I've Been Numb, But Not Comfortably

I get way nicer to my partner when I reconnect with myself, too.

I'm always the last to know when I'm spiraling. Other people observe me being twitchy, hyper-vigilant, controlling, judgmental, spacey, terrified....but I just think I'm surviving. I think I'm getting shit done. I don't even clock that I'm miserable. Like I forget how to check in with myself and I just jump from emergency to emergency, fire to fire, drink to drink, game to game, headline to headline. I am like a coin-operated machine, only able to come to life when someone needs something from me. Frozen.

Last week my family and I went with family/friends we adore to a beautiful part of Colorado. It might be what heaven is like- perfect temp, mountains, sunshine, friendly, happy people, animals everywhere. It was divine. But it took me 4 days, and a whole bunch of edibles, to calm the fuck down. My nervous system has felt like it's been chased by a bear for so long, I don't even know how to rest and relax on vacation (where there are actual bears, but none of them chased us. We did see salamanders and elk, though!).

"A mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child." - Jackie Kennedy (? Could be from an earlier, unnamed source)

I've been so scared and sad and alone for so long, waiting for all the shoes to drop on my poor kid, on me, I've forgotten how to person. It's taken a good bit of effort to start to get it back.

I started having dreams again, toward the end of the week. Weird ones, all over the place. I started feeling like crying every time I saw my kid smile or the breeze hit me just right while I walked between the creek and the cliff. My emotions are switching back on and it's overwhelming. I was hiding in the shadows, just trying to eke by, and now I'm waking up in the sun and it's scary.

I started therapy again. I'm dumping all the stuff I'm carrying. I'm going to try it sober for a while, too. Because booze and weed doesn't actually make me long-term able to manage the pain of living, it just numbs it for a while. I really want to strive for true peace. If that's on the menu? We'll see.

Speaking of peace, my kid is attending a trans/nonbinary day camp this week. (I won't share the details unless I personally know you/your kid and trust it's a good idea- there's a security guard in a bulletproof vest out front for a reason). BUT it's the most beautiful community I've ever witnessed. Culturally and sexually/gender diverse staff and kids, lots of people with physical, emotional, intellectual disabilities, everyone so warm and kind and open. It's like utopia. The parents are up against the same things I am and they want to share their resources and experiences. Here, my kid is not weird. My kid is not bad. My kid is not alone. My kid is worth knowing, exactly, precisely as they are. No one finds them too much or not enough, people aren't fumbling to make sense of them- they just get to be. This is one of the first times they've really experienced this and it's healing us both. The fears are shared with the other parents, as well, of course. Will our kids have access to the healthcare they need to continue being themselves? Will all us parents be put on some sort of list as abusers because we're letting/encouraging our kids to live their identities instead of forcing them into a binary? Are our kids really ever safe in a world that constantly villifies them?

For a moment; five days; six hours each day, these kids just get to be kids. We adults get to have happy, safe kids. Is this what it feels like for other parents all the time? We parents spend so much time managing the fears and trying to protect them from the threats- here it doesn't seem like an impossible thing. And we don't have to do it alone. We get to do it in tandem with other adults who care, who get it, who know. It's huge.

My next tattoo

I can feel muscles in my hips and back loosen that have been hitched up for years. Between the woods, the mountains, and the kindness, I might just find a little bit of hope in these old bones yet.

Immediately when I feel better, I start to write again.

Here's to living.