That's my face emerging from the sticky grip of the anxiety that still affects me. It's not entirely what I pictured, but you get the idea. A persistent, low-grade anxiety is present every moment of my waking life (i.e. most of my body is still in the muck), but I'm just enough removed from it now that I can see the anxiety as separate from me. Any little hiccup in the day triggers an acute wave of panic and I can now cognitively tell myself, "That's the anxiety talking, not me." I can relax my muscles and take a deep breath and quiet the anxiety down to its background level. Honestly, the background level isn't comfortable...I'm still a kinda nauseous most of the day and I have to push myself to do ordinary things I used to love. But, but, but it's a wonderful and beautiful gift to finally see myself as separate from the anxiety. I want to feel more normal than this, but if I don't, it'll be okay.
Another feeling I was trying to describe was my turmoil around Alexander. I let myself imagine just for a moment that he changed his mind and turned completely around back to the way it was with Alice. For that split second, I felt whole again. Like a part of my body that had been pulled apart was brought back in and healed. I realized then that the break with Alice was like this:
This is me as a tree with four strong limbs full of budding, branching potential. They are the hopes and dreams and desires I carry for each of my kids. When Alice became Alexander, the Alice limb split and tore. It's still a part of me, kinda hanging there, and there's a ragged, gaping hole where I thought I had control and knew what would happen. I don't, by the way, have either of those gifts. How do I heal from something like that?!
I don't know.
I guess I'll just carry it for now and figure it out as I go.
Let me be clear: the limbs are simply my future hopes and dreams for my kids, not my kids themselves. When Alexander came out to us, I felt closer to him than ever before. I didn't understand it all, but I knew I loved him. We were close then and we are still close. The broken branch is the imagined future I had built for Alice, never the relationship I had or have with my actual child.
If you look at the top of the split, there's a new limb growing. This is the beginning of hopes, dreams, and desires I carry for Alexander as Alexander, not as Alice. It's small because I'm only just getting to know him. Kind of. I'm just getting to know what he wants for his own future. Maybe this is something I'll experience to some degree with all of my kids....they will live their lives as they will. And maybe their choices will follow my own hopes and dreams for them, and maybe they won't. I may lose a couple more limbs before I'm through here. And maybe...that's...okay.
Alexander is passionate and courageous and creative and kind. He's intuitive and empathetic. He's vulnerable. He's strong. I love him.
He can do this.
I can do this.
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