When the boys were little they loved the show Yo Gabba Gabba. Like most parents of young kids I watched or heard the show just as much as they did. I went on a mission to find all the plastic characters and once I got a complete set I would proudly give to my sons as a gift. I love complete sets of anything. It drives me crazy when I have half of something. For example, I have the complete set of Smurf glasses and it wasn't until I got the final Smurfette glass that I could exhale in relief.
This pandemic we are experiencing has forced me to surrender to things that make me uncomfortable. Other than my actual birth, my entire life, has been scheduled. I don't know how to relax. I have to be moving, going somewhere, planning something. I'm extremely productive and not until I have everything done do I allow myself to sit on the couch. I'm an extrovert, I'm always talking to someone. At work, the gym, the store, getting drinks with friends, book clubs (yes more than one). All while having multiple texting conversations and responding to emails. I. Am. Always. Moving.
Until now.
This lack of social interaction has forced me to be still. At first, it wasn't. I cleaned closets, organized, set up a home gym, made bread. But when all that is done, the stillness was awaiting for me. Why am I so resistant to this stillness? I have tried meditating and it's a joke. How can I calm my body when my mind is running laps? I haven't been able to sleep. Previously, sleeping was my jam. I was so good at it.
Until now.
Yesterday I decided to force myself to be still. I went for a run alone, came back, took a bath, still trying to accept the stillness and failing. Probably because all of those things require movement. And motion is not stationary, it was a nice try though.
Drastic measures were needed. I put myself in a stillness timeout and I wasn't going to leave the until I could figure out why exactly, it was so difficult. So this morning, after checking all my work emails, I went for a walk. I have been going on very long solo walks. Sometimes two hours. This morning I didn't listen to music. I had my phone, (in case I was abducted or fell suddenly ill and needed help, of course) but I zipped it away in my pocket. I found myself on a platform on the edge of the river and I sat down and sit in the stillness. It burned. My body hated this. I wanted to get up and pretend this idea had never happened. I looked to my left and on the side of a dock a little painted word said "Ready?" No, I thought. In the stillness you get the answers you are looking for. I wasn't ready for those answers. But I forced myself to stay there. I decided to stand up just in case I needed to flee. I took several deep breaths.
What are you afraid of? I kept asking myself over and over. Then my mind was flooded with answers. Like the ticker at the bottom of any news broadcast. But the one in bold was "you're afraid of losing him." I understood.
My oldest son turned 17 yesterday. We had a party for him. But even before we were all required to stay home he had been pulling away. I had my heartstrings tightly wrapped around him pulling him back creating a painful tug of war. We had an argument a couple of weeks ago that left me shaking. It had seemed to come out of nowhere and I was confused. He walked out to blow off some steam. I crumbled. When he returned he hugged me, apologized but I was shaken. He explained that I treat him like a baby, that he wants some freedom. My response was words of understanding, but my thoughts were yes I do treat him like a baby because he is my baby. Freedom, yeah like that is ever going to happen.
Things went back to normal, or so I thought. Until he didn't want to eat with the family and have dinner with his girlfriend. At the table, there was an empty chair. We were not a complete set. To him, my heartstrings felt more like a noose.
These thoughts raced through my head as I stood on this platform. I had to move and head home. With each step, I discovered that it wasn't productivity that keeps me busy. It is my anxiety.
I talk to people and I'm a good listener so I can hear their problems so I don't have to face mine. I stay busy so that I don't have to sit and deal with nagging insecurity I have about everything. My anxiety needs me to be in control at all times. I'm impossible to argue with because I can't let it go. I keep repeating how much something hurt me until the other person takes ownership of that. And I go over it again and again and again. I need details of everything. If I don't get every detail I feel like I'm missing a clue, I can't solve anything, without a complete set of clues.
So when my son couldn't explain why he was angry after I listed every single thing I do or have done for him out of love, I wanted to keep reminding him of those things until he understood. Those are times when my anxiety is at a boiling point and it spills over and burns anyone in the way. I have lost friendships over that, but I blamed them. I was not going to do this to my own son. I reminded myself of something I just learned.
The call of motherhood is to be a model, not a martyr.
I can do better than this. I returned home and took a long shower. When I got out I asked him to come downstairs so we could talk. Of course, he dreads this because our talks are usually more like monologues and less like dialogues.
He came into my room to see me in a robe and a towel on my head still wet from the shower. I couldn't wait to dry off or get dressed because at the moment, I had my anxiety preoccupied with worrying about the coronavirus. I felt like I could point my heart in his direction and I was ready to listen to whatever he had to say. I asked him point-blank. "Do you love your family?" he looked up at me with his big brown eyes as if to say "Duh." But he answered, "yes, of course." It was like I was hearing that for the first time.
Anxiety had told me that the reason he didn't want to spend time with us was that he didn't love us. I explained that the reason I asked was because I like complete sets, and only when I have a complete set do I feel whole. When he isn't around, I don't feel whole, and I fill that teen boy size hole with worry, doubt, and fear. "No, I just want to spend time with my friends sometimes," he explained. "Okay," I said. And I explained that I will do my best to remember that. He went back upstairs and I sat on my bed trying to take a mental snapshot of this conversation so the next time my anxiety told me otherwise I could open my camera and see the truth.
The answer is right there. Show him love by giving him space, and that doesn't mean our set is incomplete, it means we need some space so we have room to grow. I surrendered and I didn't die.
I haven't been sleeping well for the last couple of weeks. I can't seem to quiet my mind from all the things I can't control. Before the pandemic, I would go to sleep by sending good thoughts to everyone I love and I would imagine where they are in the world and point them in that direction, hoping that they would receive them. All those good thoughts have been muted by the bad ones. Tonight I'm going to send those good thoughts to people but I'm also going to leave room for one more, me.
Sometimes the thing that feels the hardest, is the thing you need to do most. And if you look around, the world has been forced to do just that. We are all surrendering, not knowing the outcome. And we are doing this, not just for ourselves, but for others.
We are creating space between ourselves, our friends, our work and stopping our lives, so we can care for not only the ones we love but the ones someone else loves.
It burns and at times feels painful.
And I'm holding on to the hope that with this, we will see compassion in ourselves and in others and we are creating enough space for us to grow.
