The way is love

Graphically real in a full monty kind of way

Pissy–Some days are just like this

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I went out to my favourite cafe yesterday and came home feeling like I’d been away a LONG time.

I hadn’t.

I was gone about 2.5 hours. And I still feel somewhat disconnected from who I was before I left yesterday.

Does this ever happen to you?

So now who am I? Well, whoever I am is pissy and unsettled.

I don’t feel like talking with anyone. It would be a perfect day to be all alone in my house.

Except I’m never all alone, and, of course, because I need space people are asking me questions. Blah! “Just get the hell away from me,” the inside of my head screams. The outside of me is curt, but polite, and likely more than a little prickly.

I know reading books like The Drama of the Gifted Child stirs up all sorts of ugly shit inside of me. And some of my mood will be that.

Also when I was at my women’s group on Monday night a woman there said something that really hit a nerve in me. She said she comes from a long line of Scottish Presbyterian women who hated their daughters. And when she gets a Mother’s Day card or a birthday card filled with love from her daughter she feels like she’s flying. (That was the theme of our evening, Learning to Fly.) She said she broke the cycle by choosing to love her daughter and not continue the hate.

It hit me like a slap across the face. “Why couldn’t my mother have done that?” I thought to myself, tears coming to my eyes. And she was very proud of herself, and so she should be because she effectively ended generations of abuse. And it made me angry. And it was also very beautiful too.

I was listening to and looking into the face of a woman like myself, who had the courage to end the hate. I am not an abuser and I have treated my son with respect, understanding and unconditional love (which isn’t always easy with a teenager, believe me!) and it felt miraculous to me to be sitting across from another woman who’d had the courage and resolve to do the same thing.

I remember when my son was a very newborn, he started to cry in his car seat in the backseat and my mother said, “What a tyrant!” She was visibly angry. I said he’s not a tyrant, he’s hungry, pull over so I can feed him. But this says so much doesn’t it!? Did she think I was a tyrant every time I cried as a newborn too? I remember my mom telling me she had to stop breast feeding me because I wasn’t gaining enough weight. The pediatrician said I should go on formula. Likely my mother wasn’t feeding me often enough because I was too demanding for her. And so the cycle continued.

I’m no longer looking for a woman to replace my mother, to try to find the mothering I didn’t get. I was the mother I didn’t have, and that makes all the difference to me. That one accomplishment makes my whole life worthwhile as far as I’m concerned.

And I think I’ve laid to rest that little damaged girl I was. Maybe I’m in mourning, sad that she lived and angry that she had to die.

My anger makes me critical of myself and I started in on my weight and my body this morning. I haven’t been exercising as much as I was, and I shame myself for that like I’m a naughty girl.

And then I stop and say, “Hey wait! I’m perfectly beautiful the way I am. I’ll get back on my elliptical machine. Don’t be harder on yourself than you’d be on anyone else.”

I have to keep reminding myself to be thoughtful and kind to myself too.

Isn’t it always like that? Two steps forward, one step back. And the steps back are painful and I hate being pissy, which just makes me pissier.

And so it is.

Some days are just like this. Blah!

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