As of this writing, I’ve been crying for 90 minutes, straight. There simply doesn’t seem to be a way to turn off the water works. So here I am, tears streaming down my face, my head hurting, my eyes squinty (how I wish that I were one of those girls who cries “well”) vision blurry, and writing—in case it somehow helps to tell this story.
The night before D leaves is always the worst (that would be tonight). Ok—it’s the worst period before he leaves home. The absolute, bar-none, horrible-beyond-measure time will be the small hours tomorrow night…the ones leading up to his leaving J’s house to get to the airport to actually fly at 7am.
I think my little person somehow believes that until that plane is wheels up, he might still decide not to go. I know better, of course, but she’s very little and thinks things are black and white and everything in the world is possible. She doesn’t get that I wouldn’t ask him to not go…not in a bazillion years.
I had an amazing session today with JC in which, among other things, she helped me understand why my little person gets so riled up, and I was surprised to learn it.
I thought it had to do with something I must have experienced as a child, but had really no clue what it might have been. Today I learned about it, and was astounded that the reality of it never crossed my mind.
JC shared that as a child, I had experienced hundreds of times when my parents left me physically that also included an energetic leave-taking (in other words, they energetically deserted me—my words, not JC’s). And so, the more important a person is in my life, the harder it is for my little person to go through a leave-taking, because she’s SURE that it’s not just a temporary physical separation. She’s scared spitless that she’s being deserted yet again.
That sure explains a lot to me, ringing true with great clarity. I can see my actions and reactions through that lens easily and clearly. I asked for more information as to why it seems that my little person gets quiet and settles down the moment D goes wheels up, and was told that she doesn’t actually settle down, but instead, disassociates. As I thought about that later, it occurred to me that what probably happens is that she screams and cries and is horribly loud and obnoxious, but the moment D’s in the air, she realizes there’s nothing in the world left for her to try to prevent his leaving from happening, and so she quiets down—right up until the next time something happens for her to rage against.
That aspect of myself beings me untold gifts. But I sure wish she’d grow the fuck up. This stuff is far too painful for me (and I’m sure for D, E, and Dawn, too). I don’t want to be the girl who cries her eyes out and wants to beg D to stay. I don’t want to be the girl who looks like she’s been punched in the face when the reality is that her face is swollen because she can’t stop crying. I don’t want to be the burdening girl who drains her friends’ energies. I want to be the girl who joyfully helps D pack and happily shares his excitement about the trip. I want to be the girl who secretly looks forward to his being away for ten days because of all the fun I can have by myself. I want to be the girl who is absolutely confident in my ability to handle whatever the Universe tosses my way. I want to call and do things with E and Dawn because they’d be fun—not because I’m a basket case.
JC gave me some ideas of how I might get there. So far, they’re not working, although one of them touched me most mightily.
I had told D earlier that my little person needed to know that our (his and mine) energetic connection isn’t being broken. I told her, but she just cried harder. Then D said he’d speak with her and sweetly asked her name (she doesn’t have one—although I speak about her as if she’s someone other than me, I’m not confused at all about the fact that she’s part of me). I let him know she had no name, and he flowed easily with that concept. He spend quite some time talking with her about not being scared, that he’s not leaving for more than a few days, and that she’ll be fine while he’s gone. It was incredibly sweet and loving of him, and if anything, she cried harder, and she’s still crying.
D’s asleep now…I can hear his gentle snores, and take great comfort in them. I’m exhausted and so I’ll bring this to a close, go curl up close to him, and cry myself to sleep. Thanks for reading. And for being there.