When worry invites itself to the party

I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry…

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I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry.

All emotions on the outside. Painfully.

And then all other worry invites itself to the party and it becomes really a crying party.

I have a history with one of my children, which includes really nasty custody battles. Yes -more than one and for many many years. But that is a separate story.

Those incidents created an experience of that being a parent was always up for questioning and even when the years have passed from time to time it still can catch me off guard.

So it is one of my big things I worry about when I am on my knees.

I have had social workers stating I was such a role model doing my work and being able to work internationally and have my kids with me – to those claiming it was not normal for a mother to earn like a man – then I could not be a good woman… Of course I rushed over the first and memorized the later…

So whatever I do is never really satisfying everybody somehow.

I never really understood when people say they do what is best for the children when they clearly suffer – what child is not feeling that? – nor have I understood why we do this and then pretend it is all good and honky dory and never talk about it?

It rips your heart out. Just the idea sometimes. To be apart from your child when it is not out of choice.

Being a single parent, with sole custody and without extended family – this is a constant worry of mine. What of something happens to me? Where would she go? Who would tell her about me? Would she be financially secure? Am I ever enough? Have I done enough? Prepared enough?

Creating memories,  teach her tools to manage life and never go to bed without knowing how much I love her – those are my daily to dos with her – walks and talks.

We are ok.

Again I have to trust Universe doing its part and me doing mine…

We are coming home. 333 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

 

 

On my own

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away…

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away.

My girls picked up their stuff from the car and returned me the keys and then wandered off to spend a day and a half at a hotel with my ex, swimming in the pool and watching football.

All so that I “could work”.

First I kept busy studying, researching, writing emails – put this blog out there for the first time – trying to understand html coding…

…got myself so worked up I ended up writing a deep and long email about the mental mobilization required to launch an online campaign…to the technical support [do-not-reply-to-this-email] guy whose name is probably something I can’t pronounce, but I call him Henry.

By that time even my conscious brain was registering that this u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I have to get from A to B.

And I didn’t want to cry sitting alone at a café[people always look horrified when you do –like they would have to do something – when you are two they can somehow pretend it is not up to them and at least try to look sympathetic].

I have cried a lot by myself this last year. Both openly and alone. So now I know and normally I don’t care anymore. If I need to cry I cry. But today everything seemed u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

Since I suspected they were talking about me I eventually decided to leave. Smiling casually as if nothing ever happened.

And went to sit in the car.

I don’t like to drive, but I like to sit in the car. Close all doors, pull the seat back, take my shoes off and read or meditate – often I do a lot of hand writing.

When my mother was still alive and in the house I used to do my morning reading in A course of Miracles in the car. As if the distance between the house and the parking lot would have any relevance.

So I try to chill in the car. It works a little bit. I write something. Feeling a little it more in control.

Eventually I decide to drive home.

After being busy feeding and giving water to everybody and dotting around the house I sit down.

We don’t really talk me and the dogs. I mean not out loud. We do our thing, but the is no conversation.

And in the house there are no teenage slamming of doors, no music constantly on somewhere, no phone calls, no playing with puppies – just silence.

Far away traffic, some birds singing, some dog sighing, another one sneezing.

When I sit down, so do they. Nobody moves.

If I do move, they all attend me, rushing up to see if I possible would drop them anything.

I go out in the kitchen making myself a cup of soup and some bread.

Like a ball thrown too hard in your solar plexus the loneliness hits me. But now I can’t cry.

It is stuck somewhere in between.

I am supposed to be the grown up and I feel like calling them right up, telling them to come home right away.

But I don’t.

I take my work calls and pretend everything is just normal…

I miss them s-o-o-o much.

I go back to the laptop. Distract myself. Write all this.

Pretend there is someone on the other side. Just like me. All alone.

Signing out. 345 signals home.