Sometimes you get to have a great weekend.
Sometimes, the weekend gets to have you. This is about one of those weekends.
In my continuing journey of figuring out what to have in my
world as a foundation, and what to let go of, I spent the weekend in a series
of emotional, heart opening, all in, don’t walk away until I was clear kind of
conversations. I learned some things.
First, I am not always present. When I am, I know it. I recognize this as grace.
I have written about this before, about how I think I know
what someone else’s story is before they have told it, just from the gleaned
details and sometimes even rumors. I
work on this constantly, realizing that I like things in little boxes that I
can control. My own tendencies towards
co-dependency and the need to rescue and fix things. It is hard for me to watch someone in pain,
partly because I hurt for them, and partly because I hurt for myself at not
being able to help. I caught myself
starting to do this. Not much, just a little, and thank the Universe I have
made it this far.
Lunch on Friday was divine.
Heartbreaking and village building, and hard, but divine. I didn’t understand my friend’s level of
commitment and forgiveness in the face of some really hard choices. I didn’t understand how anger had not taken
over. I couldn’t imagine spinning in her
Universe and holding it together so well.
I stopped and listened to her heart. She was holding it together by sheer will
because really, if she didn’t, her whole world would implode in a nasty ugly
way, and the wake would take out everyone it her path. She was breathing, and making mistakes, and
owning them, and being honest, and rambling, and confused, and scared, and
moving forward and backward, all at the same time. And I love her more than she could possibly
know for allowing me to see her strength, and her need for support, all while
downing a diet coke and fiddling with her bra straps. I will be present for her any time she allows
me. Love is like that. This was grace.
Dinner on Friday was divine.
I cooked dinner at a friend’s house, while he sorta puttered and played
with is dog, and did dishes. He left me
alone to chop veggies and make polenta, after I had just told him that cooking
is therapy for me. He had been working
on a friend’s car when I walked in, so we hadn’t really greeted each
other. So now, 45 minutes into my
arrival, he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me, and sorta snuggled
in. He whispered against my neck the
words “Thank you for being here”.
I melted. Not the way
you melt with crushes or hot messes. But
the way that relaxes your whole body without even knowing you were needing
it. Actual physical touch. Until that very second, I had been only in my
head. Spinning the conversation I was
anticipating having, trying to figure out words that I had no idea how to
create, tensing my muscles, brewing my own storm. Thinking I knew already exactly how this was
gonna go. I had been in this place
before, or thought I had. Closed.
Confused. Walls up. Afraid of what kind of hurt was possible, what kind of
daggers I could throw, what kind of devastation I could create? Just how badly could I fuck up my world, with
no mercy?
I stopped and listened to his heart. He had been spinning the same things. What kind of devastation was he bringing to
my world? How much heartache could he
command before he lost himself? How
would he find the words he wanted to say, feeling like he had no practice at
getting it right himself? Would being quiet and grateful be enough? Would his vulnerability cause chaos or
understanding? Would all his walls up be
better because then he couldn’t fuck up yet another relationship (romantic or
not) the way he felt he had fucked up everything else. His world spinning, and
he just wanted some peace, too. Both of
us slowing down just to enjoy dinner, and fresh washed flannel sheets was
divine. Love is like that. This was grace.
Second, I am sometimes angry. I am not at my best understanding when I am
angry. When I choose to stop, and not walk away when all my instincts are
telling me to run, I recognize this as trust.
Saturday night (it was really Sunday morning) I got into a
fight with someone I love deeply. He and
I have known each other a long time. Too
long for the bullshit we spun with each other. He yelled. I yelled. We both used the work fuck a few
too many times. We both walked away a
few times with the other eventually convincing us to come back, or seeking them
out, not allowing them to walk away.
I knew, even while we were arguing, that this would pass,
and even if strained, we would be fine.
I could wrap my brain around that his anger was not directed at me, but
was frustration bottled up in an out of his control situation spinning his
world. A life changing kind of out of
control, that, for self-preservation’s sake, he had checked out on. His fear and disappointment at the wasted possibilities
and an unclear future had him feeling alone.
He could not trust me that I wasn’t walking out, too. How could he?
What possible proof could I hope to provide that everything would be
fine, when I didn’t have any?
I could wrap my brain around that my anger was not directed
at him, but at my frustration over not understanding. How could he be so angry? How could he not see how amazing a time this
is right now for him, even in the chaos?
How could he not see that he was pushing away help and complaining about
being alone at the same time? How could
he not see that right then, even though I was pissed, I wasn’t going to let him
wade through his shit by himself? No,
this was not me being co-dependent (at least not in any way that put me at
risk, please read my other blogs to get this).
I was not taking on his problems or fears, just shining a light that
checking out is not gonna help, and angry that right then, at fucking 3am (probably
still drunk, because a fight like this never happens without alcohol), while
holding his hand, I had zero skills to convey this to him. Zero, none at all and I was trying anyway. Strength would come. One step in front of the other. Love is like that. This was trust.
Monday morning I sat in a room with a whole bunch of other
people struggling with unfulfilled expectations. I held a friend’s hand as he accepted love
from this group in the form of a small piece of aluminum. A tiny little
reminder that for the last 60 days, one of those expectations was not quite as unfulfilled.
I was there, listening. Keeping my heart open to my own way of
understanding something that is not my issue.
My friend hadn’t asked me to come, not really, just told me he had
someplace important to be that morning, and would I still be snuggled in
flannel when he got back. I knew all
about it, of course, I had been paying attention for the last few months, and
can recognize both jubilance and trepidation at the journey he is on. It is new, and old at the same time. Putting, for the first time, faith in himself. For that morning, he needed a little bit of
celebration and cheering in his life. I
think it is rare, and I had it to give without any cost to my own journey. Maybe I needed to know, too, that he is
strong, and I don’t need to take care of him, and couldn’t even if I wanted
to. But that I wasn’t afraid, because
one step in front of the other has been working for me with my own special
breed of addiction, and it could for him, too.
The whole room knew it. He was not alone. Love is like that. This was trust.
Third, and most important, I am sometimes doubtful and
fearful. I can spin things. I can find fault in myself without even
having to pause. This weekend was not
like that. I recognize this as strength.
In all the times this weekend, I put people first. For a woman like me who has spent years
building walls with traps and devices and barbed wire all around to keep people
out with fear of hurt and depression, that I didn’t wall myself up is amazing. I was tempted, to just shut down. Not connect.
Not join in. Comply. Wait. Judge.
Compartmentalize. Overthink. Spin.
I let whatever was going to happen, happen. No rules.
No shoulds. No judgments. I kept myself present, always in exactly what
was happening, and not planning the next thing.
Not checking out. Not shutting down.
Not throwing matches. I am sure
there could have been some fall out, and I don’t pretend for one fucking second
that I may not be a basket case in 5 minutes, but not this weekend. The genuine me showed up. Turns out, love is like that. This was strength.
What happens next, I have no idea. I am going to let grace and trust and
strength find me again in all the small places I let in find me this time. Maybe the word that sums it all up is
faith. Yep, love is like that, too.
