Learning Forever
This is what has changed, in the last 40 years: I feel everything. I can see why I didn’t want to, how I chose safety over chaos. I didn’t grow, but I didn’t care. My pain was like a snapping turtle, hiding beneath a rock. Like the one that ate my precious cygnets. Invisible marauder. Hungry. Relentless. Unmerciful. Rare is the predator who cries over their prey. Rare is the victim who willingly agrees to feel the full impact of their trauma, so they can move forward.
I played a lot of cat and mouse games, in the beginning, but when someone was really real with me, I spilled the beans (“What happened to your wrist?” “I fell off my skateboard.” After I finally settled down and told the truth, we had a productive session. As I was leaving, the King of Shrinks (the head of the psychiatry dept. at Mass General, no slouch) said, “Hey Lori? Don’t forget your skateboard.”) I loved him for that. Still do.
To learn to trust with no example is like learning to swim on your living room carpet. You can gain some practical ideas, but until you meet a guide who’s trustworthy, you’re just spinning in circles.
When I became a mother, I made a vow to be the anchor I never had. The un-move-able rock, the faithful presence and I’ve stayed true to my intentions. I’ve been so blessed, to witness how, from the very beginning, trust responds to trust. Kindness responds to kindness. Love responds to Love. Now, it all seems so simple ~ the three of us, always, learning forever.
LBM 1/23/2020
