hmm

Talking with our friend tonight about how her experiences as a child have overshadowed, in many ways, the quality of the relationships in her adult life.  The avoidance, resentment, fear, and depression she feels on a daily basis significantly impact her ability to communicate her hopes, fears, desires--needs, to those closest to her.  In this conversation, she also brought up another friend of hers, Gloria.  She talked about the strength of Gloria's relationship with her children and grandchildren.  She credited Gloria and her husband for the quality of their parenting, based on the decisions Gloria's children have been able to make as adults themselves.

I worry sometimes if I would be a good parent.  Fortunately, in my case there would be no 'oops', (unless through divine intervention) so there is time.  I worry that while my parents did the best they could, they will not have instilled in me what it takes.  Mostly because of their own gremlins and past experiences with their own parents.  What if I can't stop the cycle of dysfunction?

For years, I said I didn't want kids.  In fact, I often said I hated them.  But that was not true.  I think I was more afraid of them, afraid to screw them up, the way I thought I was.  But now I have changed my tune. A few of my friends have babies/small children, so sometimes I get to practice.

Truth is, kids remind me of how simple life can be.  When my friend's 3yo son runs over for me to pick him up, I melt.  Same thing last week, or the week before when my other friend's daughter was sitting on my lap eating Chinese with me.  For those moments in time, the insanity of life goes away.  My mind slows for moment.  Those three year olds aren't going to judge me, you, or anyone...as long as you are kind to them and the people they care about.

I know I shouldn't worry about how my experiences may have messed up future generations left in my care.  But, it's there...the gremlin says, 'what if you become your mother', or worse yet, my father.  I tell him to shut up, to go away.  And for the most part he does...but every once in a while he sneaks back in.  And I say to myself, 'see this is while you shouldn't have kids.'  And I stay in that space for a while. 

There's another piece of this too...when I hear about things friends did with their parents and grandparents.  Sleepovers at grandma's house, baking cookies, time with cousins.  I didn't have that.  We saw my grandparents only a few times a year.  And less as we got older.  My brother and I do not have the memories that are common around our friends.  Which again reinforces my insecurity.  What do I know about raising kids?  What sort of role model could I be?

Then I get a hug, or high-five, or kiss on the cheek...


And I snap out of it.

Scratch that...

Last night, well technically this morning, I told Kate that in many ways mourning the loss of my mother (the relationship, not physically--she is still very much alive), was like losing my best friend.  In fact, I said she was my best friend.  But this is not the case.  She was/is not my best friend, though at one time I may have been hers.  The lines between mother and daughter were blurred when I was rather young, because of my father's disease.  At 12 and 13, I was who she cried to, sitting on the edge of my bed, worried for the future of our family.  It was in that same time, that I became her protector...stepping in when the verbal assaults became too great.  I was her shield.  It was in this time that I grew up. 

As result of this, I think I saw her as a buddy.  Her authority over me weakened, almost non-existent, because afterall--I took care of her.  I was the adult.  The one who said it would be okay.

As I think about it more, my grief comes from a different place.  I am no longer defined by the role I once held.  There is no one but me, to define me.  I am no longer protecting her, giving her advise, comforting her.  Being the parent--without the holiday, thanking me for all I do throughout the year. 
I am grieving that my mother, and father, are not, nor will they ever be the parents I wanted or hoped them to be.



I know who my best friend is.  It is not my mother. And it never was.

Tensions rising.

Started trying to write a poem, but words would not flow.  So, prose it is.  Today has been an emotional day.  My mind has been racing with all sorts of things.  Family, friends, things left to do.  Anxiety.  All day.  There were brief periods of relief, but these were short lived.  Even now as I write this, I can feel the tightness returning in my chest, the aching.  Sleep will be scarce tonight.  Coffee will be my friend to make it through the day.  That and adrenaline. It'll be okay...


Drained. As it spikes again.

Fuck.

Same conversation...here we go.  No resolution. Unless I play by the rules.  Obsessed.  No.  Why can't I control myself?  Why do I have to? It isn't I who is out of control...and that is the problem. Isn't it?  The balance of power is shifting.  And that is scary for all involved.  Even me.  What will come of these changes I don't know...but they are needed.  I'll deal with the consequences.

Tired of being quiet, passive...but not defiant.  Do not villainize me, the situation, or my friend.  It is what it is.  Quite simple actually.  You would see that if you could open your eyes instead of being blinded by fear and insecurity.  Which is actually doing nothing more than pushing me farther away.

Hero no more.

Christmas is in one week.  If the calender didn't tell me that, or the malls insist it...I wouldn't believe it. I'm having a hell of a time getting into the Christmas spirit.  And so is everyone else around me...maybe it's because we haven't had any snow...or just that everything seems to be pushing forward at full throttle.  I usually love Christmas.  Not for the shopping...we all know how much I am not a fan...too many years of retail. But to share time with family and friends.

There it is.

There is no Christmas Eve with my parents this year.  And as much as I try not to think about it, or pretend that it doesn't bother me.  It does.  Everyday.  It wears on me.  Sometimes it's a passing thought, something someone says triggers a memory, a question never to be answered.  Sometimes it's more consuming.  Mood shifting. 

I am not angry.

I am beyond that stage of my grief.  Though admittedly, I do flow back into it from time to time.  Despair is probably a more accurate description at this point.  I am saddened by the events that have unfolded over the last year.  Never did I imagine that we would end up here.  You can call me stubborn, selfish, ungrateful...insert negative remark, gremlin thought here...

But this is not the truth.

My decision to walk away, to separate myself was not done in spite.  But in self-preservation.  For myself, my family, my career, my sanity.  It would have consumed me, more than it does now at times, if I had stood by.  I would have become enmeshed.  The hero. 

I am no hero.  Not anymore.

It was the most difficult decision of my life, one that I grapple with regularly.  I was licensed this week--a very exciting accomplishment professionally.  I wanted nothing more than to share that with my mother.  Father.  For them to be proud of me.  But that is not where we are.  Or may ever be again.

My parents taught me to stand up for what I believe to be right.

And I am.

Grounded

i can't sleep. the house is dark aside from the glow of the laptop. as i sit on the couch, the only sounds are the hissing of the heat and the clicking of the keys beneath my fingers. i enjoy this time of day. really the only time that i can sit quietly. any other time, someone person or animal needs my attention or creates a distraction from the stillness of the dark. my eyes are heavy, tired. but my body still has energy to burn, mostly from all of the coffee and chocolate consumed hours before. coffee and chocolate. one of my favorite things to do is sit and talk with a friend over coffee (or tea) and share the latest news. or maybe nothing at all. to just be.

sitting here, the song from rent came into my mind. specifically this line: take me for what i am
who i was meant to be.

tall order isn't it?

or maybe not. i think the hard part is taking ourselves for what we are. who we are. all of us. there are parts of myself that i wish i could forget sometimes. you know the ones...the unmentionables. like the fact, that when i get mad, really mad, i can lash out with words that cut to the core. i get this from my father. he said i could blame him. so i am. it's a learned behavior i think, as i suspect it was for him. but i don't actually blame him, or my mother, for that matter, for anything. i may not understand why things are, but i am not supposed to . just to know that it happens for a reason. that there is a lesson to learn. not sure what the lesson is with my parents, but someone better get on it.

this is where faith comes in. i walked away from church for many years. i thought god had left me. i was not willing to accept that there were things that are truly out of control. free will. i used to sit there and think, if there were a god, how can i believe in someone who treats others in that way.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

finally my eyes are closing, wislow is snoring in the create next to me. bed now.

Hello little girl

It's funny really, behind all of the pomp and circumstance, masks and layers, how we're really all the same. Or are we? We are all products of our experiences, shaped by what has happened to us, by us, in us. Take me for example, despite appearances I'm just a scared little girl, hiding in the corner. Waiting. Hoping for someone to extend a hand, a warm smile, and tell me that it is all okay.

This little girl, cold and seemingly alone, trembles at the idea of being found out. What was it my father said? A coward, phony. This little girl is self-conscious. She doesn't think any one really likes her, nor does she deserve to be. She is shy, quiet, reflective. Intense. She questions everything, On occasion she finds someone that can draw her out, for a little while. But more often than not, that person leaves and she retreats even further into the shadows of the walls she creates.

This little girl is searching for her place in this world. A place where she can be herself, she can be comfortable. Where she feels that no one judges her for the way she walks, looks, or feels. This little girl does not like to feel vulnerable. Her insecurities pile on as she tries to look away.

She's growing now though, this girl in the corner. Trying to sit up a little higher and allow herself to be seen. Slowly she is starting to take risks, has even made eye contact once or twice, but only briefly. But we all have to start somewhere, patience. As she stretches out her hand.

Rambling

What is rambling anyway...perhaps a stream of consciousness that may or may not make sense to those either having or interpreting what is being delivered. I find it fascinating how a series of seemingly unconnected thoughts, feelings, and emotions can cause such chaos or perhaps peace. I find that the thoughts that swirl around in my head, while apparently unrelated, always seem to come together to some end or resolution. Granted, this is not to say that everything is always tied up into a nice little bow, certainly not. But in time, I always seem to find some relief.

What do I mean by this? There are periods of time in which my sleep is restless, dreams, nightmares, even that cannot make sense. I wake up with jaw tense and sore, headache, I drag through the day. Yet, after a few days of this, perhaps a week, the dreams subside. I can rest. My subconscious has run through the hundreds of thousands of possibilities, the conversations have been played and replayed to the point of being etched in my mind, and I am okay.

Secure.

I've been writing more, talking more, it seems to be helping. If you know me well, not the facade I use in public, you'd know that I process internally the majority of the time. So, as you can imagine, my mind has been in overdrive. But this has been good. I have been reminded of the importance of writing in my life, which is also serving the purpose of relieving my brain from having to loop through the additional information, which I am now able to process here.

This is my free association exercise.