis of many addictive behaviors lies in achieving a sense of control. While my need for control was understandable in the immediate aftermath of my car crash on 7/4/06 due to the sudden, unremembered trauma and resulting loss, as time has passed safety and security have become more my norm thankfully. Despite intuitively knowing my life is safe, secure, and even filled with unmerited gifts, I’m left puzzled to continue my highchair drumming solo performance.
Is the continued self-destructive behavior really as simple as my being a classic case of an individual after trauma seeking the comfort of control through patterned addictive behavior in a chaotic world despite knowing the futility of it all. Or perhaps even worse, could I be acting as the final arbiter of serenity by sabotaging what I find to be unmerited. Alas, does it really matter or to quote an ex United State’s Secretary of State, “What difference does it make”? I think it was Einstein who said, “You cannot solve a problem with the same mind that created it.” Taking a cue from Albert, maybe it’s time to seek some help or better yet, turn it over!