on control

All my life I've compensated for lack of external order by seizing control where I can. Therefore you can tell that there are forces in my life that are particularly wacky if my house really shines. It is almost a joke coping mechanism...I clean. I work. These are things that I do to seize control. I realize they are useful (and believe me I'm glad they are), but they are still coping mechanisms and therefore not always 100% healthy. But cleaning and working are within my control and somehow make me feel like all is not lost. I do make a difference. Look at how that countertop shines! Look at that stack of work I got through!

Sitting still and being is hard for me. I do. Constantly it seems. Particularly when I am faced with forces that appear to mock my seemingly spare control in this life. Sometimes this works well as a parent. I plan, I arrange, I get things done. But I have to consciously make myself sit down and just be as a parent when I am in one of these zones.

Yesterday I heard that my mother's perhaps most unhealthy enabler is calling my sister, again. She is saying "We've got to do something! Your mother is running out of money. Soon she will be a streetwalker! What can we do?!?" This is the woman who in the past stuck her nose where it didn't belong and called and yelled at my sister to be nicer to our mother. This, when my sister was 18 and incredibly wounded herself and had just barely escaped from the craziness. This woman has routinely shown poor judgment. I'll leave it at that.

At any rate, if you had asked me yesterday morning, "what is the status update with your mom?" I probably would have said she is going to be running out of money soon or already has. She is either in an Atlanta area hotel, hospital or crashing with some unsavory man. Really, not so different from this woman's information.

As I have not seen my mother and have only talked to my mother on the phone once since August 2010 (and that was accidentally...I really should get caller id at home) and have only corresponded via email about 3 times since Christmas, I really do not know what is going on. I do better not knowing. I am a better mother not knowing. I am a better me not knowing.

Hearing this, albeit not reliable, confirmation of my suspicion about my mother's status managed to derail my day and my husband's. We didn't realize it until late at night after other things tapped us...other things that probably would not have tapped us in isolation.

We have moved our children into the same room (the 1.5 year old in with the 5.5 year old). Last night was the 3rd night. The first two nights were remarkably good. Books, cuddles, kisses and goodnight. Asleep in no time. Both seemed peacefully delighted to be in the same room. We knew it wouldn't be like this every night. We anticipated poor nights from the get go. We had rolled up our sleeves ready for the 3 week adjustment. And then were pleasantly surprised. So, we had a rough night. Two steps forward, one step back. We were due.

My daughter was being a nut. Noisy and climbing around...yelling and banging. My son was trying to fall asleep but, for obvious reasons, could not. My husband was unsure how long we should let it ride and then after that what we should or could do if anything. My daughter didn't seem to be slowing after 20 and then 30 minutes. I tried too. My daughter's late night naughtiness was making me quake with frustration. I felt cornered. I had thrown my back out only 3 days prior making this bedroom situation possible and now this is what I get. I lost it. I went to Peter saying "I don't know what to do. I am fine with her being a goofball on her own but what do we do about him? I don't know how to stop this. I don't know how to control this! And my mother might be a homeless person soon for real!" And then the tears came and came. What my mother has to do with bedtime, I don't know. Except clearly it had been there, in my emotional space, eating up my reserves all day and it impacted my parenting. I wasn't cool. I wasn't patient. I was irritated and snappy with my children. Thank goodness my husband was there. He sent me away and handled the kids. Soon they were asleep.

If you look at them and their progress toward room-sharing, it was not a great night, but really, it wasn't that bad, and really, what I expect if you ask me in the light of day with a full tank of reserve mama energy. After all, I had rolled up my sleeves right?

Well, this is why it is better for me not to know about my mother. It is pernicious. It sneaks in the backway and later, only in the midst of some other headache or frustration does it come out. Damn it!

I am trying to disable the connectors in my brain that remind me of her. You know the movie, eternal sunshine on the spotless mind? Well, I have days when I dream of that...I wish I didn't see a homeless person muttering to himself angrily standing in the drizzle on the side of the road and think of my mother. I wish I didn't hear about an unknown woman attacked and killed in a hotel room and think of my mother.

Aside from what I have been doing I'm not sure what there is left. I'm pretty sure she thinks I don't care. The irony is if I knew it would save her I would do almost anything. If she knew I felt that way she would be continuing to tell me that I can save her...oh yes...and she needs saving...oh my...and here are her specifics on how to save her: have her move in with me and destroy my life and frighten my children. And it wouldn't work anyway.

So, there it is. I have no control here. She may end up dead. She may end up homeless and crazy and taken advantage of. She may spend the rest of her days in a deluded drugged cloud. She may never contact me again or she may show up at my door this afternoon.

It is hard to just calmly do my bedtime routine with my children when this is my emotional backdrop. So, I often think I need to eliminate it from the background. Others have told me to accept it and realize my helplessness. Embrace the helplessness. I just still don't know. I haven't yet made it to an Al-Anon meeting and think I will this week. The problem with this situation is that I don't want to dwell on it, but don't want to let it linger in this festering way either. So when it is out of mind, I do not rush to think of it. I allow myself the respite. But sometimes I think it is the respites that do me in. For then I hear some bit of news and it comes rushing back to me and that is no fun at all.

heartbreaking perspective

I will warn you that this post is off of my usual subject. I am full of conflicting emotions today as a result of news about a woman I never had the chance to meet. It is about this that I write today and this post is dedicated to her.

I've been following a friend of a friend's pregnancy for a couple of months. I've heard some details about a baby shower and that it was their first and how exciting that first baby can be. I heard that the mother was interested in using cloth diapers, so I provided (perhaps too much) information with my thoughts on the subject. I was enjoying hearing details about this joyous event and reflecting back on our own experience with our first. What a wild ride the first can be.

Then last week I heard from my friend that her friend was epileptic (like me) and had suffered a seizure while pregnant. She was near the due date. The baby was taken by emergency c-section and was fine. She was placed on life support. She stayed on life support until last night when she was taken off. She passed away early this morning.

No. No way. This was not the ending that was supposed to be. A miraculous recovery? A slow but steady improvement? Not this young mother gone. Not this young father solo with his newborn son to raise. Not this newborn child never knowing this woman who brought him into this world?

I am awash with conflicting feelings: grief, joy that the baby is healthy, relief that this father and son have family in town, near panic at the roll of the dice that pregnancy can be, especially when you have a condition such as epilepsy, relief and thankfulness and shock for my two pregnancies.

I knew I was taking risks when I was pregnant, but just like there are risks in all things, you know there is a remote chance of the "unthinkable" happening. I don't know this woman, but I would imagine she probably had a series of similar thoughts and conversations about epilepsy and pregnancy. It was definitely not something I took lightly, however when I considered my risks, I was 95% concerned with how it would affect my baby. I didn't even really consider myself. I had had seizures before, I would be fine. It was my baby. That was what I really was concerned about.

Three days after my son was born I had a series of seizures that almost sent me into status epilepticus. I was hospitalized and out of it for days. My husband thought I might have permanent brain damage as I couldn't remember anything. I had to be reminded that I had already had the baby. I remember seeing him across the hospital room in his snugride carseat. All eyes on me. I remember thinking, who cares about me? What about our baby? Take care of our baby. I was heartsick I hadn't been able to do it myself during those days I was incapacitated.

Becoming a mother was such a transference of concern and focus it was overwhelming. As I hear this heartbreaking story of my friend's friend, I hope and pray that she, wherever she is, is relieved to know that the focus can now be more fully on her son, on her baby who is healthy and perfect and loved and will shine brightly with his mother's love shining on him from afar.

Embrace the helplessness

My therapist told me that I should go to Al-Anon meetings. I think she is right. She told me that they would likely be telling me that I should embrace the helplessness of the situation. Anyone who knows me knows that sounds about as opposite as you can get from my general way of being.

So, embracing the helplessness. I keep trying to make it an active thing. Like I need to get groceries, pick up my son from school and embrace the helplessness. Check. Check. Check. But, no, not so fast, this one does not fit. This one seeps. This one sinks in. This one is different.

I come to new levels in my grief over my mother all the time. It is sometimes just because of my processing of the situation and other times it is in reaction to an event or interaction. I continue to be sadly amazed at how much grief I manage to have for her and how deep and far reaching it is.

I received a disturbed email from my mother 5 days ago. It went something like this:

_________

subject: help me please

in pqim

bleeding

-19we

scaredlonelyy092

blackeye074

if love me come this onc 6[1

_______

Okay. No, wait. What?! How is anyone supposed to respond to this? It is barely legible (though the key words somehow, miraculously are not misspelled to the point of incomprehension).

I was more of the opinion that we should just call 911. My husband decided that he wanted to go to her hotel and check on her/confront her. We got home and he set out.

He found her at her hotel, blackeye, bruised ribs, blood in her hair, a complete mess. She complained that her side hurt and my husband took her to the ER. They did x-rays for her ribs. She claimed she must have fallen. Most in our circle think she was beaten up again. When the nurse asked her who the man was who was with her she said she met him in the bar. (My husband was mortified. Thankfully the nurse understood that they indeed had not just met in the bar.)

The nurse finally told my husband that they were probably going to discharge her soon unless she consented to psychiatric evaluation. As she was sobering up by then, when confronted with this, my mother put on her best psychobabble and said "I really prefer an outpatient setting." My husband handed her $20 for a cab and left.

He got a call the next day (as the hotel now has his number) that she was readmitted to the same hospital by them.

And this goes on and on and on and on. Again and again. Often in different states or in different hotels and in different hospitals and with different people around. Thereby not leaving a discernible trail. And for what? To elude what?

This morning I heard from my sister that mom showed up at her front door first thing this morning. She told my sister that if only I would let her back in my life she would be fine. I am the reason she is a disaster. My sister bravely pointed out that she had it backwards. I wasn't letting her in my life BECAUSE she is a disaster. Somehow, my sister managed to get my mother to leave without intervention.

For the rest of the day I was worried she would show up at my house or at my son's school. And then I remembered, I moved to a new place when my mother started drinking heavily this time around and she probably doesn't remember where it is. So, to my old house and it's lovely new occupants: I am sorry if she knocks on your door!

I am working on embracing the helplessness. There is nothing else in my life about which I think "this is terrible and only getting worse and there is nothing I can do to stop it." But this is that and it is hard to just let it be.

I worry that she will get herself killed by overdosing or bringing the wrong person back to her hotel or that she will kill someone else while driving. I asked my therapist if this would constitute her being a danger to herself and others. Sadly, it does not fit the bill. So, I leave this post with nothing upbeat to say. I leave this post with my heart just as it started and I am trying my best to embrace my helplessness in this situation. It is out of my hands and I believe it needs to be out of my head too.

What I want

What do I want? Sometimes it is hard for me to tell. When I find I am expending all of my energy on pushing away and holding at bay the crazy it is hard to find the quiet peace to hear what I actually want. After all, framing my life around what I want is very different from framing my life around avoiding what I do not want.

The first step has been avoiding what I do not want. It has been so very important. I could not have jumped over this step if I tried, even conceptually. However, now I do feel it is time to move on.

This is relevant for my relationship with my mother but also for other relationships and pretty much every other area of my life. But first let me put these thoughts of today regarding my mother in context.

My mother is back in Atlanta as of about 5 days ago as best as I can gather. Yesterday, and one to two days after telling her via email that I am not going to be hanging out any time soon, she is in the hospital, again. I heard this from my sister who received a call from a hospital social worker. Heart pain or some such thing.

**Pause here for the feeling to wash over me that my mother is in a local hospital with heart pain and I am not only not going, I am not calling and I am actually only writing about it to best explain where I find myself this morning. Yucky feeling.**

Okay, now. I started writing this in January of this year to get out the toxic, festering and isolating bits of this unwanted part of my life. My thinking had become compulsive and unhealthy.

Last Fall I heard from my mother sporadically. In November I heard from her a few days before Thanksgiving. She contacted me to see if she could come for Thanksgiving. No. No word from her until two days before Christmas when she asked, from a hotel in Virginia or Maryland, if she got a job, a therapist and an apartment by Christmas (in 2 days) if she could come over for Christmas. No (and really? Really?!). I found myself thinking about her over the holidays frequently. "Is she dead?" went through my head about a dozen times a day. Given her frequent overdoses and driving while intoxicated and other reckless behavior it is simply a matter of time. Not to mention that at some point she might really, actually, have a real physical illness. She has already given herself a bleeding ulcer from her abuse.

I went to my therapist at a loss. I felt like I was chained one way or the other to her fate. I felt the only way I could actually be free of it was if she actually were to die. And given her slightly absurd ability to survive really awful situations, I felt like that would be a really long time coming. My therapist told me I do not have to wait until she dies for me to get what I want.

This was a revelation. A friend's very sweet message lately reminded me of this. In the midst of this current shitstorm happening in my mother's life, I am actually not involved. I am aware of it, peripherally, and plan to make myself less aware of its evolution.

I know I do not want to be involved in her self-created chaos and despair. Got it. But what do I want when it comes to my mother?

My feelings regarding having a "mother" have become distinctly separate from my actual mother. When I am sick (which I feel like I have been now for weeks) and I have a sick and needy toddler and my son is having anxiety or defiance issues I so wish I had a mother to talk to, a mother to come in and say "here honey, you go rest. I'll take care of this for now." But in my dreams, I never picture her. I think I picture some combination of my late grandmothers. And I do wish I had a little more of that in my life some days.

But what do I want from her? The actual person who is my mother? To be left alone.

I almost wrote I want for her to not drag me down. But did not because I have been working on taking ownership of everything I can control. Being dragged down is largely one of those things. I am not getting involved. And I am getting a lot better at not getting involved in my head and heart too. With each passing crisis I get wind of I find it easier and easier to think, "mom's in the hospital. Alrighty, lets see what is for dinner."

This time I actually thought, well of course she is in the hospital. She, literally, has been in the hospital about once per week for months now. In different hospitals in different states. Why wouldn't she be in the hospital?

It was new when I heard she was in jail in the Fall. That was a new one. That *almost* ruined a date with Peter. But it didn't. We still went to dinner and a movie. So there.

So given that what I want is nothing from her and nothing to do with her, if I let myself I can find myself awash in sadness for her. I mean if I ever go there and think about her life it makes me unthinkably sad. So I don't. Or, I try not to. But when I do things in life I think to myself, somewhat reflexively, how will this be received? It is not a bad way to be with healthy human beings...in fact, it has served me well...but with her...dangerous.

My therapist told me what happens when you empathize with a crazy person: you go crazy. Don't do it. So, instead of thinking about what it is like for her I will tell you a bit about how it has been for me and what I hope for the future.

I want to focus my energies on the things in my life that grow, that heal, that give back. Things that inspire and things that enrich and add beauty to this world.

It has been amazing not having chaos and despair in my day to day life. It has been wonderful being less and less and less involved in the chaos to the point of not even knowing it is happening most of the time. I have felt safe. I have been blossoming. Finally, at 35, I am cultivating a safe space for me to thrive and bloom. And that has to be my priority. Regardless of how sad it is for my mother.

Why not? Let me tell you.

My mom is back in town and wants to hang. Or if not hang at least "just see my face," even "from across the street while I'm going into church." Guess who did not go to church this weekend, at least in part due to this Saturday threat...er...voicemail?

I am potentially revising my previous assessment of my mother. Old hypothesis: mom is either a complete a-hole or mentally ill. New hypothesis: mom is a complete a-hole, mom is mentally ill, mom has brain damage or all of the above.

She now claims that she remembers nothing from the last few months and can't for the life of her imagine why I'm so darned angry. Geez, aren't you prickly, dear daughter? So fussy and demanding and so full of stipulations. Her tone and her actual words tell me that she knows I have a few ridiculous hoops for her to jump through and she is willing to do some of that to appease me because, well, she knows I, for totally unknown reasons require all of this work. She will be such a big person to follow through (in a purely token b.s. way) because she just loves me so very much even though I am so very difficult. How kind and generous of her.

So now daughter dear, why are you still so bent out of shape? I think you might need help. Poor thing. You just can't let things go. Here is a totally pointless youtube clip. Lets talk about happy things. I'm going to distract you like you are a toddler trying to climb the stairs.

Hypothesis further amended: I think regardless of whether it is A) a-hole factor, B) mental illness, or C) brain damage, I think it is safe to say that she thinks I am a complete idiot.

After dismissively saying that she "only wishes she knew why..." I was so angry with her (read clearly daughter is unreasonable jerk), she tells me "Let's think about happy things instead." And thus follows bizarre youtube clips.

We had an agreement when I last saw her in late August 2010 in our family therapist's office. The agreement was that she would work with her own therapist, get help for her addiction, and once that was handled, her therapist would contact our family therapist and say it is safe for us to resume family therapy. Then, maybe, we could discuss further contact off of a therapist's couch. You see, we got to the point last summer where I would see her, and not only would it derail my, my kid's and my husband's day completely, but she would end up in the ER two days later with a overdose. Seeing her was just not an option. And talking to her on the phone was exceedingly unpleasant to me. Thus, we arrived at email contact only during this period.

She didn't remember our agreement, she said. I was happy to remind her of that. Having a firm boundary, especially one agreed upon by both of us at a therapist's office (a therapist of her choosing...key!), whether she claims to remember it or not, is paramount to my survival her re-emergence. As my husband says, it is stress inducing and depressing to see the dark cloud coming near and feel powerless to stop it. But maybe this time we can. Maybe this time whether she is near or far we can stop the seepage of crazy into our days. Time will tell.

Contact

After more than six weeks of silence, my mother contacted me and my little sister two days ago. Did she explain what has been happening in her life? No. Did she ask how we were? No. Inquire about grandkids and how their Christmas was? No. Did she send a youtube video of an ultra dramatic Queen song with no additional commentary? Why, yes she did.

I looked on my email, as I often do after the kids are in bed, on Monday night. It flashed up and I saw my mother's email address and before I realized it I clicked off my email as if I saw something terrifying.

I took a breath and opened my email again. I thought, it could be a virus. I looked at the email and it was to me and my sister. Likely not a virus then. I opened it. It was a video. I called Peter over and clicked on the video. He recognized the song immediately. He said, turn it off. I didn't. I watched it. Like standing at the beach while waves hit me. I thought to myself, bring it. I can handle your message. I can take it.

These are the lyrics:

Love of my life,
You hurt me,
You broken my heart,
Now you leave me

Love of my life can't you see,
Bring it back bring it back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me

Love of my life don't leave me,
You've stolen my love you now desert me,

Love of my life can't you see,
Bring it back bring it back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me

You will remember when this is blown over,
And everything's all by the way,
When I grow older,
I will be there at your side,
To remind how I still love you
I still love you
I still love you

Hurry back hurry back,
Don't take it away from me,
Because you don't know what it means to me

Love of my life,
Love of my life

The truth of my mother's unhealthy partner-like attachment to her daughters being shared here makes me feel both sick and free. Sick and free, awesome.

I remember when I bought it. When I was a willing participant. One time comes to mind very clearly. I was 9. My mother was single and we were living in Nashville. She would cry and I would hold her and tell her it was okay. I would clean the house when she was out or make her a present so that when she returned she would be happy and would stay with me.

She told me when I was 9 that she was lonely. I remember thinking, so clearly, "but mom, I don't know what you mean? You have me." I told her that. She let me comfort her. I really felt like her partner. At the time I thought that was how it was supposed to be.

Now as an adult, I know she was lonely. I know she needed other adults. I don't fault her for that. I don't fault her for feeling sad. I do fault her for letting me think I was all she needed when I was all she had and then letting me feel like I was in the way when something better came along.

Apparently she is lonely again. She wants "the love of her life" back. No thanks.

I feel for her and feel sad writing this, like I am betraying some trust. But I never agreed to silence. I don't want her to suffer. I don't want her to think I don't love her. But this shade of love? This is not what I want with my mother.

I was taught that protecting this warped relationship would protect my mother. Silence, loyalty, deference: if I continued in this vein, she would be okay. That is all. Just give my life over to her totally. Why can't I do that? Don't I love her? This is the mom voice in my head.

Not only do I see now that doing these things would not and did not protect my mother, but the cost is too high even if it did. The cost is me and my life and my children's mother. And that is unacceptable.

The other day, I was feeling sad. We were cooking dinner and all of a sudden my son said with an odd smile on his face, "I know Mama, why don't we turn off all electronics for tonight?" I asked him why he said that, and he said "I thought that would make you happy." He clearly didn't want to turn things off, but somehow got the idea that he had to fix my unhappiness and this was the way.

It snapped me out of my head for a moment. I got down in his face. I told him that I appreciated so much that he was wishing I was not feeling sad but that my sadness is not his fault or his responsibility. It happens sometimes. There are days like this.

The next generation

I am having one of those days. One of those days that your mother theoretically told you about. The kind of day that my mother never did tell me about. Ever flailing in the face of somberness, sadness, confusion and worry, my mother presented me with no model for how to face darkness with wisdom and calm.

Since I am not interested in railing against it or running from it, I am here, feeling it. I've been here, in this somber spot, a little more lately than usual. Either that or I am just more open to it now than I have been in the past. It is hard to say. I have been trying to experience it in the moment instead of trying to step outside of it and figure out why and where and how long it is. It is an exceedingly uncomfortable thing to do.

It feels like giving up control of my steering wheel...and my kids are on board...and that, more than anything, frightens me.

So, what is concerning me these days? Lots of things. Chief among them is my son. I am worried about my son. Or, rather, I am worried about whether I should be worried about my son. And the meta-ness and confusion builds from there.

My son is sometimes so up and happy and goofy and carefree. My son is sometimes so anxious and twitchy and ticking and worried. The latter concerns me. The fact that he vacillates concerns me (why the vacillation? is it due to his external world or internal world that the switch comes on? Is it something about us, his family, that brings it on?). I worry that my worry is the problem and that these swings are more or less normal in child development. For every good few months, I've read, and experienced, that there can be a rough few months. As kids master a phase, they retreat, regress and subconsciously grasp that they are maturing. It is both exciting and nerve-wracking for them.

So, am I just not seeing the forest for the trees here? Am I so in the midst of a rough patch full of ticks and anxieties that I have lost sight of the pattern that I should calmly be helping him through? If I make too much of it will it make it worse? If I make too little of it will it make it worse?

And so goes my neurotic mind.

And believe me, it is not lost on me that I am so much like my son. But I feel like that is part of the problem. Someone not as much like him, not so passionate and prone to over thinking might handle this better from him. Someone not like me, might give the calm wisdom that would best help him through this.

Where does one learn that? Where do folks learn it when they are trying to not replicate their own mothering experience? Where do folks learn it when they are also trying to not swing so completely in the other direction to compensate? Books? I've tried books. I can gain some insights from books, but, I can't help but ask, who wrote these books? How do I know they know what they are talking about? How do I know their adult daughter isn't out there horrified that their parenting book is being read?

How can I trust? How can I be open? How can I do this while helping my children navigate the difficult times they encounter? I know there is no manual, but when I have to scrap 90% of what I experienced, I am making it up as I go along. When my instinct is strong and sure and things are good I am golden. When I feel disconnected from my instinct and intuition or my child is going through a rough time I doubt how to course correct. I doubt and doubt and doubt...

I want for my children to grow up as emotionally privileged as the next healthy family. Can I really stop the damage from previous generations from leaking through? Is it even possible? Do I carry the torch of dysfunction as well, and, like my mother, not even know it?

These are my dark feelings today. Dark feelings that I am not running from. Dark feelings that I am not raging against. Dark feelings that are mine, today. And now that I have put them down here, they feel a little less scary.