Tag Archives: crisis

You Before Me

16 May

I know, I know, you think I got that wrong and it’s Me Before You, but, I am not wrong.

Let me explain: a few days ago Patrick, my son and I  were walking the dog and were talking about what should I do now that he is done with college. I told him I feel like all that rush, all that forward moving we went through for the past 12 years of public education came to a halt. Ever since I gave birth to him I’ve been focusing on him, making him my # 1 priority. His education, his wellbeing, his manners, his foundation, all of that has been my work, my goal nothing and no one could ever stop me from reaching it. I had a path and each step brought me closer and closer to the finish line, which we crossed together the minute he held his diploma.

I kept telling him that now he is done with school and I am done worrying (or so I keep telling myself). He is on his path and I am on mine. He will soon start working and will continue chasing his dreams while I need to figure out what to do with my life, my focus, my time. What to fill it with, which direction should I go, what to do. (You can call it a crisis, but I won’t, because I don’t want to jinx it and make it sound even more dramatic than it is. But it is dramatic and anyone who went through what I am going now, will tell you it is a life-altering time in any parent’s life whose child/ren finish their education).

I kept talking while he kept listening. (That’s one of the things I love the most when I spent time with Patrick; he is a great listener). Eventually we turned a corner and I finally stopped talking, waiting for him to say something. And he did, saying, “It’s actually quite simple, Mom. You need to go back to you before me. You before you had me. Find that 24 yr. old woman and see what she’d like to do. Focus on her, help her find her dreams.”

I know his words will remain engraved in my mind for a long time, maybe forever (with my brain’s will) and, while I do not want to be 24 yr. old again, I’d like to rekindle with my old self and see what treasures I’ve buried…you before me: where are you?

 

 

A delusion called Friendship

1 Oct

Do you ever wonder why—during times of crisis—you react the way you react? Do you ever think that, if faced with some sort of one of those life-altering moments, you know yourself so well that your reaction won’t shock you? Like for instance, a friend tells you they decide to tattoo their forehead / hike Everest / go on Naked & Afraid Show / rob a bank, and when they tell you that, you know exactly how you’ll react to it, but in reality your reaction is quite the opposite, shocking you and your friend, to a point it alters your relationship with him/her. Shock that would make you pause for a surgical, introspective look, not only at yourself, but also at your relationship with that friend. And the deeper you look, the less you like what you see to a point you question not only how well you know yourself but also how well you know (or you thought you know) that friend.

Friends.

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We all have them and we all have heard at least once in our life the saying “you cannot pick your family, but you can (and you should) pick you friends.” We all build relationships based on likes and dislikes, common ground/morals, values, etc., and develop a support system so when we or them—our friends—fall apart, someone is there to catch us/them. We count on each other during good times and bad times, help each other pass whatever obstacle is thrown at us and eventually watch each other waltz through life.

Some friendships are meant to last a lifetime (they’ll be there to call you on your mistakes but still love you). Some are based on certain commonalities but have limitations (you might agree on politics but disagree on religion). And some friendships are there only when its convenient, through their good times and bad times, but fall apart at your first news of “I’m gonna tattoo my forehead/ hike Everest / go on Naked & Afraid Show / rob a bank.”

This past week my world titled, knocking the air from underneath my wings. For two days I dragged my broken wing trying to “float”, doing that surgical and introspective look at myself. I didn’t like what I saw, so I did what I knew best and reached out to my friends, baring my soul and letting them see my bleeding heart in its full tarnished splendor. Some of them gave me a piece of their mind, knocking me over the head, but also telling me—even though I’m stupid—they still love me. Some hugged me and told me they are sorry. And some got up and left the room.

images-1I stared at that door for a while . . .

I know it’s going to take me a while to process what happened, what triggered that to happen and that eventually my problem will have a solution and one way or another, I’ll be okay. I always am, always have, always will. I’m a fighter who, even after finding that I don’t always like the person gawking back at me in that mirror, I take responsibility for my mistakes and try to repair the wrong I’ve done. I always come back up for air, take baby steps toward recovery and eventually I will heal. But I also know that the door you closed behind will forever remain closed so. . . thank you for walking out like that, sparring me a delusion called friendship.