I apologize for my lack of posting!! Things have been more than a bit hectic for me lately. This is honestly the first time that I have gotten a solid half an hour block of time to myself in weeks. Yet, it has all been for good reasons and I am going to do my best to share.
Yesterday was a wonderful day. I spent several hours trying to do advanced statistics with a fever. I then spent a decent amount of time in bed. Later, I did my best to keep it together at dinner with my daughter. I even neglected to go to an extra credit opportunity at the last minute.
Why was it wonderful, then?
Well.... I was able to take a few hours to really savor where my life is at right now. Further, I was able to do this while I was living that life. I didn't have to hit the pause button to recognize the simple pleasures that surrounded me. I also did not have to frantically work over the major factors of my life to know that they are where they need to be.
It was a day of harmony, authenticity, and living life as it came.
I pushed myself. I honored myself. I realized what I could do and what I could not. I spoke my truth with little to no expectations regarding the response to it from others. I was able to be myself. To enjoy an imperfect day. To recognize that this is my life and to be perfectly content with it, just as it is.
I will be 25 years young in 36 days. For the first time in my life, I actually feel as though I am fulfilled. I feel as though there is nothing that I am truly struggling with or wanting to change.
This is the exact opposite of where I was exactly 5 years ago.
I flipped out about my 20th birthday the way that most people would freak out about their 40th. I looked at my life and I saw nothing that I liked. I was drowning in my disorder. I had attempted suicide for the 2nd time. I was losing my mother. I was dropping or flunking all of my classes at community college. I hated my boyfriend; but I was too weak to say a word about it. I coped with weed and alcohol and binging and purging and sex and exercise and law & order marathons. I truly had nothing good to say about myself or my life at that point in time.
Thank goodness that I had the ability to recognize that. To some degree or another. I wouldn't be so at peace today, if I had not felt so completely torn into pieces back then.
I was overwhelmed. I was panicked. I didn't know how to start or where to turn for help. I had nothing to focus on. Nothing to throw my energies into. I had no solid friendships or ambitions. I was a blob. I decided to hit the fuck it button and tackle as much as I could at once.
Five years later, I have nothing left to tackle. I have nothing within myself to fight against or to forcibly change. I will continue to evolve; but, there is no need to push it anymore. It will happen through the natural progression of my life and who I have become.
I have a beautiful daughter that is my pride and joy. Every time I see her I am blown away by how big and smart and funny she is becoming. I can't believe how time has flown by. She will be three years old in a few weeks and I still remember waiting for her to be born. I could never ask for more in a daughter. That portion of my life is fulfilled.
I get my undergraduate degree in a field that I am passionate about in 14 days. I have worked hard and learned as much as I can for the last 4 years. It is finally paying off. I don't just feel like I am crossing something off of my list; but, like I am opening a door to a new world of knowledge and experiences. Last night I found out that I was admitted to my #1 Master's degree program. A new environment, a new degree, new professors, new peers, a whole new realm of knowledge await me in at the end of the summer.
I also have a fantastic summer ahead of me. Two of my best friends will be here with me for the summer. I get to live with one and work with the other. I won't be taking summer classes for the first time in 3 years! My phenomenal boyfriend with have his beautiful boys with him for the summer. So, I know that he will be happier than I have ever seen him... I am itching with anticipation. There are just so many things in my near future to look forward to.
Another wonderful realization has been that I am fulfilled and at peace in my romantic realm. For the first time in my life, I would not change a thing about who I am with or who I am with them. I am in love with him and who we are together. It is simple. There is not a damn thing that I find myself lacking in that relationship. In his arms I have a friend, companion, lover, rock, and partner. I can feel the energy between us. Even when we are a continent apart I don't feel alone. I am scared shitless. I don't want to lose who we are together. Yet, I know that I won't lose who I am if I ever lost him.
That is what makes me feel secure.
I could spend my life with him or never see him again. Either way, I will maintain my own identity and he will maintain his. There is no enmeshment, only entwining. We could be separated and remain whole. There would be no loss of self. Yet, together we are so much more than we are apart.
Another area of my life in which I am authentic and at peace. I just get to sit back and enjoy the ride. I get to revel in the journey that he and I will have together. That is beautiful.
Most importantly, I am content with myself. I am fulfilled in who I am. I know that I have a lot of things that I still want to do; but, I do not see many things left to fix. Simply to enhance.
I can eat and keep my food. Oh! For those of you who are interested, I have done quite well with the new dietary choices. I have found a pretty healthy balance between gluten, meat, and dairy elimination and indulgence. I went to NY for a few days and I had no problems or guilt enjoying a slice or a hot dog; but, I still opted for my preferred choices the majority of the time. Unfortunately, I have been sick twice in the past month and I haven't made it to the gym more than a couple of times. Still working on that end of the balance. However, I am not concerned or stressed about it in the slightest. It will evolve as appropriate.
My focus on health is now similar to that of most people. Colds, flus, sinus infections, back aches, and cricks in my neck. Not blood in my self-induced vomit, severe fatigue, hormonal imbalances (except for PMS), and losing my hair. My recovery is sound within my body and my mind.
Yesterday was a wonderful day. I got accepted to graduate school. My daughter squealed when she saw me. She fed me chutney with her fingers. My father told me that he was proud of me and so did my sister. My friend helped me finish my stats homework. My boyfriend confessed 10+ things that he was stupid in love with about me. My cat slept on my chest. His dog snuggled my armpit. I had 40-50 people congratulate me on my facebook page. I bought neon mini skirts and rhinestone shoes on sale at Target. All with a fever and losing my voice. All with no make up on. All in my sweat pants with rat's nests in my hair. All bloated with my period. All of it perfectly authentic and in balance.
Life is made up of simple pleasures. There are big markers along the way. They are few and far between. They do not give meaning or joy to our lives. They only give us cause to reflect upon the people, relationships, and circumstances that do. Let your markers guide you towards the path that suits your soul.
Peace, Love, and Strength
Friday, April 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Break On Through to the Other Side
Well, so much for an interesting week of posts ;)
Truth be told, I was far too busy actually doing things out in the world. Crazy, I know. I spent three days in a car, another day recovering, and then the weekend was spent playing catch up. Now, I am back to the daily grind: up before 7, daughter to day care, Starbucks, and blogging before class.
I am not quite sure what it is that I would like to pick out of this past week to blog about first. So many different things happened in such rapid succession that I am still sorting it all out. Yet, I think that the very first one is the most mind boggling and significant to those of you who are in recovery.
Just after my last post, I had to rush around and pack for my trip north. Now, what is it that every female does when she is packing for a trip?
She tries on her outfit(s).
Well, I had spoiled myself and purchased a cute top from Anthropologie to go and speak at my first group in. It was a bit billowy and would require me to wear every bloat day's worst nightmare: skinny jeans. Dun Dun Duuuuuun.
I own two pairs of skinny jeans at this point in time. A super dark wash jegging and a more faded pair of Joe's. I know that none of my male readers have a clue what I am talking about, hang in there. Well, the top was really bright and I figured that the dark jeggings would really set it off. The thing about jeggings is that they are pretty much 70% legging and 30% jean. They just get the color and the zipper from their denim predecessors. You basically have to do that awful wiggle dance to get them up and then stand in the splits to stretch them out enough so that you don't feel like you are being strangled at the waist.
I don't understand whyyyy we do this to ourselves; but, we do.
I am doing the wiggle dance and then there is that dreaded *pop*
I hadn't zipped the zipper all the way down (zip is such a fun word) and it broke. I broke the zipper on my skinny jeans after having a nervous breakdown about the one year anniversary of my mother's death and trying to pack to go lead a group.... fucking figures.
Well, what do you think I did?
I'll give you 10 seconds....
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
If you guessed that I collapsed in a heap on the floor, then you would be wrong.
If you guess that I grabbed my other pair of skinny jeans and wiggled them on with little effort, then you would be correct-a-mundo.
I got the pants on, put on my awesome peep toes, and looked in the mirror.
For the first time that I can really remember, I actually saw myself.
There was just this wonderful moment where I had this inner calm. I just looked in the mirror and I saw my face and my energy and my self.
It was as though the clothes and the body weren't even there. It was just me. The person within the body. The exterior just dropped away and I saw everything that I have done and everything that I am. The woman that I have become. That I have worked my ass off to become. Figuratively of course.
I just stood there. For about five minutes. Smiling like a dumbass and welling up like a wimp. Completely taken aback by what I was seeing. What I had been waiting years to see. Maybe even my whole life. It was wonderful. It is something that so few people can actually recognize the significance of. Yet, I know that every one of you can imagine how wondrous it must be for someone who once saw no worth but her body to finally see the worth in every thing else.
As a meaningful transition: I told my mom.
I stood there and I looked and I told her that I was going to be ok. That I had made it and that I was going to be just fine. That her daughter had kicked the kind of ass that she never quite could.
I bet she is damned proud.
I spent an hour and a half on the phone with my sister the next day as I drove to up the coast. She is still so hurt and full of rage and anger. I don't blame her. She saw a lot more of our mother's worst days. I cut mom out before she hit bottom. I knew where she was going and I couldn't go with her. My sister was too young to do that. My heart breaks for her every time I hear her telling me those stories. I tried to shield her from that side of our mom for most of our lives; but I had to shield myself at the end. I wish that I had kept at it for just a few more years. My sister didn't need to see or hear those things. No child should.
That is what has given me closure. My daughter. My child. My motherhood.
I have spent the last year wondering why I could not cry and sob over my own mother's death. It is not that it never happened; it is just that I could think about her without shedding a tear. At first, I will admit that it was because I had become cold and closed. Yet, that has changed somehow over recent months.
I think it is because I see my mother as a person, not as my mother. I don't know if that quite makes sense. Let me explain.
Every individual fills a multitude of roles: mother, wife, girlfriend, sister, daughter, co worker, friend, teacher, mentor, ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, cousin, aunt.... you get my drift. We all wear several hats. WE are not a single role. We are the person that fills them. Yet, the people for whom we fill those roles only see that part of us. It makes it difficult for them to accept and understand when we do things that do not fit into that preconceived notion of who we must be for them in their life.
A shift has occurred in the last few months. I think that it started several years ago when I tried to understand why my mother had left my sister and I. There was no way to reconcile her behavior with who she was in my life. It was not the behavior of my mother. My mommy would never have done those things. Yet, she was. So, I split her. She became my mom or my mother. Ironically, I called her my mother when she did the things that didn't fill that role. She never liked being called mother. I found it fitting.
Well, as I have begun to fill the role of a mom, I have recognized the reality of who and what a mom is. A mom is a woman. She is not just the one that washes your hair, packs your lunch, cuts your sandwiches into squares, and kisses your boo boos. She has friends, lovers, family, responsibilities, hopes, dreams, insecurities, fears, and pain. A mom is not perfect. She is not only there for you. She will try to be. Yet, it is not possible. A mom cannot be only a mom. She must be herself. For that is what makes her your mom.
When I look at how challenging it is for me to do what I do for my daughter, it helps me to realize how difficult it must have been for my mom to do what she did for us. As broken as I was, I was not nearly as broken as she was. I was not beyond my own saving. I had my problems (I still do). Thankfully, they were not outside my realm of control. They were not due to innate and internal imbalances. My mom's were. Yet, she did more things with my sister and I than I do with my daughter.
I can't help but to feel as though that was part of her problem. She tried so hard to be the perfect wife and mother. Yet, she was going through so much internal pain and fear. She was alone and isolated and depressed. She did not do for herself. She did not care for her self. She lost the person that filled the roles. Eventually, she lost the roles as well.
That is the thing that we all must realize: we are not who we are to others, we are who we are to ourselves.
You cannot be there for those you love, if you are not there for yourself first. You must speak your truth. You must communicate your needs. You must nurture your heart and your soul. That is what makes you who you are to those you love.
They do not love you for what you are, they love you for who you are.
The reality is that a nanny or a step-mother can pack lunches and kiss boo boos. However, only the person that makes up your mom can do it just like she does. It is the little details about us that makes us precious to those we love. It is not the big things that we do, it is how we do them.
Recognizing all of this has helped me to come to terms with the loss of my mother. It was not just the loss of my mom. It was the loss of the person who filled that role. She had her own demons and insecurities. She had her own hopes and dreams. She had her own worries and fears. She was a person. Not just my mom. I can have so much compassion for who she was. Even if that meant that she could not be what I needed her to be.
She did her best. It was not enough; but, she did her best. She loved us as best as she could. She tried for years to be the what and lost the who. It breaks my heart to know that she could probably have made it if she did the hard work. If she didn't turn away from who she was for so long. It broke her when the what fell apart.
This realization has lead me to the acknowledgement of my final self-improvement project. I comforted myself for the last eight years in the way that my mother tried to comfort me. I gathered and kept things. I attributed worth to things. I was afraid that I would lose the memory if I lost the things. I kept that which reminded me of what I could not bear to think of on my own.
I avoided thinking about things that were unpleasant. My avoidance required distraction. Sometimes it was healthily. Usually, it was not.
When I have something on my mind, I tend to run errands or go shopping. I tend to get pretty things to become excited about. It will cheer me up momentarily; but, then I will look at all of it and feel ashamed that it represents my avoidance of my issues. It represents my refusal to see things for what they are. It was my "healthy binge".
People could leave; but, I could keep the things that reminded me of them. This is fine in small treasures; but, not in a plethora of outfits and scraps of paper. I would weed things out every few months. Yet, I never actually got rid of the things that had any memory attached to it. Sadly, their presence has become unnecessary and toxic.
So, I got rid of all of it.
I spent most of sunday afternoon going through all of my drawers, closets, bags, shoes, and linens. I still have to sort them out to sell, donate, or trash. I still have the garage to tackle. Yet, I no longer fear the loss of things or people. I recognize the impermanence of life. I see the beauty in its changes and fluctuations.
I just want to be the person that I am proud to be through all of these changes. I want to meet everything head on. I want to face them. I don't just want to duck and charge anymore. I want to walk with my head facing forward. I want my heart to follow my head and my head to obey my heart. I want to take every decision and do what it is that makes me feel right about it. I don't want the guilt or the shame or the false comforts. I want the legitimate satisfaction of doing what is right for the sake of it being right. Not easy, not safe, not comfortable. Right.
Life will always toss us shit. If you spend enough time in the presence of other living things, then you will inevitably find yourself covered in shit.
Wear it proudly. Be who you are. Not what you feel you must be.
If you don't see the difference, then you need to start working on that.
Then, you will be who you want to be and do what you want to do.
Chew on that for a while.
Truth be told, I was far too busy actually doing things out in the world. Crazy, I know. I spent three days in a car, another day recovering, and then the weekend was spent playing catch up. Now, I am back to the daily grind: up before 7, daughter to day care, Starbucks, and blogging before class.
I am not quite sure what it is that I would like to pick out of this past week to blog about first. So many different things happened in such rapid succession that I am still sorting it all out. Yet, I think that the very first one is the most mind boggling and significant to those of you who are in recovery.
Just after my last post, I had to rush around and pack for my trip north. Now, what is it that every female does when she is packing for a trip?
She tries on her outfit(s).
Well, I had spoiled myself and purchased a cute top from Anthropologie to go and speak at my first group in. It was a bit billowy and would require me to wear every bloat day's worst nightmare: skinny jeans. Dun Dun Duuuuuun.
I own two pairs of skinny jeans at this point in time. A super dark wash jegging and a more faded pair of Joe's. I know that none of my male readers have a clue what I am talking about, hang in there. Well, the top was really bright and I figured that the dark jeggings would really set it off. The thing about jeggings is that they are pretty much 70% legging and 30% jean. They just get the color and the zipper from their denim predecessors. You basically have to do that awful wiggle dance to get them up and then stand in the splits to stretch them out enough so that you don't feel like you are being strangled at the waist.
I don't understand whyyyy we do this to ourselves; but, we do.
I am doing the wiggle dance and then there is that dreaded *pop*
I hadn't zipped the zipper all the way down (zip is such a fun word) and it broke. I broke the zipper on my skinny jeans after having a nervous breakdown about the one year anniversary of my mother's death and trying to pack to go lead a group.... fucking figures.
Well, what do you think I did?
I'll give you 10 seconds....
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
If you guessed that I collapsed in a heap on the floor, then you would be wrong.
If you guess that I grabbed my other pair of skinny jeans and wiggled them on with little effort, then you would be correct-a-mundo.
I got the pants on, put on my awesome peep toes, and looked in the mirror.
For the first time that I can really remember, I actually saw myself.
There was just this wonderful moment where I had this inner calm. I just looked in the mirror and I saw my face and my energy and my self.
It was as though the clothes and the body weren't even there. It was just me. The person within the body. The exterior just dropped away and I saw everything that I have done and everything that I am. The woman that I have become. That I have worked my ass off to become. Figuratively of course.
I just stood there. For about five minutes. Smiling like a dumbass and welling up like a wimp. Completely taken aback by what I was seeing. What I had been waiting years to see. Maybe even my whole life. It was wonderful. It is something that so few people can actually recognize the significance of. Yet, I know that every one of you can imagine how wondrous it must be for someone who once saw no worth but her body to finally see the worth in every thing else.
As a meaningful transition: I told my mom.
I stood there and I looked and I told her that I was going to be ok. That I had made it and that I was going to be just fine. That her daughter had kicked the kind of ass that she never quite could.
I bet she is damned proud.
I spent an hour and a half on the phone with my sister the next day as I drove to up the coast. She is still so hurt and full of rage and anger. I don't blame her. She saw a lot more of our mother's worst days. I cut mom out before she hit bottom. I knew where she was going and I couldn't go with her. My sister was too young to do that. My heart breaks for her every time I hear her telling me those stories. I tried to shield her from that side of our mom for most of our lives; but I had to shield myself at the end. I wish that I had kept at it for just a few more years. My sister didn't need to see or hear those things. No child should.
That is what has given me closure. My daughter. My child. My motherhood.
I have spent the last year wondering why I could not cry and sob over my own mother's death. It is not that it never happened; it is just that I could think about her without shedding a tear. At first, I will admit that it was because I had become cold and closed. Yet, that has changed somehow over recent months.
I think it is because I see my mother as a person, not as my mother. I don't know if that quite makes sense. Let me explain.
Every individual fills a multitude of roles: mother, wife, girlfriend, sister, daughter, co worker, friend, teacher, mentor, ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, cousin, aunt.... you get my drift. We all wear several hats. WE are not a single role. We are the person that fills them. Yet, the people for whom we fill those roles only see that part of us. It makes it difficult for them to accept and understand when we do things that do not fit into that preconceived notion of who we must be for them in their life.
A shift has occurred in the last few months. I think that it started several years ago when I tried to understand why my mother had left my sister and I. There was no way to reconcile her behavior with who she was in my life. It was not the behavior of my mother. My mommy would never have done those things. Yet, she was. So, I split her. She became my mom or my mother. Ironically, I called her my mother when she did the things that didn't fill that role. She never liked being called mother. I found it fitting.
Well, as I have begun to fill the role of a mom, I have recognized the reality of who and what a mom is. A mom is a woman. She is not just the one that washes your hair, packs your lunch, cuts your sandwiches into squares, and kisses your boo boos. She has friends, lovers, family, responsibilities, hopes, dreams, insecurities, fears, and pain. A mom is not perfect. She is not only there for you. She will try to be. Yet, it is not possible. A mom cannot be only a mom. She must be herself. For that is what makes her your mom.
When I look at how challenging it is for me to do what I do for my daughter, it helps me to realize how difficult it must have been for my mom to do what she did for us. As broken as I was, I was not nearly as broken as she was. I was not beyond my own saving. I had my problems (I still do). Thankfully, they were not outside my realm of control. They were not due to innate and internal imbalances. My mom's were. Yet, she did more things with my sister and I than I do with my daughter.
I can't help but to feel as though that was part of her problem. She tried so hard to be the perfect wife and mother. Yet, she was going through so much internal pain and fear. She was alone and isolated and depressed. She did not do for herself. She did not care for her self. She lost the person that filled the roles. Eventually, she lost the roles as well.
That is the thing that we all must realize: we are not who we are to others, we are who we are to ourselves.
You cannot be there for those you love, if you are not there for yourself first. You must speak your truth. You must communicate your needs. You must nurture your heart and your soul. That is what makes you who you are to those you love.
They do not love you for what you are, they love you for who you are.
The reality is that a nanny or a step-mother can pack lunches and kiss boo boos. However, only the person that makes up your mom can do it just like she does. It is the little details about us that makes us precious to those we love. It is not the big things that we do, it is how we do them.
Recognizing all of this has helped me to come to terms with the loss of my mother. It was not just the loss of my mom. It was the loss of the person who filled that role. She had her own demons and insecurities. She had her own hopes and dreams. She had her own worries and fears. She was a person. Not just my mom. I can have so much compassion for who she was. Even if that meant that she could not be what I needed her to be.
She did her best. It was not enough; but, she did her best. She loved us as best as she could. She tried for years to be the what and lost the who. It breaks my heart to know that she could probably have made it if she did the hard work. If she didn't turn away from who she was for so long. It broke her when the what fell apart.
This realization has lead me to the acknowledgement of my final self-improvement project. I comforted myself for the last eight years in the way that my mother tried to comfort me. I gathered and kept things. I attributed worth to things. I was afraid that I would lose the memory if I lost the things. I kept that which reminded me of what I could not bear to think of on my own.
I avoided thinking about things that were unpleasant. My avoidance required distraction. Sometimes it was healthily. Usually, it was not.
When I have something on my mind, I tend to run errands or go shopping. I tend to get pretty things to become excited about. It will cheer me up momentarily; but, then I will look at all of it and feel ashamed that it represents my avoidance of my issues. It represents my refusal to see things for what they are. It was my "healthy binge".
People could leave; but, I could keep the things that reminded me of them. This is fine in small treasures; but, not in a plethora of outfits and scraps of paper. I would weed things out every few months. Yet, I never actually got rid of the things that had any memory attached to it. Sadly, their presence has become unnecessary and toxic.
So, I got rid of all of it.
I spent most of sunday afternoon going through all of my drawers, closets, bags, shoes, and linens. I still have to sort them out to sell, donate, or trash. I still have the garage to tackle. Yet, I no longer fear the loss of things or people. I recognize the impermanence of life. I see the beauty in its changes and fluctuations.
I just want to be the person that I am proud to be through all of these changes. I want to meet everything head on. I want to face them. I don't just want to duck and charge anymore. I want to walk with my head facing forward. I want my heart to follow my head and my head to obey my heart. I want to take every decision and do what it is that makes me feel right about it. I don't want the guilt or the shame or the false comforts. I want the legitimate satisfaction of doing what is right for the sake of it being right. Not easy, not safe, not comfortable. Right.
Life will always toss us shit. If you spend enough time in the presence of other living things, then you will inevitably find yourself covered in shit.
Wear it proudly. Be who you are. Not what you feel you must be.
If you don't see the difference, then you need to start working on that.
Then, you will be who you want to be and do what you want to do.
Chew on that for a while.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Well... THAT Explains IT
So, I get up this morning and decide that I am going to get EVERYTHING on my laundry list of to-do's done. Empty out the fridge, clean out my car, get it washed, go to the bank, pay for daycare, put away laundry, restock my cosmetics, etc etc etc. I spent the last 8 hours running around like a fucking maniac.
Then, I look at my phone and I see a missed call from my sister.
Oh... Fuck....
Wednesday is the one year anniversary of my mother's death.
Well... That fucking explains it.
Of course I spent the entire day running around like a crazed lunatic instead of focusing on the reality that it has been a year since my mother died and I have still not come to terms with it. What else would I do?
Actually sit with it and process the situation and what I need to do.
Wait... That's what I have been doing for the last hour. Kind of.
I think I may be getting the hang of this whole mental health thing. It's only taken about 15 years of therapy. Talk about a long term investment.
So, what have I done in the last hour?
I called my sister and said that I wanted to try and see her since I am already going to be close to her tomorrow. I called my ex to see if he could figure something out to keep our daughter for an extra night. I was even nice and apologetic. I left voice mails for a couple of people that I may be able to get help from. I called my therapist. I told my boyfriend that I needed him to do something sweet for me on Wednesday.
Pretty good if I do say so myself.
Further, I actually started thinking about what I deem to be the most important part of that: calling my sister.
I suddenly just had an image flash through my mind that she and I needed to do things together to honor our mom. That I wanted to listen to Madonna and Gloria Estefan and Shania Twain. That we needed to make welsh rarebit. That I desperately need to find some champagne roses and make cinnamon sugar toast. That I wanted to make it about our mom; not about losing her.
It has been so impossibly hard for me to think about my mother for the last 6 years. To remember what she looked like or what she did. In recent weeks, I have been flooded with memories. Some good and some bad. Realizations about why I do things and how they connect to my mother.
It has been truly mind bending for me.
For me to not instantly try to push this from my mind. For me to attempt to sit with this feeling. To sit with it as it comes up. In the present moment. Ok... Let me do that for a second. Here comes the free flow......
sad guilty lonely; but not really. grateful for my health. sad that I could not help her. blessed to have my own beautiful daughter. hoping that my mother is proud of me for what I am doing in my life. wishing that she could be here to see it. to see what I am still going to do. angry that she gave in. sad that I can't remember the last words that she said to me. desperately trying to recall a good memory of her. a last good healthy memory. finding myself sifting through a plethora of awful memories. painful memories. I remember her coming into my bedroom when I was crying. she sat on the bed next to me and she tried saying a few things. I was probably 15 or 16. I don't remember why I was crying. I remember trying to shake her off and still wanting her to stay. fighting her and clinging to her. and then she told me something "you have always cried like this. since you were a baby. you let all of this pain out of you in one forced effort and then you frantically try to breathe".
Still a pretty accurate description.
I miss having a mom.
Maybe that's why I love to care for others. I know how empty it can feel when you don't have someone there to tell you how you cry. Someone who knows you and understand you.
I understood my mother. She understood me. We always did. There was this weird and unspoken connection between us. I feel like I have been looking for it ever since I lost it. For that understanding. That complete and total comprehension.
Maybe that's why I can think about her more, now. I don't feel like I am misunderstood anymore. I feel like I understand myself and others. I feel like others understand me.
It isn't the same; but, it makes sense as to why I can think about her again. I don't feel as though I have permanently lost what she gave me. I feel like I have found it. I feel like I can let her in and understand her again.
Well, fuck me.
It will be an interesting week of posts my dears. A very interesting week.
Then, I look at my phone and I see a missed call from my sister.
Oh... Fuck....
Wednesday is the one year anniversary of my mother's death.
Well... That fucking explains it.
Of course I spent the entire day running around like a crazed lunatic instead of focusing on the reality that it has been a year since my mother died and I have still not come to terms with it. What else would I do?
Actually sit with it and process the situation and what I need to do.
Wait... That's what I have been doing for the last hour. Kind of.
I think I may be getting the hang of this whole mental health thing. It's only taken about 15 years of therapy. Talk about a long term investment.
So, what have I done in the last hour?
I called my sister and said that I wanted to try and see her since I am already going to be close to her tomorrow. I called my ex to see if he could figure something out to keep our daughter for an extra night. I was even nice and apologetic. I left voice mails for a couple of people that I may be able to get help from. I called my therapist. I told my boyfriend that I needed him to do something sweet for me on Wednesday.
Pretty good if I do say so myself.
Further, I actually started thinking about what I deem to be the most important part of that: calling my sister.
I suddenly just had an image flash through my mind that she and I needed to do things together to honor our mom. That I wanted to listen to Madonna and Gloria Estefan and Shania Twain. That we needed to make welsh rarebit. That I desperately need to find some champagne roses and make cinnamon sugar toast. That I wanted to make it about our mom; not about losing her.
It has been so impossibly hard for me to think about my mother for the last 6 years. To remember what she looked like or what she did. In recent weeks, I have been flooded with memories. Some good and some bad. Realizations about why I do things and how they connect to my mother.
It has been truly mind bending for me.
For me to not instantly try to push this from my mind. For me to attempt to sit with this feeling. To sit with it as it comes up. In the present moment. Ok... Let me do that for a second. Here comes the free flow......
sad guilty lonely; but not really. grateful for my health. sad that I could not help her. blessed to have my own beautiful daughter. hoping that my mother is proud of me for what I am doing in my life. wishing that she could be here to see it. to see what I am still going to do. angry that she gave in. sad that I can't remember the last words that she said to me. desperately trying to recall a good memory of her. a last good healthy memory. finding myself sifting through a plethora of awful memories. painful memories. I remember her coming into my bedroom when I was crying. she sat on the bed next to me and she tried saying a few things. I was probably 15 or 16. I don't remember why I was crying. I remember trying to shake her off and still wanting her to stay. fighting her and clinging to her. and then she told me something "you have always cried like this. since you were a baby. you let all of this pain out of you in one forced effort and then you frantically try to breathe".
Still a pretty accurate description.
I miss having a mom.
Maybe that's why I love to care for others. I know how empty it can feel when you don't have someone there to tell you how you cry. Someone who knows you and understand you.
I understood my mother. She understood me. We always did. There was this weird and unspoken connection between us. I feel like I have been looking for it ever since I lost it. For that understanding. That complete and total comprehension.
Maybe that's why I can think about her more, now. I don't feel like I am misunderstood anymore. I feel like I understand myself and others. I feel like others understand me.
It isn't the same; but, it makes sense as to why I can think about her again. I don't feel as though I have permanently lost what she gave me. I feel like I have found it. I feel like I can let her in and understand her again.
Well, fuck me.
It will be an interesting week of posts my dears. A very interesting week.
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