The blessing That is My Parents

Last week my self-loathing reached a high again. Again I was overwhelmed with everything there was to do and only me doing it. So, of course, the necessary changes around the house and yard come too slowly. I felt inadequate, insufficient, invalid. And angry. So angry! Until my rages were affecting my children. Until I was saying hateful, hurtful things. Until I couldn't function anymore. So, in tears, I called my Mom and asked if I could come to them. Was I worried I would treat them the same way? Of course. I also know they have thicker skin than my young adults.

So I've been at my parents' place. It hasn't all been sweetness and light. They bicker. Almost constantly. When I'm in a good place I can remind myself they've made this dynamic work for them for 60 years. When I'm not (and I'm not) I slide into my from-childhood attempts at peace-making. It's exhausting, unnecessary, and ineffective. Yesterday we were in my hometown. None of us has been there for about 25 years and we no longer know it well. It was easy to get turned around and wind up where you didn't wish to be. This frustrated my Dad, who got angry and loud; which in turn frustrated my Mom, who'd castigate him and give suggestions of how to get where we wanted to be in the same breath. I cringed in the back, occasionally putting in my opinion and wishing the noise would stop.

And texted Bill when I got in: "I should have just gone to hospital. There's no shelter from the storm here - there's just more storm."

Nonsense! Firstly, I never want to be in the psychiatric hospital again! Never. Secondly, since I've been an adult Mom and Dad have always been a safe haven for me. They just say, "Come ahead", and begrudge me nothing. I always leave with more than what I had when I arrived. They love me.

These are my parents. In two days, they'll celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. In a week is my Dad's 80th birthday. (He's three years older than Mom.) We're having an 80th birthday party for him on Saturday; kids, grandkids, and the great-grandbaby. Then a drop-in time for his sisters and brother, and his church family. 

I won't be here for Dad's actual birthday; I was here for Father's Day, though. I wanted to get a picture of us in our Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes (we looked good!), and Mom's blood sugar dropped. She's an insulin-dependent, type 2 diabetic who didn't eat quite enough for breakfast. In our concern for her our picture was forgotten. There will be other opportunities, God willing.

Always a safe space. Everyone should have one.

What Happened That Night

A gripping novel by Sandra Block. Dahlia is a senior at Harvard, successful and pretty. Then, one night at a party, she is brutally attacked. Her memory of the assault is vague, and she is left with a cold rage. Five years later, she is tattooed as a survivor, working as a paralegal, depending on her gay best friend to get her through the pseudo-seizures that PTSD leaves. Then a video of the attack surfaces online; and her rage becomes white hot. With the help of James, the awkward IT guy, Dahlia vows revenge on her attackers.

The author describes depression accurately. She also is spot on in her description of a character with Asperger's Syndrome, and what he does to compensate for his differences. I saw the final twist coming, but I am intuitive and at one time made a steady diet of books such as this in my reading life. I still stayed up way too late to read this well-crafted novel.

Under Rose-tainted Skies

A young adult novel by Louise Gornall; difficult to read at times. Norah is seventeen, smart, funny ... and afraid to leave her house. She has a number of fears and phobias; her mental health is so fragile that she stays indoors, communing with the world through windows and social media. Then Luke shows up on her doorstep. He sees her as smart, funny, and brave. He researches her mental illnesses. He becomes her friend. Their relationship turns deeper, but Norah knows Luke deserves a normal girlfriend, one at least not afraid of kissing! Can she let him go for his own good? Or can she see herself through his eyes?

Be gentle with yourself

I was having a conversation this evening with Secunda and Quatorze... Secunda getting more and more passive aggressive and, finally, a bit vicious in what she said. I gathered my things up to leave as Quatorze fled the room in tears. Then my beautiful teen apologized and cried. We were able to speak calmly about what was going on and find some solutions.
 
At one point, I said to her, "You are so hard on yourself! And I don't know where that comes from." She looked at me as though I'd sprouted two heads. Then, quietly let me know she just acts like me. My heart broke!!! I made a pact with her that we would both try to be gentle with ourselves.

I tried. I tried to keep my mental illness, my self deprecation, my own loathing away from my children. I don't want any of them to be my age and have to look back on such a life. Don't get me wrong: my life is lovely now. But by the time it became that way I had such an ingrained habit of looking at myself negatively... I am having trouble breaking that habit. And now one of my vital, amazing children has seen and internalized that nasty habit. I tried to teach them that they were loved by God, important simply because they were made in His image and likeness. Unfortunately, my actions have spoken louder than my words. Father God, help me with damage control. Because this negative self image and harsh self treatment is damaging! Give me the words for each of these precision souls. I love these people you have entrusted to me. And I'm learning to love myself. May we be gentle.