Surviving and Finding Joy
Friday, November 20, 2020
I was going to a post about how evolved I am and how I've moved on towards acceptance of the situation with my difficult elderly mother, but then I woke up with waves of panic this morning and realized who am I kidding? Perhaps the better word is "adapting." It's not a smooth adaptations, but a messy process with bumps, but I would like to think I am at a better place than I was years ago.
I have learned to mourn the loss of what I thought these years would look like. I envisioned mom becoming gentler with age and us welcoming her to our family events and delighting in supporting her. Over the years that vision and any appreciation she had for me exploded and I somehow morphed into the personal scapegoat for her rage with siblings exploiting the situation to their advantage. I am trying accept that this is my pile of dirt mixed with smelly manure. It's not going away so I might as well accept it and plant some seeds.
So over time I have been planting my proverbial garden to make the best of this mess. Turns out a few old friends from childhood and college are in the same boat. I even have a theory. Those of us who were pressured by mommy to keep up appearances, be thin and get perfect grades are at most risk for having mommy be a nightmare in old age.For some reason my newer mom friends seem to come from functional families. Imagine that...There is nothing like talking to people who get it and comparing notes/stories and strategies. I recall when I was in the trenches of the early autism years, I felt so alone and lost until I found my soul sisters...other moms of kids with special needs.
It's the same with managing pandemic life. We plant flowers in the dirt and poop and hope they will bloom. Feel free to quote me.
Dave Chapelle said something profound in his SNL monologue/comedy routine reaching out to people who feel disenfranchised post election like police blamed for their bad colleagues' actions or those who wanted Trump to win. You may feel like you have a target on your back. He knows that feeling as a black man. The thing is he says you have to find joy anyway, even it it seems like the world is against you. I have a target on my back put there by my aging mother, but I can find joy and love life despite. I don't need her permission or acceptance.
To joy! To friendship! To planting our proverbial gardens!
**May take down since I vent about my mothah (Misspelling on purpose ;)