The Bandaged Place.October 29, 2012 at 11:39 am | Posted in A Year of Mindfulness, Heartbreak, Pregnancy Loss, Stuck with You (aka: Family) | 7 Comments
So. Yeah, Friday was a Low.
I figured I’d have good days and bad days. What I didn’t figure into the equation was my mother’s drama. Which, of COURSE the whole thing would blow up then.
I am not calling her, nor am I apologizing for speaking my mind and telling her that she’s disappointing people. She emailed me and my siblings about the Frankenstorm, and I responded directly to her, with a sentence that told her I hope her hand was healing well.
I have also gathered a bunch of Lucky’s artwork – all the Angry Birds stuff, because OMG he is utterly! obsessed! with! drawing! Angry Birds! – and will have him make her a get well card.
But that’s about as close as I’m going to get.
And I can tell you how this is going to play out: she’s not going to respond to me, until I do the right thing and call her and apologize for my disrespect. I won’t get a call on my birthday next month. I won’t get a card. She’s going to withhold her love until I fall into line, and then she’s going to spend her time telling me how awful it was for HER, this whole time, how hard it is on her to go through MAJOR SURGERY on her hand, and that she had no choice but to stay home and not travel, yada yada yada.
I’ll never get an apology from her for hanging up on me, nor any acknowledgement that she has any part of the blame of any of this.
I have been trying to be really, really patient with myself; to treat my Emotional Self as a friend, with kindness and understanding, instead of my usual impatience/fear/denial.
The phrase that has become my mantra? A Rumi quote, which I read a long time ago.
Don’t turn away, keep your eye on the bandaged place.
That’s where the light enters you.
It’s surprising to me how much WORK this is for me. Which, honestly, it SHOULDN’T surprise me: I’ve spent nearly 37 years coping with bad stuff the same way – by telling myself to toughen up, people have it far worse than I do, talking myself out of feeling anything at all…
Then being completely overwhelmed with The Suck when I can’t hold the feelings back and it all crashes over me.
I’ve never liked swimming in the ocean, for good reason. It’s unpredictable, and I’m afraid of drowning.
But, I think, the only way to get through this Suck – including my mother’s drama – is to experience it. To allow myself time and space to grieve.
So that’s what I’m doing. Riding out the storm, knowing that it’ll get better eventually.