I did, I did try to come up with a better title. I mean, there are kids here.
But my kids know my language, and thankfully have no interest in what i write, so, good.
So. therapy yesterday was cancelled because there were, albeit temporarily, two kids home sick from school. one went in late because she had a nap and all was well. turns out, my almost 14 year old still likes to whip himself into a froth about exciting things and is comatose in my bed while he ‘prepares’ for his trip to DC.
But, I got to talk to Chakra Carol on the phone because I really, really want to know what all this harsh judgement of others is doing/serving/exposing in me… because i’m not really allowing myself to talk to anyone because i’m so ugly inside and it just hurts.
Chakra Carol says:
A relationship arrives which gives you the opportunity to heal. You have a lot of anger, but now there is no one to pin it on. You cannot trust, but there is no one to pin it on. SO KABOOM, out into the universe it goes…
KABOOM. because, dealing with it in myself is much less clear and easy than looking at other people and judging them for what sins i see in myself. pretense, manipulation, control issues…
Am I false? falsifying my life? Am I manipulating facts to make pretty stories? (i seem to be failing this, if its my intention, because hello ugly.) Mostly, I don’t think so but ask me if I value my self… i dare you.
Ask me if I believe in my innate goodness? Do i deserve fresh coffee or do i deserve yesterday’s remains? (this, yes, is actually a thing)
My fears are running wild. so i have work to do. noticing. ( a big C.C. thing) in noticing, not judging.
say, ‘I am fearful of being in a relationship in which I am not mistreated’.
say, ‘I am afraid that I am inherently unlovable.’
say, ‘I do not trust that I can be loved.’
Notice it in me, and don’t judge it. let it lie. point at it, if need be, but let it lie.
slow. slow. slow.
roll on it like a marble. but don’t judge it.
maybe if i can lay it down like a river, i’ll remember my compassion for myself, and by the transitive property, the rest of the world.
Its like the balls of tinfoil candywrappers you find around the house after any holiday, but halloween and easter really seem to be the producers around here. the little bit of sparkle that is bitter when mouthed.
thats what its like. listening to myself when i’m scared of something.
and i’m scared, a little, of this small life i have, and the change inherent in the choice of vulnerability.
i have this brilliant life.. although there has been a lot of death this week, in life and in my chicken coop, and the contrast between humanity and farm has never been more clear.
the loss of 10 birds to a death by suicide?
and remembering can be pretty hard sometimes. and imagining can be hard sometimes, too, when pain and deepest sadness are at root. and in a small life it can be all consuming.
but there are other sides to the coin, as always.
this small life, this dandelion of detail that keeps pushing its way into my foreground, this need to spread joy underground, to be persistent against all the formality and form of the ‘just so’… it is me digging in my heels against the perfect lawn, the ‘be happy’ mentality, against my own self-judgement for having a ‘mom’s boyfriend’… because i judge that phrase . so. damn. much. and i can withdraw more and more. and the small life warps a little… and again, and again, the dandelion bursts its sun into a million wishes… and who the hell am i to warp that?
and i’m so incredibly lucky and so incredibly heartbroken that not everyone finds the dandelion.
theres a looming feeling of hysteria in my chest. i don’t know if its the overwhelming amount of parenting i’m doing, the encroaching approaching weird summer to be.. (for the entire month of july i won’t have all the kids at once. at all. i’m already freaking out.) …. no idea for what, but its there. maybe just a pms surge. there is a lot of unknown when it comes to my hormones these days. i’ve got an IUD and it doesn’t always allow there to be an actual let-down of blood, and I can’t tie my emotions to an actual event.
but the mounting hysteria? thats real. I’m 44 now, and I think most emotions are going to pass through and I’m choosing to look at this one like its temporary.
there’s a man in my town right now, and he is fully and completely unexpected. as you know, if you’ve been reading here a long long time. there is a whole lot to say about this but it is WAY too soon.
and i’m thrilled and terrified to the point of nausea and having a fairly powerful amount of PTSD in ways that I really thought I had processed. but when you ask someone if they want a drink in order to see if they are a secret alcoholic? um…
that doesn’t work, one… and its a very strange sort of manipulation of situation. like, do i get a man drunk just to prove he is a drunk and then run away?? is that how that goes?
um. when he forgets something in the restaurant and has to run back in… do i wait and peek in the windows and see if he is at the bar? or just assume he is and drive away mad? (in my own car, that is…) sigh. yes, a real thing.
its very old news. and yet, i’m reliving some of this shit.
and again i say, i thought i’d been dealing with some of this stuff. i’m having days where i am so fucking sad about ‘their dad’.. because he’s still just the same and it breaks me.
but i’ve been working for about four years on how to make life for myself more safe. and for my kids. safe, steady, consistent, recognizable. safe. consistent. recognizable. did i say that already?
and today i am just jibbering in the corner because everything from here on is completely unknown, and I don’t know how to make the right decision for my kids .
i am flat out terrified. i just am too worn down to put it in its place. so there i am.
i spent the weekend with an infant and i watched him gaze and then look away and then go back to gazing…
and i do that, all the time… so much the gaze, the introspection, the focus … The Startle: then i can’t handle it and need to withdraw in a figurative bubble to repair. its as if the study and gaze of mine has rent me.
do you know that language? its how it feels.
and so after a wonderful weekend and a reunion with my man, i’m just barely able to get out of bed.
and i do not dig it.
and the world is rushing in to my bubble and i feel vulnerable to all the things.
i do not dig.
i look back at my most recent journaling and it tells me what i know is necessary. practice. receiving. practice.
like get down on your knees and practice. literally do something uncomfortable, completely force the boundaries to stretch, make yourself sick with the twist, get down on your knees and open up that cracked up walnut chest and just sit there, exposed. because that is the practice that I have to do these days. I don’t know what is coming, and I still have to do it and I don’t really know if I can, if I can brave that particular chill.
i’ve felt this call before and brushed it off. this need to immerse, to peel off the skin… to bulletize… to turn myself insides out. . . i’m not sure that brushing it off is serving me anymore and i’m intimidated .
and i’m still laughing, and able to laugh even while inviting new guy to watch kids baseball games and expose us to publicity of a sort… – – – i did that.
and i still feel like i need to take all my clothes off and walk into the blizzard.