Because I Can't Let it Go

Some weeks ago, I found myself engaged in a one-sided battle on my favourite social media site, Facebook. It was one-sided because all the pain the other person caused wasn't something I addressed. All I did was absorb it and hurt.

I did the unthinkable in public. I said I was tired and crabby. I said that about attending an event at my kid's school. Suddenly, I found myself wearing the frame of the portrait of the Not Good Enough Parent.

And it blew me away.

I wanted to stand in a room with the other person and download my whole experience as a mother, to have that person lay with me as I cried myself to sleep, to panic with me as I fell behind on bills, to sit with me as I scrabbled to keep my civility when my kid was being a (totally normal, totally within the average parameters and completely infuriating) jerk and I couldn't tell another soul to just "deal with it" while I hid in the other room with a good book. I had to stay Right There, mothering and Being Amazing and remembering all the Love & Logic training I had and not responding like any other human would... by ferociously barking.

You see, though I am in a serious (and amazing) relationship, I am functionally single. My mate, my partner, my other half is on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. We're four thousand, five hundred and two miles apart. Give or take a few yards. Or meters. Whatever. Somewhere out there, on the other side of a gigantic body of water filled with whales and sea cucumbers and darkness and rogue waves, is my support system. We don't exchange supportive looks across the room. He can't feel my temperature rising in ire, he can't take my kid for a man-to-man walk, he can't provide the third person perspective so agonizingly necessary in parenting.

Nor can my mate contribute to the household's finances. The money he budgets with barely covers his own basic needs. Thus, I'm on my own here. Not enough money for bills and groceries all in the same week? I weigh the priorities. I'm no longer growing. I can survive on my physical storage units (read that: my muscles because I'm already pretty skinny) in favour of supplying my offspring with the nourishment a kid needs during the adolescent growth spurt. I tell myself that I'm from pioneer stock. Before that, I'm from warriors. Between the bloodline of oxen crossed with Viking, I should be alright. Just don't ask me about my bone density. Or my teeth. Or my brain function when I'm faced with bouts of malnutrition. I get my nourishment from watching my son grow strong and healthy.

So, in being admonished for not being glitteringly grateful for every photographable, scrap book worthy and bragging rights firm event... I found myself utterly furious. I spent days examining the root cause of the fury and I came up with this: privilege. From a position of privilege, my exhaustion was being criticized.

And I realized it was bullshit.

Every night, I put my kid to bed with snuggles and assurances. I tell him to have sweet dreams and I tell him I love him and that I will do everything I can to make things be okay. Every morning, I wake him up with a silly story of "what is this chicken doing taking photographs" or "well, I'm sorry but I lost the car to a giraffe who wanted to drive to the Statue of Liberty. We're walking today." Every night, he snuggles down in his bed and tells me it is the safest, most wonderful place in the world. Every morning, he smiles himself awake and tells me I'm silly.

My son wakes up and goes to sleep feeling loved, secure and happy.

I can't make myself be grateful for every event. I can't see how other people with harder lives have more of a right to feel pain. I can't imagine telling another person that what is hard for them shouldn't be and that their struggle isn't valid. All I know is that I do the best I can and that my son feels safe. I see in his beautiful, content face that however I do this parenting thing, it's right. It's good. It's valid.

And I do judge the people who discount and belittle that. I do judge the privileged who dare to judge me. I swear on the contented, sleepy sighs of my kid that I will not do that to anyone else. I am a single mother of an amazing child. No matter how I do it, that my kid is doing alright is the only confirmation I need.

On Pacifism, Compassion and Empathy

I was chatting with a friend yesterday who often doubts the things he is saying are valid. He never says, "I doubt the things I say are valid" in those words. He says it by apology, he says it in hesitance, he says it in ways that approach the fear from the side. By my observations, it's very, very common for people to apologize for their thoughts, to belittle themselves and to assume that they are somehow flawed or freakish for thinking as they do. But... if most people feel that way, then how can they be freakish? And how can I express to people that they're okay?

Thinking about this, I realized, in talking to him, what my whole purpose in life is. That's a pretty sizable revelation to have while sitting on your living room floor with a cat at your side and a cup of not very good coffee at hand. That's a pretty sizable revelation no matter what the circumstances. I was struck by the notion that here, in the midst of the mundane, I was being presented with one of those moments of clear vision.

My vision? Compassion. I'm here, on this planet and in this space, to be a vessel of compassion and to study the art of empathy. What I'm finding out about myself is stunning and I'm struck repeatedly by how difficult it is to maintain this kindness. Am I the first person to think this way? Not by a long shot. Will I be the last? Not hardly.

Let's take a moment to explore empathy and it's outward expression: pacifism. Pacifism isn't easy. It means I have to stop the up-rush of adrenaline that flows when someone says or does something hurtful. It means I have to bite my tongue. That hurts, both physically and emotionally, but the real kicker is that it doesn't injure. There's pain involved with turning the other cheek, taking a step back and a deep breath in, but there's no actual harm being done. To the contrary, the sharp sting of holding myself back results in non-injury.

I'm not talking about taking a physical swing at someone who's being a dick. I'm talking about reserving the sharp blades of my tongue and not taking a vicious bite out of the offending person's soul (soul? self-awareness? ego? whatever). Here, in my head and in my heart, I have this extraordinary ability to harm with words. My predilection for empathy means I have the ability to see and feel the very core fear of someone else and, if I choose, to use that fear and vulnerability as a point of attack.

I choose not to do that. I choose it all the time. I have the opportunity to strike out at that core in every person around me and I consciously choose not to do that. In my youth, I wielded that power a couple of times. I watched the people I turned my emotional violence on melt into fear and hurt. There were tears and there was begging and there was, born of my cruelty, a real hate lit up in them. I think I caused lifetime scars. I know I scarred myself.

I look back on those times and I find my only true regrets. I am ashamed of the pain I inflicted, but there isn't a thing I can do about it now but remember and (try!!) never do it again. Not even when it seems like the smart option. Not even when it seems like the only option. Seems like. Appears to be.

It isn't. There's always another way to deal with someone else's bad behaviour.

That's pacifism. As much as I want to berate, belittle and browbeat folks from time to time, I don't do it. Why? Because every single person out there feels like my friend. Strange. Apologetic. Wrong. Vulnerable. I don't need to add to that. I don't need to carve the foundation out from someone because they are, quite likely, already doing that to themselves.

Does that mean I'm going to smile and nod and agree with everything other people have to say? Oh my, no. Does it mean that I won't stand my ground, discuss uncomfortable things, point out flaws and dickish behaviour? No. It means that when I do stand my ground, I do so from a position of realizing that every person comes to conclusions based on the information they have and experiences they've lived through. Including me. It means I have to remember (I choose to remember) to accept that everyone has the same motivation: doing the right thing. It doesn't matter if they're doing the right thing for themselves, doing the right thing for all beings, doing the right thing for their church, doing the right thing for a reward or doing the right thing because their heart tells them so. They are all acting on the premise that what they are doing is the right thing.

Because of that, and because I seek to be a better person than I am right now, I'm choosing to use my empathy in a loving way. I'm going to love even when I'm so pissed off I can hardly see straight. I'm going to love enough to think through my anger and respond to dickish behaviour with strength and compassion. I'm going to love each person enough not to go for the emotional jugular, even when they go for mine. Pacifism, to me, is about strength and balance, mercy and mindfulness. Pacifism is about having the courage to weather my own anger long enough to come out the other side and recognize that the other person in front of me is worthy of love.

I can't fix fear with fear. I can't fight hate with hate. I can only apply more love.

I'm willing to do that. For everyone.

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