I’m finally able to come here and post an update. I know… I left you hanging for a LONG time. Thanks for sticking it out.
I guess I should pick up from the last post. So… you know that The Kid, at the wise old age of 18.29 years old, decided that he wanted to be an adult, right? No? Let me catch you up…. Actually, go read this post and come back. I’ll wait.
On April 28, The Kid caught a bus to Arkansas. Since the he lived in a hotel, slept in a tent under the stars, had 99% of his stuff stolen and may be facing homelessness on Memorial Day. As his birthing human, I am dealing with a lot of emotions behind this and the idea of presenting you with this ‘oh… my life is fantastic!’ facade seems fake. So I stopped writing.
But… since I’m here and you’re reading, I’m going to pull back the curtain in Oz. I’m going through it on an intimate level. As a woman who had a Kid, I tried really hard to put the best of myself into that Kid and living through his extreme growing pains is a lonely road to travel. Because it’s not even about The Kid. This right here? This is all about me. All. About. Me. Let me explain.
When I was crying and picking over sushi with my sister-friends, I realized that The Kid is an extreme version of me at about the same age. Blindly in love with his dad, I would take spontaneous trips in my new Grand Am for an indiscriminate number of days and come home whenever I felt like it. I was ‘grown’… but not really. When Val J told me to either put my big girl panties on or continue to wear my little girl panties, I chose the too-tight little girl panties. I wasn’t ready to be grown. My friends pointed out this obvious fact to me.
Then The Hero said something about me and my pride and how The Kid is doing what I do, blah, blah, blah. I don’t know if it was because he was saying it (read: he’s not a woman/mother so how could he even BEGIN to understand my pure, soul-deep angst about my Kid being out there for bad people to abuse?! UGH! *eye roll*) or The Kid was really being like me without the ability to pull back before jumping into some deep crap. After a month of The Kid being gone, I realized The Hero and my friends were right: he’s like me without the knowledge that jumping off the cliff without checking the parachute is a bad move. Sorry you inherited that, Kid, but if you would’ve listened…. I guess there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk, right?
There are way too many things I’ve discovered about myself since April 28, but I’ll sum it up to there is no way I can control legal adults. No. Way. But what I CAN control is ME. And I had to get my mind right and allow life to teach The Kid the lessons he didn’t want to learn from his dad and me. Yes, it hurts to sit on the phone three or four states away and listen to The Kid’s misfortunes. But then I have to redirect my thoughts and remind myself that this was HIS choice, despite any and every maternal instinct to drive The Lady out to Arkansas, tie him up and bring him home. His experience is for him, but the lesson of letting go and being available for advice versus being an authoritarian and telling him what to do is my journey in this.
So, to that end, I haven’t done much except deal with me. No new recipes or DIY projects. Just trying to sit with all the new feelings that tapped into some old, buried feelings and figuring out how I can live with this and continue to enjoy my life without my boy in the same city. Let me tell you… it’s been a real practice in gentility and self-enlightenment. For real.
Thanks for sticking around though. I’m not sure if this is me getting back to my normally scheduled programming or if I’ll need more time before I can come back all polished and new. I’m taking it one post at a time. Right now, I’m enjoying my new hair (or lack thereof) and getting comfortable with sitting with, and acknowledging, the feelings I wanted to stay in my basement, but picked the locks and found a way into my living room. We’re all having several glasses of wine while simultaneously having several seats.