Reckoning and My Superpower

I believe everyone has a superpower and I believe this is why the Harry Potter books are so popular. Don't we all want to be special in some way? The lovely thing about the Harry Potter series is that he--and all of the witches and wizards--are deeply human in spite of their magical gifts. Their powers make their lives more complicated and challenging, not less.

For the past five months, my primary focus has been getting the Boy help. I had a laser like focus on that where everything else in my personal life came in a distant second, especially my marriage, but also many of my very important friendships. Overall, I have been a shitty friend. By shitty, I mean self-absorbed. Even if this is all justifiable (see: Time of Conflict), it doesn't mean I feel good about all of the people I have neglected along the way. This week, I was riding my bike along the new path on Elliott Bay and not once but twice I ran into Carla. Twice. I have been so absorbed I haven't seen Carla in months and this is a friend who I went all the way to New Zealand to see her when she used to live there before she came back to Seattle.

My marriage was the biggest thing on hold. Since December of last year when the Boy really started to tumble, I put all of the hurts and resentments on hold until the Boy was settled into treatment. Being stoic is one of my superpowers, but it is a secondary power, not my primary one.

stoic | ˈstōik | noun1 a person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining.
I stuffed the down my pain and hurts and resentments (and also joy, I am now realizing) because I feared if I let the those feelings out, it would hurt my chances for getting the Boy help. I couldn't deal with my own pain or confusion and complexity because it would distract me from getting the Boy help. I would talk about this hidden pain with friends, but I didn't address many of those feelings with the people who mattered or were involved.

The Boy is reasonably settled in boarding school. Now comes the reckoning of what I have squished down.

This reckoning sucks, by the way. The turmoil is intense and horrible and I don't wish it on anyone. Seriously, if you have a problem and can deal with it in the present tense, do so. Agony is like interest on a bank account: it compounds. Still, I have no regrets for getting the Boy into treatment. I am his mother. If I didn't take care of him, who would?

With the reckoning comes some intense and unpleasant self-discovery.

I am sensitive. I feel things more deeply than the average bear. I can read people's emotions and I am impacted by them. My feelings have more amplitude than most people's. When I am hurt, I can be devasted.

sensitive | ˈsensədiv | adjective1 quick to detect or respond to slight changes, signals, or influences: the new method of protein detection was more sensitive than earlier ones | spiders are sensitive to vibrations on their web. • easily damaged, injured, or distressed by slight changes: the committee called for improved protection of wildlife in environmentally sensitive areas. • (of photographic materials) prepared so as to respond rapidly to the action of light. • (of a market) unstable and liable to quick changes of price because of outside influences. 2 (of a person or a person's behavior) having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others' feelings: I pay tribute to the Minister for his sensitive handling of the bill. • easily offended or upset: I suppose I shouldn't be so sensitive.
I've known this about myself, but I never realized the degree to which this is my superpower in the sense of a Harry Potter magical gifts. My sensitivity is a gift, but it also causes me and other people in my life pain. I was talking to a guy at work about my conflicts with Jack.

"Lauren, all husbands and wives fight," he said. "Why is this different?"

That is a good question. Why is it different? This is another case of sensitivity: he asked a question and I wonder about it, ponder it til the point the question haunts me and it must be answered. I cannot let things slide. I need to address my emotions or else I will die.

The issue isn't that I can't deal with conflict--I can, but only when I feel emotionally safe. Disagreement is fine if I feel safe and respected or loved. In those cases, the disagreement is about an idea or suggestion or thought which is fine. Fighting is when I don't feel emotionally secure and I fear the other person doesn't get me and that is devasting. Part of being sensitive also means I have a very deep need to be understood.

For people who know and love me, they already know this about me. I knew I was sensitive, but I didn't understand the full scope or extent* until now as I am trying to put all of the broken pieces of my life back together, seeing which ones will fit in my new world order and which ones won't.

Which brings me back to my favorite wizard, the Boy. Not "The Boy Who Lived," but my Boy. He has this power, too. He is sensitive, just like me. Part of me believes that his depression and anxiety is a manifestation of his sensitivity, that he feels so much that is it overwhelming. I have another friend with anxiety, and his superpower is his sensitivy as well. Unlike me, the Boy is male and having this power as a guy is amazingly wonderful but also I imagine harder for them to deal with. Girls are encouraged to talk about their feelings. Visit Green Lake some time and see all women in NE Seattle talking about their emotions. Guys are not raised or socialized to learn to cope or celebrate their sensitivity, which is tragic.

Which brings me back full circle. If I didn't get the Boy into treatment, he'd never learn to master his sensitivity, his superpower. I want him to grow up, to be the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy who Succumbed.


* I kinda of wished my therapist had told me, but whatever.