scent of cedar
New Member
I don't usually feel real anger toward difficult child.
Lately, I can feel it there, burning around the edges of things.
I'm not afraid of it, I don't find it overwhelming. I suppose it must always have been there. It's as though I no longer feel the need to understand why someone might choose to do as she is doing. No...I think I believe that difficult child has been fighting a battle I cannot imagine, and that she has been fighting that battle all her life. She has told me that the people she is with now understand her. That they don't expect her to be someone she cannot be. That the life she was living ~ working, being married, raising children ~ felt like a desperate charade. That in the normal world, she feels isolated; feels vulnerable and somehow, out of sync.
Imagine the courage it must have taken to do what difficult child did, then. Against all odds, she pulled herself together, did the right things.
For a time.
I feel so badly for her. But I don't know how to change that for her.
I just don't know how to change it.
Strange, isn't it.
I know Recovering will say to practice detachment in this, too.
Am I coming to terms with what has happened?
I answered a post this morning in which I likened myself to Quasimodo, pulling something along the stone floor of a dungeon while the bells clanged and the building shook. Quasimodo was in love, too ~ as I love my daughter, with my whole heart. He drew the strength to do what he needed to do from loving her, from holding faith in the self-concept that was born through her belief in who he was, whatever he looked like, whatever anyone else thought.
But the burden seems pointless, this morning.
It is a burlap bag.
Tied shut.
And...I AM afraid of what's in there.
Because I think it might be my daughter.
So I need to stop being Quasimodo.
I need to stand up. Fling open the church doors and let in the sun, the glorious sun.
There I will sit, with my daughter. No need to hide anything, anymore. No need to hate her, to be angry with her.
I don't understand why this happened.
Now we are in Forrest Gump territory.
"Why did this happen, Mama?"
"Life is like a box of chocolates, Forrest. You never know what you're going to get."
But...Forrest came through it.
He did his adventuring. (And his mama let him do it, forced him to do what he could.)
And Forrest came through it. Still different, still out of sync, still not quite understanding what was happening to him, or why. (Remember the scene where Forrest pulls his pants down to show LBJ his "wound in the buttocks" on national T.V?)
:O)
And the mother puts her hand on her chest and swoons away?!?
But she is still so excited, when Forrest comes home.
So, maybe this is what detachment feels like.
Barbara
Lately, I can feel it there, burning around the edges of things.
I'm not afraid of it, I don't find it overwhelming. I suppose it must always have been there. It's as though I no longer feel the need to understand why someone might choose to do as she is doing. No...I think I believe that difficult child has been fighting a battle I cannot imagine, and that she has been fighting that battle all her life. She has told me that the people she is with now understand her. That they don't expect her to be someone she cannot be. That the life she was living ~ working, being married, raising children ~ felt like a desperate charade. That in the normal world, she feels isolated; feels vulnerable and somehow, out of sync.
Imagine the courage it must have taken to do what difficult child did, then. Against all odds, she pulled herself together, did the right things.
For a time.
I feel so badly for her. But I don't know how to change that for her.
I just don't know how to change it.
Strange, isn't it.
I know Recovering will say to practice detachment in this, too.
Am I coming to terms with what has happened?
I answered a post this morning in which I likened myself to Quasimodo, pulling something along the stone floor of a dungeon while the bells clanged and the building shook. Quasimodo was in love, too ~ as I love my daughter, with my whole heart. He drew the strength to do what he needed to do from loving her, from holding faith in the self-concept that was born through her belief in who he was, whatever he looked like, whatever anyone else thought.
But the burden seems pointless, this morning.
It is a burlap bag.
Tied shut.
And...I AM afraid of what's in there.
Because I think it might be my daughter.
So I need to stop being Quasimodo.
I need to stand up. Fling open the church doors and let in the sun, the glorious sun.
There I will sit, with my daughter. No need to hide anything, anymore. No need to hate her, to be angry with her.
I don't understand why this happened.
Now we are in Forrest Gump territory.
"Why did this happen, Mama?"
"Life is like a box of chocolates, Forrest. You never know what you're going to get."
But...Forrest came through it.
He did his adventuring. (And his mama let him do it, forced him to do what he could.)
And Forrest came through it. Still different, still out of sync, still not quite understanding what was happening to him, or why. (Remember the scene where Forrest pulls his pants down to show LBJ his "wound in the buttocks" on national T.V?)
:O)
And the mother puts her hand on her chest and swoons away?!?
But she is still so excited, when Forrest comes home.
So, maybe this is what detachment feels like.
Barbara