Ample enough to be a maverick rather than gauged by the illusions of society, to which one can never fully measure to, I’ve gathered a resounding quantity of stillness in this day. It wasn’t more than a week ago that the pangs of doubt were sucking the life-force from me and but 12 hours since I last breathed that heavy-handed sign of desperation. Criticism and self-improvement are oddly paired in what trails through my day and somehow, self-improvement wins by a hair’s breath of distance generally leaving me to slump into a mass among twisted sheets and the ceiling fan whirring its meditative noise for me.
Rett was but one when we began this flight of fancy. Bitterness and rationalization soon came to the surface, followed soon by a mix of fright, pain and anguish. When I can project the timeline in my own head of what he’s had to endure through what constitutes 90% of his life, the results are debilitating. I can only imagine what his adult therapy sessions are going to sound like should he ever muster the courage to delve back into his childhood once we finally get through it.
Where do you start something like that? “Once upon a time in a state of confusion and mistaken identity, I was born…” that’s how I’d begin that phase of treatment.
See what comes of it from there. Posh.
It does lead me to thinking though…what exactly does self-improvement consist of? What do you temper it against? Yourself? Your self? (I always preferred to reference the self in that manner. Don’t really think it’s appropriate in a grammatical sense, but for the sake of the psychoanalysis behind it, I feel it’s much better to separate the two – you know: my self, her self, your self, etc. The self as it would be, is a separate and highly important position.). Little perennial that he is, Rett has this amazing ability to switch modes from one to the other depending on his surroundings. It’s becoming more and more prevalent - either he’s happy, young, curious and free when he’s home, or he’s returned from a visitation in a state of fright, fear, angst, anger and self-protective. Now and again there’s the marking that indicates Dad wasn’t able to control his himself (this “self” stays with the “him”) but as my little perennial builds his vocabulary and personal identity, the actions of Daddy dearest are more and more psychologically twisted.
Really twisted.
Yesterday, for instance was a good day for him. He was home. He was safe, unburdened with what he had to process and how much it wouldn’t make sense to him. He was free to tie up his shoes and run through the fresh-cut grass with his dog. He sat for dinner and said grace without peering out through interlaced fingers to see make sure he was in good company while doing so (Saying a blessing is forbidden at Dad’s). He was a boy, unhinged.
Today, and at the notice that he’s scheduled to spend the long holiday weekend with Dad, like a light-switch he transformed. All that aggression, those questions, the worry…it’s been building since I gave the news. My correspondence with his teacher through the day has already revealed two emails that speak to him “being unkind to a classmate” and so full of energy that he can’t “sit still”. He KNOWS!
“Give him credence!” I think to myself. “He’s not just six, he’s six and intelligent! He’s confused and receiving empty promises. He’s scared and not getting safety. He’s voicing the injustices and not being heard!”
That. Is self-improvement. It’s self-improvement being cut off at the knees, but self-improvement nonetheless. The catch will be if he can continue to improve him self and make the changes to not pull a wagon of guilt behind, or criticism, … or anger. Already, he’s farther ahead than most. Somewhere though, in the midst of learning your voice and learning your self (while learning to live in your circumstances) I believe you are more-likely to be recognized by your age than you are your intelligence, particularly if you’re “too young”. Bah.
Hinging this child is the necessity he faces to swing between the highs of “normalcy” at home and the enfeebling lows that come from time spent with dad. From that I sit in a state of stillness today; figuring that when the time is right to movement, I can be reassured that there is more faith than fear. Or as T.S. Eliot said, “Still and still moving”…there is movement though in the physical sense all is still. There is movement. Enough so that when this cycle finally spins out, my little Rett will once again run as a boy; unhinged.
It does lead me to thinking though…what exactly does self-improvement consist of? What do you temper it against? Yourself? Your self? (I always preferred to reference the self in that manner. Don’t really think it’s appropriate in a grammatical sense, but for the sake of the psychoanalysis behind it, I feel it’s much better to separate the two – you know: my self, her self, your self, etc. The self as it would be, is a separate and highly important position.). Little perennial that he is, Rett has this amazing ability to switch modes from one to the other depending on his surroundings. It’s becoming more and more prevalent - either he’s happy, young, curious and free when he’s home, or he’s returned from a visitation in a state of fright, fear, angst, anger and self-protective. Now and again there’s the marking that indicates Dad wasn’t able to control his himself (this “self” stays with the “him”) but as my little perennial builds his vocabulary and personal identity, the actions of Daddy dearest are more and more psychologically twisted.
Really twisted.
Today, and at the notice that he’s scheduled to spend the long holiday weekend with Dad, like a light-switch he transformed. All that aggression, those questions, the worry…it’s been building since I gave the news. My correspondence with his teacher through the day has already revealed two emails that speak to him “being unkind to a classmate” and so full of energy that he can’t “sit still”. He KNOWS!
“Give him credence!” I think to myself. “He’s not just six, he’s six and intelligent! He’s confused and receiving empty promises. He’s scared and not getting safety. He’s voicing the injustices and not being heard!”
That. Is self-improvement. It’s self-improvement being cut off at the knees, but self-improvement nonetheless. The catch will be if he can continue to improve him self and make the changes to not pull a wagon of guilt behind, or criticism, … or anger. Already, he’s farther ahead than most. Somewhere though, in the midst of learning your voice and learning your self (while learning to live in your circumstances) I believe you are more-likely to be recognized by your age than you are your intelligence, particularly if you’re “too young”. Bah.
Hinging this child is the necessity he faces to swing between the highs of “normalcy” at home and the enfeebling lows that come from time spent with dad. From that I sit in a state of stillness today; figuring that when the time is right to movement, I can be reassured that there is more faith than fear. Or as T.S. Eliot said, “Still and still moving”…there is movement though in the physical sense all is still. There is movement. Enough so that when this cycle finally spins out, my little Rett will once again run as a boy; unhinged.
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