The Rowing Endeth

So a few things happened this weekend that brought unexpected and welcome resolution.

Suffice it to say, stuff that usually remains buried and unspoken came out. Finally.

The greatest gift this holiday season has already been unwrapped in the form of a peace I have never known until now.

And now I know what it feels like.

This is the standard against everything else will be measured. 

Wishing you all an equal peace this season.

I Hope You Get the Help You Need (Part 3)

"Mom," Younger says as we head out to do some Christmas shopping. "Tell me again what happened to Miss C."

We drove through a neighborhood, past a house of an old acquaintance with whom we lost touch. Except Elder remembered the street and even the house. Thus, triggering a discussion on the ghosts of friendships past, fallen by the wayside by autism and/or divergent paths.  And Elder's train of thought led to younger's question.

My head, as it often does when someone brings up the past, felt wrapped tightly in barbed wire. "G, come on, you know how much I hate talking about this. And it's not like you don't know how the story ends."

G shrugged.  "I forget."

I sighed, rubbed my forehead, negotiated the traffic into the busy shopping mall parking lot.  If I deflect, he'll just keep bringing it up, persistent as a Jehovah's witness. May as well get it out there, again. "She was weak.  She believed people who stole something from me and then called me crazy. And then she kept me hanging on long enough to report back to them, so they could email me and tell me I was crazy and to tell me to kill myself."

I blinked. I never went that far in the story. But they are both old enough to know what happened.

Elder blew out his breath in astonishment and consternation. "MOM.  You were bullied worse than me. Like, your whole adult life."

Longer, I thought. Much, much longer.

I parked the car and gazed at him a moment. "Why do you think I am so good at helping you navigate this?"

That ended the subject for the moment. We had gifts to buy, but not before Elder found a $20 bill.  I put the whole conversation on hiatus until I went to bed, and woke up in the wee small hours, with Elder's voice echoing "You were bullied worse than me."

Reminded me of the conversation with my new supervisor last week, about how my return to corporate came at a time when Elder was experiencing the worst of  the bullying of his school career--and how I, through all my experience to that point, managed to finally convert the lessons to strength, and helped him handle the worst of it.

My last little while has been a coming to terms with all of it.

I hope the effort's not been wasted.

Take Nothing for Granted

So I had my first one on one yesterday with my new supervisor.

Up until now, I thought that my competence and collaboration were enough to garner me a berth on the team.

He asked me:  "What makes you think we should hire you?"

I shrugged.  "I've been doing the job for the last six months. I know what I'm doing. I am moving the business forward."

He sort of cocked his head and said "What makes you think that's enough?"

And then he told me to get a job description and schedule a meeting with him in a few weeks wherein I can plead my case.

I was quite bitter leaving that meeting.

In the 24 hours since, I've had quiet time on the train, in the car, walking in the cold to think about this. I am not young. I have been kicking around the workforce for decades. I know that one's hireability (if that's a word) has less to do with ability than it does connections. I was brought in with the old order, and the newer order may have its own people to place.

Isn't that always the case?

I may need to color again....

Grace in small spaces

Right now I am trying to find the grace in small spaces.

I arrived home early enough yesterday to help elder find something he was looking for and help younger study for an upcoming test.  The three of us together in the living room made me happy. 

Same earlier in the week; I came home to my older son, smiling, telling me about what was going on in his life, in a decidedly happier place than he's been. 

Weathering some bad and indifferent news with younger; sometimes there's a no in the universe for a reason.

Trying to figure it all out. Finding grace in the small spaces.

Sensory Overload

I didn't realize to what extent I compensated for my own shortcomings until recently.

As a child, I was susceptible to meltdowns. If my brother wasn't triggering me, something else was. I remember going a whole winter in short sleeve school blouses because sleeves tormented my dry skin. Spaghetti and tomato sauce burned my face, but I had to eat them. Super 8 footage of my early Christmases show me squinting and squirming under the hot lights.

I remember reading a page in my mom's journal, where she wrote I "fought with everyone."

Actually, it was only my brother, and no one wanted to be on his bad side.

That's still true.

I can't sort through the emotional laundry without addressing the physical, because it was all of a piece. Is. Still all of a piece. And all of these memories are hard-wired to the point where I passed them down to my elder son, who suffers, but doesn't know why. It's physical, and the physical has emotional manifestations and repercussions.

I am reduced to asking the question:  Would it kill me to....? Some things might. Others might make me stronger. I'm running down the clock on the lifespans of some, so kindnesses sent that way may comfort--not so much the knowledge that when that person ends, so do my obligations.

But they won't care, and I won't, either.

I continue my hegira with David Foster Wallace, and he's reminding me of things I've known all along, but putting names to things that I couldn't name because trauma and trauma-induced speechlessness. I'm course-correcting for all the whimsy and fickleness and fecklessness; keeping space between myself and everyone else helps me navigate.  I feel my aloneness, but I am not lonely, not really.

My boys come to me eagerly between their own adventures, wanting to share things they notice, smiling, eyes sparkling as when they were toddlers. Now they are both nearly grown, and things still spark joy, and I hope they will always find joy, and know it when they find it.

Sometimes, joy is the absence of everything else.