I surrender.
I forgive you.
I forgive me.
I am ready to let go.
Standing in church today, hands folded over my heart, I close my eyes and sing the song. My heart has been raw since I lost my temper the day of Riley’s first clay class. There have been times I have not been able to even look at her, because I relive it, and the thought of causing her pain is too much to bear.
In the aftermath of that shit day, I did an exercise from a book called Healing Through the Eyes of a Woman.It allows you to examine your emotions and takes you back to where particular feelings originated, and helps you transform them. I went back to a time pre-birth, and experienced the feeling of not being wanted. My parents were teens when they had my older sister, and I was the second child. They were young and overwhelmed and not ready for their first baby, let alone another one. All my life I’ve fought the general conviction I’m not welcome or worthy enough to be here. Like I have to justify my existence by attempting to be perfect.
Now, try as I might to have a good and peaceful life, the screams still interrupt it. And the little wounded part of me gets pissed. Try as I might to do right by this kid, I can’t stop her screams. If she would just cry. If she would just cower. If she would even run, but she doesn’t. She SCREAMS. And it rattles me. Sometimes it is too much. And the thing is, it is so much better than it ever was, but sometimes my own nerves are shot and I just can’t cope.
I surrender.
I forgive you.
I forgive me.
I am ready to let go
If you are privileged enough to never have had the experience of losing it on a beloved child, then that’s just what you are. Privileged. Maybe you don’t have kids. Perhaps your child isn’t a screamer. Perhaps your child’s scream isn’t the same ice pick through the ear drum pitch. Perhaps you have more help. Perhaps you were blessed with a calmer disposition. Perhaps you had a terrific childhood and developed stellar coping skills. Perhaps you do not clock as many hours with your child as I do with mine. Perhaps there is more going on here than what you read on this blog. Perhaps your husband wasn’t in the ER that week being evaluated for a possible heart attack, while your child was up all night vomiting with a stomach bug. Perhaps you’ve always had support, so you’ve never been in a position of having to pick…go to the hospital to be with him or stay with your sick child. Perhaps you are all around just a better person than me. You probably are. I’d be careful though because the thing we find vile in another is what’s bubbling under the surface of ourselves. Besides, you could never judge me more than I have judged myself. I have that market covered, thank you. If I seem mad at you don’t worry. I’m really just mad at me.
I surrender.
I forgive you.
I forgive me.
I am ready to let go
On the heels of the hurtful words that flew from my mouth that day, self-loathing covered me, threatening to drown me. That is why I cried. No parent intentionally wants to hurt their child. As I felt myself sink into the pits of despair, I heard a voice saying,
God has not changed his mind about you. You are a good person. This doesn’t change anything. God loves you and never changes his mind.
I held Riley and cried harder.
And then, me being me, I wondered why the voice I heard called God a “he.”
~~
I apologized to Riley several times that week. She seemed okay, but we were tentative with each other. I could not shake it. I spent as much time as I could, locked away in my office.
~~
Eleven days later, prayers were said. Chickie was tucked in under Riley’s chin. We laid face to face. Looking in her eyes, my throat tightened. We talked about it, again.
In a whisper I told her,
“Riley, I try to be a good mother to you, but I am not a perfect person. Sometimes I don’t have patience. Sometimes I don’t feel well. Sometimes I am not in a good place. I get upset, but it isn’t really about you.”
She looked at me in the dim light, eyes big and pensive.
“But when you got upset at clay class, wasn’t that about me?”
I closed my eyes tight. Let out a breath. Looked her in the eye.
“No. It wasn’t. It was about me putting too big of expectations on the day. It was about me acting like that class was going to make or break our lives. I made it into a huge deal. It was about me being unsure of whether I’m cut out to homeschool, and wanting it all to go perfectly. To prove it is the right choice. It was about Mommy being very tired. I forgot to pre-pave. I forgot to set an intention for the day. I just plowed into that class without thinking. I want to be the person you can trust to comfort you, not the one who makes it worse. I’m so sorry Sweetie. You were upset, and I know you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t your fault. You are never responsible for mine or anyone else’s behavior.”
She looked at me thoughtfully. We gazed at each other.
A long moment went by. She put the back of her hand softly on my cheek and said,
“I think you can stop blaming yourself.”
~~
I didn’t.
~~
Riley often says things she doesn’t mean in moments of overwhelm.
“Riley, when you screamed at Daddy just now, did it mean you didn’t love him, or did it mean you were frustrated,” I’ll ask her.
“I was just frustrated,” she’ll say.
~~
Every moment is perfect. We are always learning. Eternal expansion.
~~
Hands folded over my heart,
If I don’t show her it is okay to forgive myself, how will she ever forgive herself for the outbursts she is so prone to?
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I sing,
I surrender.
I forgive you.
I forgive me.
I am ready to let go.
