We are all always going through transitions in life. I know, as a parent in particular, I transition with my children through stages of life all the time. Currently one son is learning to drive, a daughter is finishing her first year of high school, my baby just started walking - so many changes to roll with and readjust to all the time. That's all a part of life, of living, of growing. But I am also going through a lot of personal transitions.
In fact over the past 4 years I've completely changed almost every part of my life, transitioning from a stay at home mom in a 4 bedroom house with a white picket fence, a minivan and a garden to a single mom in a third floor walkup in a sketchy area of a big city, living paycheck to paycheck and almost hysterically dependant on foodstamps. And today I find myself struggling to accommodate yet another transition in my life.
I've lost so much in the past few years. I've gained a lot of wisdom and insight, but the things I've lost have marked my soul forever. I've come to a pivotal point in a relationship though and I'm so afraid of letting go. I know I want to let go, I know I need to let go, I know that letting go will be healthier and smarter, but I'm so afraid of losing one more thing in my life, one more person, one more safety net that I rely on. I find it so hard to just release myself and see what will happen. I imagine the worst, because I've had "the worst" happen and I feel realistically justified in assuming that the worst will come true. I try to imagine the best - and then self doubt kicks me down.
It's all fear based. A therapist told me once that I may never escape fear, that I might walk hand in hand with it over every decision that comes my way, however I have the choice to embrace fear and use it, or to let it lead me. Right now I am being led by my fear and it's not a lot of fun. I can stop it but it takes a measure of courage and I'm not feeling very courageous right now.
As I'm writing this, I realize I am talking myself through the entire issue, I am therapizing (is that a word? It is now...) myself. It's pretty helpful actually. More productive than sitting on my couch with a carton of ice cream thats for sure! I know I've come a long way in the past year alone, I know I've been brave, been courageous, been smart and strong and self sufficient and self reliant. I am proud of my accomplishments, of the ways in which I've planned to move ahead. But I find myself stuck at this point, in this relationship, because of fear.
It's time to let go, roll into the transitions it brings, and put fear in the back seat instead of the drivers seat. Its time to let my courage rise up and light the way.
Tuesday, May 21
Monday, May 13
The Truth Is
The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with caution ~ JK Rowling
I think about all the truths that you felt so strongly about sharing with me - and how deep those truths scalded into my soul, and the ugly vivid scar tissue they left behind. Even though I know with all the truth I have of my own, that YOUR truths were only true for YOU, I am still scarred by them.
I think about all the truths you've spouted from vengeful angry lips, truths borne of fear and insecurity, truths molded by your past, by your own vivid scars, truths grown from desperation and manipulation - and I feel their roots weaving down into my soul irretrievably like some weed gone wild and out of control that overtakes an entire garden, choking it from light and growth.
I can find no more room for your truths, as untrue as they are. I can find no more room for stretching to accommodate, no more ability for folding and bending to maneuver, and no more strength for holding up under your terrible unbeautiful untrue truths. The truth is, I am done with you and your truth.
I have found no beauty in truth.
I think about all the truths I never spoke aloud, truths I hid in my mouth like forbidden candy, tasting of guilt and fear instead of goodness. I wish I had been able to share them, I wish I had been able to hold them out to the light and let them find their own beauty, let their purity shine all around us and lighten up the dark we scurried around in. But I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't.
I think with regret of all the truths I never spoke, or of truths I whispered and then hurriedly and apologetically took back, of truths I denied myself - and the more I think of them, the more they begin to grow again, to take root, to poke past the shadows, to become exposed. My truths. My baby truths. My tender, fresh, still there, truths. I am growing truth.
Perhaps there is beauty yet to be found...
Tuesday, May 7
Milestones
I know I have bad breath - I just slammed a cup of coffee after eating a handful of veggie chips and I reach for a peice of gum so that when I start yelling at him, face to face, he won't be blasted away by my coffee-and-chip breath. Then I stop. He deserves to be blasted by my nasty coffee-and-chip breath, I think to myself. And with a little self satisfied smirk, I grab my keys and head for the door, leaving my gum behind.
When he pulls up in the parking lot, I am ready. I have my words all rehearsed and ready to go. Words fly around my brain like little springtime gnats: Respect, Honor, Responsible, Disappointed, Do What You Say, Communication... but all the words fly away from me as I see him step from the car.
He is so tall now. He topped 6 feet a few months ago, and while he is still lanky, long-limbed and narrow in the shoulders, his face is getting stronger, his arms fuller, his facial hair defined, even the hair on his arms seems more manly now. This son of mine, so amazing to my eyes, so joyful to my heart, how can I be so angry at this miracle of mine?
He has a stubborn set to his jaw, I know he too is angry, annoyed, irritated, whatever it is that teenagers feel when confronted with parents and rules and boundaries. I look at that face with it's newly defined jaw and cheekbones, the smooth skin where he has obviously just shaved (like I told him to via text message) and I remember the sweet pink roundness of him at 4 - his eyes so huge and brown with those thick long lashes that only boys get. His eyes are the same and I soften a little.
I hug him and he tolerantly pats my shoulder. I am not a big person, I come barely to his chest and when he is in a teasing mood he wraps his arms around my head and buries my face in his armpit. Not this time though. This time I get that tolerant shoulder pat. I look up, up, up at him and I say, with all seriousness, "Come closer, I want you to smell my breath!"
As we walk into the store I tell him how I was so mad that I wanted him to have to deal with the yelling, the lecture, AND the bad breath and by now we are both laughing a bit. He apologizes and I say, "Well, that's nice, but I still get to yell at you later ok?" He says, "I know, I know!" and we go about the business of getting him employed.
Another milestone for him is right under his feet. Like always, from the day he took his first steps, I am there beside him to encourage him, cheer him on, and catch him if he falls.
When he pulls up in the parking lot, I am ready. I have my words all rehearsed and ready to go. Words fly around my brain like little springtime gnats: Respect, Honor, Responsible, Disappointed, Do What You Say, Communication... but all the words fly away from me as I see him step from the car.
He is so tall now. He topped 6 feet a few months ago, and while he is still lanky, long-limbed and narrow in the shoulders, his face is getting stronger, his arms fuller, his facial hair defined, even the hair on his arms seems more manly now. This son of mine, so amazing to my eyes, so joyful to my heart, how can I be so angry at this miracle of mine?
He has a stubborn set to his jaw, I know he too is angry, annoyed, irritated, whatever it is that teenagers feel when confronted with parents and rules and boundaries. I look at that face with it's newly defined jaw and cheekbones, the smooth skin where he has obviously just shaved (like I told him to via text message) and I remember the sweet pink roundness of him at 4 - his eyes so huge and brown with those thick long lashes that only boys get. His eyes are the same and I soften a little.
I hug him and he tolerantly pats my shoulder. I am not a big person, I come barely to his chest and when he is in a teasing mood he wraps his arms around my head and buries my face in his armpit. Not this time though. This time I get that tolerant shoulder pat. I look up, up, up at him and I say, with all seriousness, "Come closer, I want you to smell my breath!"
As we walk into the store I tell him how I was so mad that I wanted him to have to deal with the yelling, the lecture, AND the bad breath and by now we are both laughing a bit. He apologizes and I say, "Well, that's nice, but I still get to yell at you later ok?" He says, "I know, I know!" and we go about the business of getting him employed.
Another milestone for him is right under his feet. Like always, from the day he took his first steps, I am there beside him to encourage him, cheer him on, and catch him if he falls.
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