Fear with a side of Hope

My mother's parenting style was an all or nothing approach and if you managed to get under her skin, as I had, she would do things to let you know that your world was not stable or safe and that she was in control. On one such occasion, when I was seven or eight years old, living in El Paso, Texas my mother picked up the phone and called the State of Texas Department for Child Services. She said she was done with me and that I should pack a bag because 'they' were coming to take me away. My father was out of town and I was at her mercy. I remember going to my room and sitting on my bed crying and hugging my teddy bear. I don’t remember the season at the time, just the dark ranch style home, where very little good memories were made. My mother came to my door after a few minutes and said she changed her mind and that I would not need to pack anything as she would not allow me to leave with anything, including my bear and with that she yanked it from me and left me there holding myself in the dark room. Hours later, the doorbell had never rung but I stayed in my room, feeling dejected, alone and unlovable. That was the first of many times over the course of my childhood where my mother would abandon me, give up all hope; give up on me and write me off.

Much of those feelings accompanied me into my adult life as my baggage. My past has a strange way of creeping up on me, knocking at my door at just the right moment when my foundation falters a bit. Like a predator that feeds on my fears, it sits waiting in the shadows for the right moment to attack. I woke with fear in my head Sunday morning and I replayed many of the miserable things I had done, said or been witness to, flashes of everything that was my life. Real or imagined ugliness, I owned it all as mine, regardless if it was or not. And It has been ages since I had such darkness waiting to suck me in, so I consciously chose to fake it for the day, I was O.K. And to that end, I spent three hours at the health club exhausting myself and I felt good upon leaving. I just love the power of endorphins.

It wasn't until later in the evening when I sat down with my youngest to talk about what was going on that suddenly I was overcome by what haunted that dark space in my head. It was my fear; no, it was my greatest fear of all. It was becoming my mother. Becoming hurtful, playing my children off of one another and abandoning them. It was my giving up on one of my children and investing everything I had emotionally into the other one. My fear of emotionally suffocating one while becoming emotionally aloof or indifferent to the other.

When my youngest son was born I had a hell of a time adjusting to how different he was, from my first born. He was not easy going or cuddly like my oldest had been, he was a bit cranky and particular and I could feel how I could be put off by this small, demanding creature. He would not breast feed and he cried as if colicky in the early weeks of his life. But I saw something of myself in him and his neediness, his inability to get comfortable and his constant complaints and cries. I think I understood how my mother would have been put off by me and I chose to embrace him and dote on him more than I had to with my older son. I worked really hard at making him feel safe and getting to know him. Something wonderful happened in accepting him so openly, I found I was able to heal some piece of myself that was cracked from my own childhood. It was a win-win.

Now as I see my oldest struggle to find his way I feel that tugging, like when my youngest was born. Those doubts and fears that crept in have been shut out and have served as a reminder to me that the right thing to do is what I am doing. I cannot make anyone change, I can only love him through his process of life. I am chosing to love him and not shut him out, not abandon him. I am chosing to be open and vulnerable, knowing that I could get hurt. And I have hope. I have hope that my son will get a report card full of anything but F's this next marking period. I have hope that my son will not be sent to truancy court this next marking period. I have hope that my son will one day return to me, unencumbered by the anger he cannot see past these days. I have hope that one day my son will raise his own child and understand what a tough job this is, and that there is no sure plan for getting it right. But I choose to love him, to be accepting of him regardless of where his life takes him and I am fine with taking this one day at a time for however long we have. Afterall is'nt that what a mother should do?

(Photo Credit: http://www.wesleymulvin.com/cesta.html)