Prompt: Lalochezia
Aug. 12th, 2022 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drippedonpaperWhat is family? Does it matter? Does it shape us? Is it something we leave or is it something that endures?
This week, in some ways, it feels the thumping bass of retreating footsteps is more dominant in the song of my family, that the creeping tender notes of a melody tangling with enhancing harmony.
How do you leave? Or do you even leave? Is leaving your choice or the choice of those around you?
Maybe I haven't clearly shown where my edges are, that parts of me are forever mine. Not in exclusion, just in celebration, a proclamation of uniqueness. Or maybe people only see what they choose to see.
My middle child is 18, and becoming herself. The melody of her life is becoming clearer and louder. At age 18, I feel she needs to learn to tune inward and own her own choices.
In March, she began to mix in a new harmony to her life song. She picked a new religion. I was quite surprised, but am trying to give her the space to become herself. It's a prcoess. She is growing, and has the right to her own choices.
I believe this, but my mother does not seem to. This whole week has been full of "lasts," as my daughter prepares to move to college for the first time.
She gave notice, and completed her last day at her job. Another group of friends threw her a surprise birthday party. There was so much packing and preparing to do ...and a grandma who, yet again wanted to make my daughter change.
"I am tired of hearing I will go to hell," my S. said. " I don't want to talk about it this week. I know how Grandma feels, but I am done. " "OK, it's your choice." I told her. Many of my worst decisions have come from denying my inner voice. I want to honor S's right to follow what she feels is right.
There did not seem to be a way to express this clarity to my mother. I did try, with a personal visit. "I have to see S. I will follow you home," mom said last night.
"Mom, don't. I am asking you to not come. You cannot come tonight."
" You can't stop me. "
"Don't come." I said again. My son and I left, but mom knows where we live.
I explained again when she came, "Please go home.". Then I went inside.
She rang the bell. She called repeatedly. She texted. It was over an hour of this.
I read once that we should consider if we would allow friends or strangers to treat us the way our family does. I would not let anyone stay and keep me stranded in my own home when I have clearly said to leave.
She would not leave.
I confess to using bad language, but only under my breath this time. I will not answer her rudeness with crudeness. I called my Dad. I let him know if he could not persuade her, I would call the police. She has to leave.
He tried calling, and texting her. She would not discuss leaving. I texted her, giving her another chance. No change. I called.
Where does it all break down? But I cannot just let her bully and harass us. We needed to finish packing the car for my daughter's trip.
I called. Even writing this, I don't know why, I feel a deep sense of shame somehow, shame that apparently my mother cannot hear me, that it takes someone beyond us to end a fight. I really tossed up the ideas of "police presence vs. scene," but, I admit, I was tired and scared. Sometimes she fights and screams and I refuse to be "those people" on my street. This is a home of peace for my kids. It has to stay that way.
Thankfully, the officers were gentle. No siren or flashing lights. She finally left. I won't press charges. I let Dad know she was coming.
I do not understand why this happened, but it seems there is no rhyme or reason to illness of the mind.
My heart played a bit of a dirge as we packed. I think I made the right choice, but sometimes it feels I am losing both my parents and my kids at once.
Is it loss? Is something missing or rather are we all becoming whole?
With little sleep and much emotion, we made it through the packing, the driving, the check in, and finally it was time to hollow out my car to match my heart.
I know we are all growing, can I learn to celebrate pains as building strength, rather than tearing, destruction, leaving, loss? The mother I always wanted seems never to materialize. The little girl I raised has morphed to the strong woman beside me. Why do I keep forgetting that her courage to walk away may mean I am left behind?
I follow her up to her room, "I left the door propped, here we are." We take two big loads. I make her bed for once, as she leaves to check her schedule. "OK, last load!"
We head down.
We lug up the last of her stuff. She said, "Oops, the door must have closed."
"Use your keys," I say. Every part of me is aching and tired.
"It won't work."
"Hmm..oh no! " I look at the number. "Wrong number."
We cross the hall. Unlock her room. "Uh, where are your dishes? S. . .."
Somehow, in our extreme fatigue, we had managed to unpack most of her stuff into the wrong room. Several expressions of profanity again came to mind. Seriously!?!
I unload the cart into her correct room, as she goes down to explain the situation. Thankfully the RA comes, unlocks, and gives us the chance to move this stuff for the third time in less than 24 hours. (House to car, car to wrong room, wrong to right.)
S. has to be at band at 3. We finish what we can. Hug goodbye.
As I drive, I seek perspective of the last 24 hours. So much of it did not follow the metaphorical music I thought I had placed on the music stand of my day.
I call an aunt for perspective. She says, perhaps my mom feels enmeshed, and somehow feels we are literally part of her so she cannot allow us to be different or she will break.
I muse on that, driving home. Walking in. Gazing at my daughter's empty room.
It seems to be time. I will always love and communicate with S. but perhaps family is more a concert than a song. Maybe, if I can walk the line, and love her as her, give her her space, maybe then, she too, will know how to separate from her future grandkids, should that day come.
Through all the exhausting carrying and moving, maybe this would turn out to be the exact room S. needs, a space to become herself, to write her own life's song.
This week, in some ways, it feels the thumping bass of retreating footsteps is more dominant in the song of my family, that the creeping tender notes of a melody tangling with enhancing harmony.
How do you leave? Or do you even leave? Is leaving your choice or the choice of those around you?
Maybe I haven't clearly shown where my edges are, that parts of me are forever mine. Not in exclusion, just in celebration, a proclamation of uniqueness. Or maybe people only see what they choose to see.
My middle child is 18, and becoming herself. The melody of her life is becoming clearer and louder. At age 18, I feel she needs to learn to tune inward and own her own choices.
In March, she began to mix in a new harmony to her life song. She picked a new religion. I was quite surprised, but am trying to give her the space to become herself. It's a prcoess. She is growing, and has the right to her own choices.
I believe this, but my mother does not seem to. This whole week has been full of "lasts," as my daughter prepares to move to college for the first time.
She gave notice, and completed her last day at her job. Another group of friends threw her a surprise birthday party. There was so much packing and preparing to do ...and a grandma who, yet again wanted to make my daughter change.
"I am tired of hearing I will go to hell," my S. said. " I don't want to talk about it this week. I know how Grandma feels, but I am done. " "OK, it's your choice." I told her. Many of my worst decisions have come from denying my inner voice. I want to honor S's right to follow what she feels is right.
There did not seem to be a way to express this clarity to my mother. I did try, with a personal visit. "I have to see S. I will follow you home," mom said last night.
"Mom, don't. I am asking you to not come. You cannot come tonight."
" You can't stop me. "
"Don't come." I said again. My son and I left, but mom knows where we live.
I explained again when she came, "Please go home.". Then I went inside.
She rang the bell. She called repeatedly. She texted. It was over an hour of this.
I read once that we should consider if we would allow friends or strangers to treat us the way our family does. I would not let anyone stay and keep me stranded in my own home when I have clearly said to leave.
She would not leave.
I confess to using bad language, but only under my breath this time. I will not answer her rudeness with crudeness. I called my Dad. I let him know if he could not persuade her, I would call the police. She has to leave.
He tried calling, and texting her. She would not discuss leaving. I texted her, giving her another chance. No change. I called.
Where does it all break down? But I cannot just let her bully and harass us. We needed to finish packing the car for my daughter's trip.
I called. Even writing this, I don't know why, I feel a deep sense of shame somehow, shame that apparently my mother cannot hear me, that it takes someone beyond us to end a fight. I really tossed up the ideas of "police presence vs. scene," but, I admit, I was tired and scared. Sometimes she fights and screams and I refuse to be "those people" on my street. This is a home of peace for my kids. It has to stay that way.
Thankfully, the officers were gentle. No siren or flashing lights. She finally left. I won't press charges. I let Dad know she was coming.
I do not understand why this happened, but it seems there is no rhyme or reason to illness of the mind.
My heart played a bit of a dirge as we packed. I think I made the right choice, but sometimes it feels I am losing both my parents and my kids at once.
Is it loss? Is something missing or rather are we all becoming whole?
With little sleep and much emotion, we made it through the packing, the driving, the check in, and finally it was time to hollow out my car to match my heart.
I know we are all growing, can I learn to celebrate pains as building strength, rather than tearing, destruction, leaving, loss? The mother I always wanted seems never to materialize. The little girl I raised has morphed to the strong woman beside me. Why do I keep forgetting that her courage to walk away may mean I am left behind?
I follow her up to her room, "I left the door propped, here we are." We take two big loads. I make her bed for once, as she leaves to check her schedule. "OK, last load!"
We head down.
We lug up the last of her stuff. She said, "Oops, the door must have closed."
"Use your keys," I say. Every part of me is aching and tired.
"It won't work."
"Hmm..oh no! " I look at the number. "Wrong number."
We cross the hall. Unlock her room. "Uh, where are your dishes? S. . .."
Somehow, in our extreme fatigue, we had managed to unpack most of her stuff into the wrong room. Several expressions of profanity again came to mind. Seriously!?!
I unload the cart into her correct room, as she goes down to explain the situation. Thankfully the RA comes, unlocks, and gives us the chance to move this stuff for the third time in less than 24 hours. (House to car, car to wrong room, wrong to right.)
S. has to be at band at 3. We finish what we can. Hug goodbye.
As I drive, I seek perspective of the last 24 hours. So much of it did not follow the metaphorical music I thought I had placed on the music stand of my day.
I call an aunt for perspective. She says, perhaps my mom feels enmeshed, and somehow feels we are literally part of her so she cannot allow us to be different or she will break.
I muse on that, driving home. Walking in. Gazing at my daughter's empty room.
It seems to be time. I will always love and communicate with S. but perhaps family is more a concert than a song. Maybe, if I can walk the line, and love her as her, give her her space, maybe then, she too, will know how to separate from her future grandkids, should that day come.
Through all the exhausting carrying and moving, maybe this would turn out to be the exact room S. needs, a space to become herself, to write her own life's song.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 06:03 am (UTC)The way you have raised S differently from the way you were raised I think makes a huge difference.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 09:48 pm (UTC)I'm sorry you had to call the cops too, once. It's definitely a worrisome feeling.
I doubt Mom will change much, but maybe she will leave my home alone. I'm actually musing about what to do going forward. I wanted to get along with my parents, but...
Anyways, thanks so much for reading!
no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 11:54 am (UTC)You're doing great with your daughter. Spiritual beliefs are personal choices, and that's the way it should be.
- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 09:50 pm (UTC)I admit, I don't understand S's choice, but that's what life is, right? We all feel differently and have different perspectives, and I have to believe she is choosing what she feels is right for this time in her life.
Thanks for your insight!
no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 09:52 pm (UTC)I hope things improve too. I'm honestly working on...well, how to handle this going forward. I've tried to stay in my parents' lives, but maybe... sigh. They do have 6 other kids and 21 grandchildren besides my kids.
Thanks for the hugs.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-12 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 01:22 am (UTC)*hugs* Family is so, so hard sometimes. It's such a difficult path to follow, and we do the beat we can while just trying to create the least harm.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-14 09:54 pm (UTC)Hugs to you too!
no subject
Date: 2022-08-15 05:12 pm (UTC)We have had to call the police on my uncle, for similar refusing to leave behavior. Sometimes it just needs to be done.
Thank you for sharing
no subject
Date: 2022-08-17 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-17 03:15 pm (UTC)As difficult as my mom can be, I have never had to call the police on her! You did the right thing--your mom's behavior was horrible as well as illegal. You can't harass people like that!
You are a wonderful mom to your kids and I'm very proud of you for how you are handling the situation with S. I hope you are proud of yourself too. I didn't realize she chose her new religion so recently.
*MORE HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2022-08-17 10:47 pm (UTC)I'm hoping things even out. I haven't heard from my parents, and I'm leaving it that way for now (my siblings and I text a bit about other things. I am sure they would let me know if there were some parent emergency.) It's...I'm just trying to concentrate on my husband and kids. Our lives matter to me. Make peace where you can, and leave alone what...can't be changed? That's what I tell myself anyways.
Hugs to you too. It's been a pretty rough month or two for you. Hugs, hugs, hugs!
no subject
Date: 2022-08-18 02:56 pm (UTC)*HUGS BACK*
no subject
Date: 2022-08-18 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-18 05:54 pm (UTC)I am so so sorry you had to deal with this from your mother. But you did well, to not let yourself and your daughter be bullied. She is lucky to have you as her mom!
no subject
Date: 2022-08-18 10:27 pm (UTC)