I can’t do this alone anymore. These words poured out from me as I walked up a hill by my house. I’m begging to be helped.
Prior to these words pouring out, I sent a text to my mom. I told her everything that was happening to me. I reached out to her.
This was no easy task. I remember before we left for California, lying in a bed next to my mom. “Mom, I don’t feel comfortable around you.” She didn’t know how to take it, but this was the most honest I’d been with her. I did not, and probably have never felt comforatable around my mother.
In a previous post, I shared a dream I had about my mother. We were in a car, and I was trying to engage her in the beauty surrounding us, but she wasn’t paying attention. I then, tried to warn her of a car that she was about to hit- again she was not paying attention.
My primal relationship is with my mother- as is most of ours. And I’m guessing, from utero to present day, I did not sense a connection to my mother. This disconnect, I am finding has defined most, if not all of my relationships, and the fact that I’ve not had many relationships, especially with girl friends.
As I continued to walk up that hill, over and over again, tears began to pour out too, along with those words: I can’t do this alone anymore. A heaviness in my chest became obvious, and it was almost as though I were exorcising some major entity that had taken up a lot of space in my being.
This entity had a story. It is the ‘I don’t need anyone’ story. The ‘I can and have done it alone, and this is good because, hey, knowing how to be alone and only count on me is a good thing’ story. The story has been with me so long, I did not even know there was much else but this story. I thought the story was Truth.
But this day, where I released that heaviness, where I reached out to my mom, where I declared I can’t do it alone anymore, allowed enough space where I could hear this story. It was like I heard it for the first time, even though it had been playing for many, many years. I saw it, and at once abandoned it. I said to it, yes, but this is not helpful to me anymore. I want to see all the people who are there now. I want to reach out. And I thank you for keeping me safe all these years.
That day happened a few weeks ago now. Interestingly, I’ve reached out several times since. To a relative, who it turns out shares similar issues. We talked and shared and laughed, and it was good. I’ve reached out to a publisher about a book idea, and she wants to see more. I’ve made myself more available to my family, and my mother recently sent this text, which for me says everything: I want to connect before I cannot.
You see, it wasn’t necessarily I was alone. We are never alone anyway. It’s impossible. From the very beginning we needed someone to get here. We can’t brush our teeth without the one who invented the toothbrush. We are never, ever alone and do absolutely nothing alone, although this is a HUGE story so many of us tell.
For a while, perhaps a long while, this story comforts us. We like to hide and feel isolated. We get to be right when we tell ourselves no one is there for us, and then no one is. I shared in a recent post, how I tested people. I wanted to see, are you there? And guess what, most failed, but I was right. But, really in our pain and power of being right, what we really want is to connect, as my mom says.
In her case, she is going to be 70 this year. Finally, all of those dramas and issues she had while I was a kid, where she couldn’t connect to the beauty or the pain, no longer matters as much. Now she wants to connect before she cannot.
The Soul Reporter