(Turn Around)
Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler
Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely
And you’re never coming ’round
(Turn Around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit tired
Of listening to the sound of my tears
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit nervous
That the best of all the years have gone by
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit terrified
And then I see the look in your eyes
I just wrote about impending joy because my entire nervous system is organized around the next shoe dropping, but I felt I could handle everything that was coming my way, and yet, I turn around, and the next thing you know I’m handed a platter that sinks heavier in my outstretched arms.
And just like that life is lifing.
There has been a conflict waging war. My son was expected to be moving in one direction, I could feel clearly he was not ready, but those who are his experts advised to the contrary. Then he exploded – in other words – screamed I’m not ready. So now a new team will be working with him as of tomorrow to help him plumb the depths of his trauma, which he has, up until now, deftly deflected with sarcasm and anger.
I lay awake in bed last night conflicted. I was feeling all the feelings for him – scared, disappointed, hopeless – I was telling myself don’t manage his feelings – I was trying to focus on my feelings, so that I am not codependent, but my feelings are about him, and I couldn’t separate us, even though that is part of my journey, to separate.
I wanted to lose myself in something – a TV show, movie, a walk, meditation – but I couldn’t. Every time I turned around I was dreading a conversation wherein I must tell him that this time there is a consequence yet it is going to be helpful for his growth and well being. Only you have to really believe that and how can I know what is best? For him? I have to have faith that each experience on his journey brings him closer to healing his trauma that the experts warn he could spend the rest of his life healing from.
Last night, in bed, tossing and turning, a container of worry dolls under my pillow that I bought to ease my sleepless nights, I said over and over – I can’t know what is right for him, for me, for us – I can only move forward with the best information at hand. Then I began to think of the best information at hand and where that has gotten me before – the golem who plagued me for 16 years came in the form of a woman who I had a relationship with – revealed as a liar, manipulator, emotionally and spiritually immature being who to this day makes me wonder how I got it so wrong. The therapist said, “Weren’t you operating on information you had at that time and believed it to be good?” Whew.
The best information at hand comes from friends and “experts” – my ranch mom friend tells me no one is the expert of your child like you are. But, children have a way of blindsiding you with their needs. In my romantic relationships, my friends had warned me against the golem. I didn’t listen. I felt my own inner wisdom with a few “no longer” friends, I sensed their character from the get go and ignored the signs only to have a big reveal in technicolor after I had given so much of myself to them – still, here I am, blowing and going. I take all of this knowing in, widening my skirt to carry all the tidbits of advice, expertise, cautionary tales and warnings. Later, I’m to sit with this information in my lap and come to my own conclusions. Listen to my own authority.
And even within the tombs of my knowing, I worry. I hold each worry doll and tell them specifically what the worry is – which translates into what I am fearful of – and the worry dolls look back with painted faces and fancy dresses, and then I tuck them back in the box, back under my pillow, and wait for the worry to be taken away. Only I wake like this – terrified.
In times like these, when life is lifing, and I’m swimming through uncertainty about how to proceed, and what to do especially when additional bad news stacks up all around me – a friend’s daughter has cancer, my brother in the hospital with a stroke, a niece’s brother in law died in a fire, a friend had a stroke (all this week) – my son is acting out because he’s overwhelmed, the structure he craved is cracking, and now he needs a step up in care (leaving behind horse, friends, and knowing) to go experience unknowing, the world presented on a different platter to understand himself in a different way.
I burdened my worry dolls. I left them alone today to ponder a lot. Today, I will have four separate conversations in four therapeutic containers – when I return to my bed tonight, I hope some of the worry has been assuaged. I hope clarity sneaks in. I hope I know (trust) I would always make the best decision based on the information at hand.
[Thank you for reading my writing; I love hearing from you and
would love to gather your responses here, instead of on social media.]