The Hardest Part
Growing up my mum implemented a rule. We always say ‘I love you’ before we leave and we kiss goodbye. Every time, no matter what. Because the world can be scary and it’s the last moment to be kind, to express unconditional love. I taught this to Matt after years, and now he cannot escape the need to do so. It’s a difficult habit to break, but I try not to smother people with it.
It’s created a ritual around leaving, and it can weigh so heavily.
“They miss you. You’re not just an after thought.” I’m going through my goodbyes, being a responsible adult, preparing to leave after a full weekend. He says it as I’m trying to shore up the emotion threatening to close my throat and it spills. It’s no longer just half hearted and indifferent waves from the couch as I leave.
Hands reach for me, voices whine and plead to stay. Hugs have grown tighter and more lingering and the tightness in my chest threatens to spill tears into their hair. I hold on to it as long as I can, but ultimately the moment I am behind a closed door it comes free and crashes over me. Tears, sobs hitching my chest, an intense longing that will not be satiated until I’m back with them.
This weekend has been crazy from start to finish. I’ve spent a week dealing with all the things I’ve been ignoring, and uncovered some fairly ugly habits in therapy that have developed over the years. Mainly that Matt and I have been less partners and more stuck in co-dependent patterns. He’s even said that it’s a struggle for him to let others be supports for my anxiety attacks, and harder yet to watch me do it myself. For so long he’s felt the need to step in, and it’s created some rather unpleasant habits.
So to go from that into a stressful weekend was no easy transition to make. There were times when I felt very overwhelmed. I came to a realization that I will very likely be the only member of our polycule without higher education, and while I could enroll, I don’t have the patience, energy, or funding for that. Not to even mention that I don’t even know what I’d try to do. My interests, like my attention, flits from one thing to another. Jack of all trades, master of none.
There are pictures taken and I realize that in all of them I’m not paired, and that actually feels like pride. I would have struggled here before, and now I am comfortable in my place, in my positions. Safe. Secure. Loved.
But with that comes the realization that the other women in my polycule are mothers. They bring something to the table that I never will, and so the thought sticks there in my head. I don’t feel inferior, but I do feel different. Is this just an uncomfortable moment that will pass?
***
His little feet are pattering around the house, and they’re preparing to leave. To go home, and he’s excited. He’s ready. My house doesn’t have all his stuff, and I don’t blame him. His mom is his whole universe. I’m just the woman he sometimes has to deal with, and I’m mentally preparing myself that he’s not interested in saying goodbye when he nearly drops me. He thinks I’m coming with them, that’s why he doesn’t seem to care. He’s going to see me in a couple of hours at his house.
I’m never ready for these revelations. I’m never ready for the way this family can find all the pressure points in my heart and bring me to my knees.
K and I practiced music together, her strumming the acoustic guitar and me picking the strings of my ukulele like a banjo to play arpeggios. How many times did I dream of this? Have wanted this? She’s bent over, laughing about my past that I’ve shared when I feel it. The scar from my own daughter slicing across my wounded heart. Would it have ever been like this? Is K a projection of all the years stolen?
No. No she looks up at me and laughs and I see them. I see S and T in her face, and whatever ghost had risen up evaporates. Mine is gone, and I’ve made my peace with that. K is her own little human, and what I feel for her is her own thing. I still hug her longer before we part this time.
How will I survive a fucking week when I want to drive at break neck speed to them tonight?
It’s created a ritual around leaving, and it can weigh so heavily.
“They miss you. You’re not just an after thought.” I’m going through my goodbyes, being a responsible adult, preparing to leave after a full weekend. He says it as I’m trying to shore up the emotion threatening to close my throat and it spills. It’s no longer just half hearted and indifferent waves from the couch as I leave.
Hands reach for me, voices whine and plead to stay. Hugs have grown tighter and more lingering and the tightness in my chest threatens to spill tears into their hair. I hold on to it as long as I can, but ultimately the moment I am behind a closed door it comes free and crashes over me. Tears, sobs hitching my chest, an intense longing that will not be satiated until I’m back with them.
This weekend has been crazy from start to finish. I’ve spent a week dealing with all the things I’ve been ignoring, and uncovered some fairly ugly habits in therapy that have developed over the years. Mainly that Matt and I have been less partners and more stuck in co-dependent patterns. He’s even said that it’s a struggle for him to let others be supports for my anxiety attacks, and harder yet to watch me do it myself. For so long he’s felt the need to step in, and it’s created some rather unpleasant habits.
So to go from that into a stressful weekend was no easy transition to make. There were times when I felt very overwhelmed. I came to a realization that I will very likely be the only member of our polycule without higher education, and while I could enroll, I don’t have the patience, energy, or funding for that. Not to even mention that I don’t even know what I’d try to do. My interests, like my attention, flits from one thing to another. Jack of all trades, master of none.
There are pictures taken and I realize that in all of them I’m not paired, and that actually feels like pride. I would have struggled here before, and now I am comfortable in my place, in my positions. Safe. Secure. Loved.
But with that comes the realization that the other women in my polycule are mothers. They bring something to the table that I never will, and so the thought sticks there in my head. I don’t feel inferior, but I do feel different. Is this just an uncomfortable moment that will pass?
***
His little feet are pattering around the house, and they’re preparing to leave. To go home, and he’s excited. He’s ready. My house doesn’t have all his stuff, and I don’t blame him. His mom is his whole universe. I’m just the woman he sometimes has to deal with, and I’m mentally preparing myself that he’s not interested in saying goodbye when he nearly drops me. He thinks I’m coming with them, that’s why he doesn’t seem to care. He’s going to see me in a couple of hours at his house.
I’m never ready for these revelations. I’m never ready for the way this family can find all the pressure points in my heart and bring me to my knees.
K and I practiced music together, her strumming the acoustic guitar and me picking the strings of my ukulele like a banjo to play arpeggios. How many times did I dream of this? Have wanted this? She’s bent over, laughing about my past that I’ve shared when I feel it. The scar from my own daughter slicing across my wounded heart. Would it have ever been like this? Is K a projection of all the years stolen?
No. No she looks up at me and laughs and I see them. I see S and T in her face, and whatever ghost had risen up evaporates. Mine is gone, and I’ve made my peace with that. K is her own little human, and what I feel for her is her own thing. I still hug her longer before we part this time.
How will I survive a fucking week when I want to drive at break neck speed to them tonight?
Comments
Post a Comment