Lee and I started seeing this therapist together to help us become better parents to our adult children. I feel like we are on page 2 of a 1000 page tome. We've barely cracked the surface. I don't know why this kind of stuff excites me. It's like doing a puzzle, or making a blanket, or working on a craft. I'm ready to dig in. Bring me the horrible seedy parts of my character and my intentions. Let me examine it from all sides. I want to expose the shit that's been buried and dust off all the dirt and see if we can make something of it or if we need to recycle that shit or just throw it out. It's like a spa for the psyche. I don't think Lee shares the eager anticipation that I do. He seems to be more of a nervous participant. Like not quite sure he wants to jump in the water. He's dipping a toe in and then pulling it out...slowly inching his way into the deep end, afraid of gators and sharks and shit. I think he'd rather stay on shore. But I am ready to go! I'll go all 12 rounds or however many they do in boxing these days. Of course, I probably have more free time to do this kind of activity. And I think that I'm probably the larger part of the problem, so maybe that's where my enthusiasm comes from.
My uncle sent me this flyer called the Novena of Abandonment. It was written by this dude called Father Dolindo Ruotolo whose first language probably wasn't English or maybe it didn't translate perfectly. It's 9 days of short devotions that read as though God or Jesus is speaking directly to you and then you're supposed to say, 10 times, "Oh Jesus, I surrender everything to you, take care of everything!" This is my second go round of completing the novena and sometimes I'll repeat a day. I've been writing it down in my journal on the days that I do it, including the chant - 10 times, like when you used to write sentences on the chalkboard when you were in trouble at school. But I've started substituting my worries in brackets instead of "everything", for example: "Oh Jesus, I surrender [my worries about my children] to you, take care of everything!" The substitutions have been getting longer and more reflective.
One of the things that the therapist said to us the other day was along the lines of basically, let your kids be your kids and don't make your relationship transactional. And don't worry how your kids are gonna react to what you have to say. They might not like it at first but they'll get over it (assuming it's coming from a good place and you aren't being a jerk). So, I've been doing absolutely everything wrong, apparently. I'm using hyperbole, obviously, but not that much. SO much of my love has been based on performance. Honestly, as a species, we probably shouldn't be able to breed until we're about 50 because we aren't psychologically equipped to deal with the MOUNTAIN of insecurities that raising another living being entails. My children have ALWAYS been an extension of me and my value as a human. That's where 99.9% from whence my anxiety arises! I'm writing this in jest, but I'm not completely joking people. Will their behavior, actions, choices bring shame on not just the village, but more specifically, on the village queen (that's me, btw)? I'm a horrible person. I've ALWAYS been such a performance based individual that I let that shit become the basis of my mothering. If my kid got a yellow or red card during circle time, I was getting a yellow or red card on parenting. Why couldn't I just make my kid behave?
It's much easier to manipulate/control your kids when they are little. About age 10, that shit no longer works because they are sentient beings with minds, thoughts, desires, opinions of their own. When I could no longer manipulate them, I'd use disappointment as a tool. The problem is this is also manipulation. Oh Lord, there is so much here. Now they are adults; certifiable adults. Two of them have graduated from college and are living independently (for the most part) and one is finishing up college. So much of my identity is wrapped up in who they are and that is just so unfair to them. I'm going to be drastically reductionist here because I'm short on time. Lee doesn't have this problem, not to the extent that I do. Yes, he deeply wants to be a good father, and he is an excellent father. BUT, for him, their actions aren't a reflection on who he is as a person. And I bring this crap to the table...ALL...THE...TIME! I want him to feel the anxiety that I feel. I want him to take action based on my insecurities. A kid makes a bad grade one semester, he can roll with it; they're still figuring things out. They are basically good kids. Me: how are they going to get a job? they are going to live on our couch! - which actually translates into, "I've done a terrible job as a mother. I don't know how to be a parent. I'm not worthy of breath." I want Lee to know I feel this, feel it to, and do something about it. Ugh. How has he lived with me for almost 30 years?
So surrender has taken on so many different meanings for the past 2 months, in my daily life, while I've had this devotion on repeat. I have to surrender all my selfish expectations. It's not about me. It definitely involves me. When Lee and I conceived them we signed the contract; they are ours for life. But my trajectory is not dependent on their trajectory. Lee and I have to launch them independent of our intentions. They will shine brightly on their own long after our light begins to dim.
