Oh, Boy

Because that’s how I see you. Not really a boy, though. More like a young adult. Emphasis on young.

How would I treat you if I weren’t your mother? I’d still be concerned, and I know that because that’s me. I care for everyone I love – and my problem is being too attached – and I know all the ‘how to live a happy (er) life’ teachers, guides, gurus, masters, etc. say that attachment is the source of my pain. Stop being attached. Just stop.

It’s possible, but it’s not like turning off a switch. And if it is, then I don’t want to know you because you’re probably psychotic.

Little by little I am letting go. Issue by issue. If my job was to keep you safe – and let you take risks – I was a successful failure. I did let you fall off your bike. I did watch as I knew you might scratch your knees when you were running so fast downhill and took a header – and I was grateful that was the worst of it – but I did not let you run out into traffic and face those natural consequences. In fact, I smacked your ass and told you in no uncertain terms that you will never do that again.

Yeah, yeah, violence is never the answer, but it wasn’t violence I was going for. It was reaction from unadulterated fear – from my not being everywhere at once – from what felt like my failure, at the time. As far as that toddler you were, I was god(dess).

The next terrible two incident was finding you surrounded by unsheathed freshly sharpened knives in Beth’s kitchen. You had to open the drawer that was over your head, and take out the knives one by one. You were like every other toddler on the planet – curious and non-stop. And you didn’t have one scratch on you. There is a god(dess)! – but it’s not me…

It was exhausting, and I was in the midst of newly single parenting, and trying to find work, and our own apartment, and was doing the best I could to be present and available for you. You were such a lovely being. Your ‘up, Mama up,’ from your crib in the morning was so precious. How could I not get my ass out of bed for that, no matter how tired I was?

When you were three, and we were living in our South Portland apartment, and I had just been Momzilla about some stupid shit, and I was sitting on the floor crying, you took my face in your sweet little hands and said: “the anger blocks the love, mama”.

That was your way of grabbing my full attention. If I was distracted and you had something. to. say. you’d grab my face in your hands and force my presence. Thankfully that wasn’t a constant occurrence, but more, that you were resourceful, even as a toddler.

I watched you deal with disappointment in your grade school years, watched as every kid in your class got a party invitation but you, and we ended up going to the public river swimming area that day. I was livid, but I hugged you and dealt with your hurt, and called those parents later, saying that they could have at least invited you for the cake once they knew you were there. I got it, not everyone is going to like you, but when the whole class was there? I started wondering if you had ADHD or something, but really, you were just already your own person, and at that age, conformity was king. You faced social challenges early on, and I did the best I could to support the great kid I knew you were – as well as try to get you to conform some – for your ease, not mine.

It wasn’t until junior high, at Four Rivers Charter Public School, that you found your posse. It was a great fit for you, and I watched you blossom there. You were pulling away from me, as life dictates, and I told you that you were changing but I wasn’t, and I’d always be here.

I feel like I need to say that again. I’m always here. Same as it ever was – to borrow a Talking Heads phrase. Maybe I’ve changed a lot too, but it doesn’t feel that way. I love you and like you and want you in my life as much – or even more now – as I always have.

But, to the point of letting go: it’s for my benefit that I release my bond to you.

You know where to find me, and my love is unchanging.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

 

 

Author: Hermionejh

Laughter is my drug.

4 thoughts on “Oh, Boy”

    1. Thank you, my friend. I’m so close in my heart & soul that practicing loving detachment is necessary – for both our sake. I can’t protect him from life’s pitfalls – and maybe nor should I want to – but it’s hard to ‘let go & let god(dess)’ when you can see the cliff they’re blithely stepping off – lol. xo

  1. One of the worse things I had to go through (in practicing loving detachment) was to watch my cousin struggle through her first “real” relationship, he was controlling & abusive and she would lie about her bruises. We were born 16 years apart on the same day & I see in her all the softness & nurturing that attracts narcissist & abusive people. It was freaking hard but ultimately I had to get to that point of loving detachment. The more we tried to protect her from him, the harder she held on, blind to the danger. The more I detached, the easier she found it to voice her own doubts & question her self-worth. I guess she didn’t feel judged all the time or disapproved or questioned on her decisions. I don’t know. I hope whatever precipice your son is standing on, he will come to his own realisation before it’s too late.

    Practice on Jerri… for your own sanity xoxo

    1. Yes, I see that too, and detachment is as much for me as for him for sure. I hope your cousin is through that relationship, and loves herself more. I think the tough thing about any addictive situations – substances or people – is that there are rewards – even if they are far and few. In fact, intermittent rewards are powerfully conditioning. And, each of us has to work through our challenges and best them or be bested by them – but it sure is nice to have help and love along the way… I’m glad that I have the chance to work through this and learn to let go. xo Jerri

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