Into the Light

I am still, still in this part where I am crying every day. It is such a relief and so sad and kind of opposite of the person I am: I have, through it all, cultivated a positive world view and firmly believe that things will get better. I am consistently full of hope. Because why not?

Our dog is OK. We have finally managed to finagle his eating and meds so that I'm not cleaning up diarrhea a few times a day. He has his silly smile back and is sleeping in our rooms again. He cannot go for walks, or chase the ball, but he's with us and that, for now, is more than enough.

My father called last night and it was less than stellar. We sort of argued and disagreed and I cried a lot and then just let it stop since there is no real resolution. We talk, but cannot hear each other. And I cannot make them into people they just are not. I love them so much but the things I need from them do not exist. It's like trying to make a bicycle into a bagel. The shapes are there, but they just are not the same thing.

Here is what I am learning: other people are other people. I cannot change them: but I can change myself. I can be true to myself. I am allowed to ask for what I need and if someone can't give it I'm allowed to stop asking. Relationships can change, and so with the heaviest heart I can hold I have come to know that my parents love me to the best of their ability, but they cannot be tender with me. They cannot not tease me and poke fun at me when I'm hurting. My mother will always be loud, and judgmental. She won't feel comfortable enough to not look for the imagined worst in everyone else. My dad will always think I'm trying to tell him what to do when I say out loud how I'm feeling. They both are very self focused. So be it.

Still, inside I come to their defense. Don't talk about them that way. That's not true, I keep saying to myself, over and over. But I know what the truth is.

I am hurting so much about it: I have longed all my life for them to love me without conditions or little cruelties. They love me as they were loved themselves. For them love equals vulnerability which equals opportunity to hurt which means I'll get you before you get me first. I have always dreamed of the mother who enfolded me safe in her arms and said "There there. You're OK." I have always wanted a father who stuck up for me rather than himself. Who was there for me and not so selfish with his emotions. But what they were not given they do not try to give. I have clung to the idea that one day, one day, we will be a relaxed happy family laughing at the dinner table.

We won't.

That will never be with my growing up family.

My mother still hasn't called. My father never once said he was sorry for them leaving the soccer game without saying a word and then letting five days pass with nothing. How can this be? I don't want things like that to be true but they just are. "I am your daughter!" I want to yell in their faces. I want that to mean to them what it means to me. It's not a victimless crime- I am an alcoholic for chrissakes. I was an asshole for many years. Hurtful in more ways than I can count. I have apologized and stayed sober. That's the very best I can do. It can't all just be one long continuous apology.

Getting sober has brought me out into the light. And sometimes it's really bright out here. And the truth hurts and I want to slide safely back into my naked mole rat hole and hide from all the truth that can pummel me relentlessly until I open my eyes to see. And so I cry and sorrow and yearn: "What? What!!!! What do you want with me?"

But I don't hide. I get hats, sunscreen, and friends. I don't drink, and I don't hide. I might be sunburned but dammit, I'm going back out there.

This healing business is hard. It is tough, and relentless, and sometimes breaks me down so far I don't even want to get up.

So life ain't great. It's not the wondrous end to my forty-second year I imagined. But then sometimes things just don't go the way you planned.

But. God. I am here, and I am sober. I am the mother to my loves that I have always wanted for myself. I cuddle and cook and read and play just one more hand of crazy eights. I tell them how glad I am that they're around, how happy I am to be their mom. Not just that I love them, but that I want them and need them and like them. I'm a better companion to my husband every single day. We are finally starting to care for each other and not just be parents and the people who provide. I have reached out and cried and said help me help me to my people who are close friends. I have people I know are back up. I have Universe Amy who is such a blessing to me. We family for each other. We all do. I am brave and strong and beautiful and good with the grace of the folk who help me up when I'm all broken down.

Family is not just the people you are born to- it's the people you can turn to. I am immeasurably grateful for the family I am making for myself. It's getting me through and carrying me on. It makes it so I can mother myself into feeling better.

Thanks y'all.

Directions

I've been in this parenting funk for the past, oh forever. It's where things are all out of kilter, and kiddos are fighting constantly, or whining, or just being annoying in general. I'm not really paying attention since I've got my own flotsam and jetsam cluttering things up. Days and days and holidays have gone by with all of us in this state of house arrest, trapped by the holding pattern we're in. No one has the damn map so we can find our way back to the open road. And no one even thought of stopping for some directions. It has sucked.

I realized during my before-I-get-up-think that I was in this holding pattern all over my life. Stuck life-in-limbo. I get a little paralyzed sometimes. You know, when you know what you want to do, but then you just are unable to move towards it? When you have all these good ideas but you can't manage to stop wasting time long enough to actually make them happen? This is one of these times.

It definitely doesn't help that the children have been sort of out of control. I've been lazy mama and letting things go when they deserve some attention. Effort. Things just haven't felt right. So I called up Universe Amy the other day to vent and say "Help me. I'm a little lost." She said something that made so much sense. It went something like this: "I'm not here for them to like me, and me not doing my role makes things scary for them." Which really made me think about the kind of mother I want to be- the one who is liked, or loved? It jarred me back to reality, back to my responsibility.

Then I realized that I needed that tough love for myself.

My parents were strict. My dad had definite ideas about how things were supposed to be. My mom was the kind of mom I am: all over the place. Loving, yelling, here and there, yes, it's fine, NO IT'S NOT, attentive, dismissive. Wow. Me too. And I have my definite ideas, but then I never felt listened to so my rules are kind of wishy washy and limp. I'm trying to be liked. To never let my kids feel the way I did a lot- alone and unheard. Oh. Shit.

What if what I've been longing for all this time was stability? Knowing what to expect? What if the way I parent my children is the way I parent myself????

Oh. SHIT.

After the talk with Universe Amy I'm getting my game back with the kids. I got my big mama self back, the one who knows what the fuck is going on and is in charge. Who is tender, but doesn't take any business. Who has rules and may not be popular but keeps it together. The change in them is instant. As soon as I say "OK kids. Here I am, in charge. I have the damn map." they scootch right back to themselves again. They push back a little harder, but when I stand firm scootch right back. What a relief.

I need to be big mama for myself.

A big big part of my personality is the give-in. It used to go like this: "I want a drink." "No, don't have a drink." "I want one." "No, really. Don't. Bad idea." "But I want it." sigh. "Fine, go ahead." Then I got to feel guilty all the next day for it. I do that now but with food instead. I don't do my soul stuff that makes my life feel good. I let the apathetic careless me make the decisions and then the rest of me gets to feel all guilty and cranky and indignant. Hence the helplessness.

I get life lazy. Like it's just so hard to do life, but life won't shut the fuck up about it. I want to run but talk myself out of it. I want to write but convince myself I don't. I long for yoga but avoid it like the plague. I want to glue stuff together and be crafty but I stare at my phone for fifteen years instead. WTF? Where is big mama? I need her for me, too.

Life hands out directions at just the right time. Here I am bobbling along, then looking a little lost. Life is all, "She might be OK, just a little diversion, wait.....wait, oop, nope. Totally off track. Here, pass that woman the map again." I got my cheat sheet, again. "Look here" it says. "Right here." "See where you were going to do the things that keep you sane and not do those things that make you crazy? Merge! Merge! Get back on track!"

I know when what I'm doing is making me unhappy. And I know the right things to do. As much as my children like rules, and boundaries, as much as knowing where the line is makes them feel safe, I suddenly realized that I need that too. I often feel like there are a lot of me's in here and that no one is really running the show. I need that inner cop, the rule maker, the enforcer. It makes me feel safer to hear my own voice as the voice of reason not permission. "I love you so there are rules." rather than "I love you so do whatever."

Now I have my directions so I gotta keep keeping it together for more than three days. Not lose big mama in traffic. Follow my map. Try my hand at consistency. Be my own enforcing tough tender loving big mama. Put that careless me in the way back, strapped in the car seat where she belongs.