I so get this. The adult my child grew into is abusing my child, is dirtying the life I cherished above my own. I am enraged...and I am powerless. I listen, I love the timbre of that voice. It is a helpless feeling.
I decide to fight.
And that is when, I think that is when and how, it changes, the living breath of what passes between my child and myself.
But I do know this: When I said no. When I said no, there was all kinds of unsuspected backwash. I had become such a rigid thing. It had all become so unreal. I had become unreal. I wasn't a good mother, because look where my child was. I wasn't a bad mother, because I was ~ man, I couldn't think of anything but saving him.
Or her.
We just went through this again, on a whole other level, with our daughter.
It was like we were all on some racetrack where there was no winner and there was no end. Not even a time clock, where everyone is declared the loser and we could at least (at last) go home.
The last, slim chance, was to do nothing.
So, I did that.
And that is all I know.
Cedar
