Heat Wave and Prayers and Driving

Seattle has just had two of the hottest days ever recorded, and I don't have central air conditioning. I have a portable AC to cool off my bedroom, which is helpful but not sufficient. At 4:00 a.m., the temp in my townhouse was 83 degrees. I am sitting in my living room with all of the doors open to the cool night air and the temp has dropped to 76 degrees in fifteen minutes, hopefully making it bearable inside for tomorrow later today. Opening the doors and windows at night is my work-around, and it works well enough, except for being awake at 4:00 a.m. when I have a presentation at work at 9:00.

So Pedro is living with me after being "sent away" for two years. I feel my old anxiety creeping back, hoping that he is okay. Prayer and mediation is part of my recovery program, so last night I decided to pray. Technically, we are only supposed to pray to know our higher power's will for us. Instead, I made a laundry list of what I wanted. Pedro starts his first job this week and will apply for his drivers license, both which cause my anxiety to rise. I swear to god that parenting a young adult is the most stressful phase of parenting ever. He is off on his own to work, to drive and then to live.

So I prayed last night, "Please don't let anything happen to the Boy."

Right?

Thankfully, my higher power/inner voice kicked in and said, "You can't be serious."

Please don't let anything happen to the Boy. That is the worst prayer ever. That is like asking for him to be sealed in wax and made into a statue and never leave my house. Just to sit there and let nothing happen. How boring and selfish. Maybe I could have asked to keep him safe from harm, that might have been better.

Better an even better prayer would have been "Please help me to chill the fuck out as my kid goes out into the real world."

Why am I worried? 

Because I am a mom.

Because he has been gone for two years and I have missed so much of his growth.

Because he drives like me.

Let's dig a little deeper into that last one, shall we?

I drive a high performance car, which I love. It is fast and it has great maneuverability and acceleration. The Boy sees me zipping in and out of lanes on the highway, passing people who dare to drive close to the speed limit. He swears at slow moving cars and drivers who make dumbass moves like making a left turn from the right lane. Just like me.

Oy.

So this weekend I was driving with Pedro and I decided to exhibit extreme amount of patience and serenity behind the wheel. I was on 520 behind a few cars and a FedEx truck going 45-50 mph. And I didn't pass the line of traffic. I patiently sat behind the slow moving vehicles. I didn't swear. I didn't fuss. I even said aloud that I was going to be patient.

And it paid off. The next time he drove, he drove like the improved me: calm, steady and not maxing out the capabilities of my car.

I need to revamp my prayers to be a better example to my son. Then maybe I could chill out.

Not Ordinary Time and Work from Home

The Catholic Church has three seasons: Lent (before Easter), Advent (before Christmas) and Ordinary Time. Ordinary Time is the non-holiday part of the year.

Pedro is home, staying with me at the condo. His return home has not been Ordinary Time. In many ways, it feels normal to have him back in my life, around for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yet, his transition back home and my return to motherhood feels like a holiday, a cause for celebration. I feel like the parents in the Prodigal Son, killing the metaphorical fatted calf upon his return. 

"I feel like I am spoiling him. We are eating out all of the time and getting carry out," I told my friend Ellen whose daughter was "sent away" a few years ago.

"Of course you are," Ellen said. "That is perfectly normal." For a situation that isn't normal to start.

For once I am glad I am working from home. I get to see Pedro during the day and eat lunch with him. We chat between meetings.

So far, so good. I am enjoying his company. I like having him around. I am comfortable emotionally, not stressed or obsessing. The fact that I don't have a lot to say is a good thing.

In fact, it is wonderful.

Sleep

I've been in Montana now for more than a week and my major "accomplishment" (which is not the point of vacation) has been catching up on sleep.

Last night I slept for 10.5 hours. I went to bed at 11:15 p.m. and woke up at 9:38 a.m.. Most other nights on this trip, I've gotten at least eight, often nine, hours of sleep. I had two nights of insomnia, but those weren't that bad. One morning, I woke up a 6:30 a.m. to go fly fishing.

I've really enjoyed catching up on sleep. At home, I started a new job about three months ago and I start work at 8:00 a.m. compared to my old job which started at 9:00 a.m. Getting up and ready an hour earlier than usual has been an adjustment.

Why the restfulness? Am I more tired than usual? Am I exhausted? 

The past two years (and more) have been exhausting, stressful, and depleting. The time has been spent recovering and learning more about myself, how I tick and why I act the way I do. In some ways, the time has flown by. Life was easier knowing Pedro was being cared for and learning to care for himself. At times, I felt like a failed mom, that I had to outsource parenting to an outside organization. Other times, I felt like the challenge of raising Pedro more than most parents could handle, and there was no shame in seeking help. 

Why the restfulness? Am I more anxious and depressed, and therefore sleeping more? Is my body preparing for the stressful weeks ahead of having Pedro home?

One of the symptoms of depression is sleeping more. I can't say I feel depressed, but I know I am stressed about bringing Pedro home. I know there will be hard times, that I will have to exercise setting boundaries in ways that I never had to before. This will be hard. Before when I set boundaries with the Boy, I feared alienating him, that perhaps we would be estranged forever. In the past few weeks, I have set some hard boundaries. I did not rescue. I did not rush to jump in and save him.

And it was fine. He didn't hate me for setting boundaries.

Why the restfulness? Am I more at peace, so sleep comes more easily? That after more than two years of helping my breath, I can finally relax?

Perhaps this is the best answer.

I feel good about my progress and the Boy's. He worked so hard for the past two years, taking his therapy seriously. I give him credit for all of the work he has done. I give myself credit, too. I have done quite a bit of inner work, and I have grown in ways that I have not expected. Most of all, my mind has stopped spinning. At times--often actually, I am thinking of nothing. My mind is quiet, still, something I don't think I have ever experienced in my life before. At first when the spinning stopped, I felt dull. When I told my therapist my mind stop spinning, he said, "You are feeling calm. That is normal."

Perhaps the best analogy is I feel like I have come back from a long and arduous trip, and I can finally sleep in my own bed again. I remember coming home from camping trips as a kid, and crashing into sleep. It felt so good to rest.

And so I feel the same now. It feels so good to sleep.

Bookends

Thursday night, the night before Pedro graduated from high school, I dreamt he died. He was out somewhere and I went looking for him. I knocked on a strange door and I said "He's dead, isn't he?" The person who answered the door didn't reply. I assumed that her lack of response and the expression on her face meant it was true, but I never actually saw him dead. I was startled and woke up, completely freaked out. His graduating from high school is a big deal, and I should be happy. Why am I having such crappy and horrible dreams? My therapist loves talking about dreams. He thinks they are like poetry--open to interpretation.

I digress.

The graduation was lovely. I cried through most of it. Afterwards, I was exhausted.

Saturday, the family went to Glacier National Park and hiked to Avalanche Lake, the same hike Pedro and I did on his first family pass in October of 2019. This hike bookended Pedro's experience in Montana.

Both he and I commented on what a difference there was between the hike this weekend compared to where we both were in 2019. This was my first visit to the Boy at his boarding school, and, by his own definition, he was "an angry douchebag."

On the 2019 hike, the late fall weather was cold and dreary, pouring rain for more than half of the hike. The Boy marched ahead, not talking to me and not telling me why he was angry. I felt helpless and frustrated and sad and angry. I didn't know what to do. When we got to Avalanche Lake, the Boy skipped stones for twenty minutes in the rain, trying to burn off some unspoken emotions. Looking back, I probably should have not tolerated that insolent and dismissive behavior. I probably should have have taken him back to campus and then driven back to Seattle.

This year, Pedro was much more enjoyable to be around. He walked along side me for most of the hike. He even commented on the change between the two hikes. At one point, he told me to hurry, but like "It is okay to take your time and get some water, but don't sit and meditate for twenty minutes." Which was fine as it was clear and direct communication. When we got to the lake, we both sat on a log. I told him this is where he could scatter my ashes when I die, if they allow that kind of thing in a national park.

"I can get a little boat and drop them in the middle of the lake," he said. "But I'd have a hard getting a boat out here."

"Maybe you could take a stand-up paddle board," I said. "You could strap the urn with my ashes to the front of the board and row out to the middle." We laughed.

In movies and books, things often come full circle at the end of a journey, but rarely does it happen so neatly in life. Yet, here we were, in the exact same spot, two years later, both changed people.

Maybe my dream of Pedro dying means that the old Pedro died, the one who was angry and hostile and sad and isolated. Perhaps this is where a new Pedro emerges. I know there is so much more ahead for both of us, so many good times and times again where he will be "an angry douchebag."

Perhaps I missed something in the dream. I didn't die in the dream, but the person I was on that hike two years ago is mostly gone, too. My spinning and obsessing about everything has dramatically slowed down, and I am getting comfortable in this new way of being. I am trying really hard not to try to control everything I cannot control. I am letting things evolve instead of trying to manage them.

Final Exam

Two years.

I hope I am ready to have Pedro home.

For the past two years, I have been in deep introspection, spending ten hours a week in therapy, recovery groups, or talking to Pedro on the phone. 

When we flew to Durango, Colorado two years ago to drop Pedro off at Wilderness, I didn't have any idea of where this would lead me. I have been on quite the journey. I feel like Bilbo Baggins, and now I am coming home from wrestling with the dragon. What have I been seeking?

Today, I finally got to the answer to two questions that have been driving my crazy, plaguing me since the Boy left for Wilderness. Today. Right under the wire.

What is the difference between ranting/raging and venting?

• Ranting or raging is when someone is displacing their emotions and taking their anger out on someone else. Denial of the feelings is a necessary component of ranting and raging.  
• Venting is when you are feeling your feelings, and letting them out is a safe place. There may be some denial is place, but the person who is venting is seeking to release pressure and to understand their feelings, not bury them or take them out on someone else. Venting this the ugly stage before curiosity and acceptance arrive.

This has been an epic dilemma for me for years and I finally figured it out.

Which directly leads me to my next question: What is the difference between enabling and empathy?

• Empathy is when we are listening to someone tell their truth, quietly and without interruption, saying "I hear you and I stand beside you as you go through this challenging time."
• Enabling happens when someone is displacing their emotions, and we let support them in their denial. Enabling is allowing people to not be accountable or responsible for their actions.

- Aho

Disaster Recovery & Grown Ass Man

I got a new job about two and a half months ago working in Disaster Recovery at a large corporation. The idea is that all IT applications need a plan so that they can be recovered in case of a disaster. Maybe there is a fire, or a major power failure where the computer systems needed to run the organization are shut down. Each team needs a plan to restore their applications. The next phase of this work is Business Continuity: How do you keep your systems up and running even in the face of a disaster? How can you avoid or prevent human caused disasters? Are your servers three years past end-of-life? Then why are you shocked that they failed?

I digress.

Pedro is graduating this week and returning to Seattle this summer, as you all know. Before he could come home, Jack, Pedro and I have been doing our own Disaster Recovery and Business Continuity planning. Over winter and spring, Pedro has been planning his MAPP -- Montana Academy Post Plan (MAPP) and his Relapse Prevention Program (RPP). Likewise, as parents Jack and I have been preparing ourselves for Pedro's return. Pedro can be changed, but if we don't change as well, the whole system will fall back into its old patterns. 

Planning is easy. Disasters are messy. I discovered that this weekend. The Boy had this habit that Pedro needs to get rid of.* The Boy would not feel his feelings and then express his hostility and anger towards me. Which I hated, but didn't know how to manage with him (or Jack for that matter when he would get all rage-y.) 

The Boy's therapist recommended I preemptively write the Boy and tell him that I don't like it when he takes his unfelt feelings about the world out on me. So I did. I told the Boy I don't want to be his emotional garbage can. He needs to clean this up, not just for me, but for any future relationship he has. His significant other doesn't deserve to be his emotional punching bag, either. And anyone with a solid sense of self will not put up with it for very long. If he doesn't fix it, he will find himself alone or in toxic and unhealthy relationships. Neither is good.

A week ago, we had a call with the Boy where he was hostile and angry for about two hours. It sucked and I was exhausted. This was not productive venting where he was actually talking about what he was feeling, like "I am really frustrated when....and I want to resolve this issue." This rant was "everything sucks and everyone is stupid." As the Boy called it himself, it was an emotional dumpster fire. Recognizing the problem is the first step.

Wednesday, he called again, but he was kind and gentle and apologized for his shit mood on Sunday. 

Apologies are nice and all, but what people also want from an apology (meaning me) is that the toxic behavior stops. The apology is meaningless if the same stuff keeps occurring. Now, this is where the Boy/Pedro gets a wee bit of slack. I would like to see progress and improvement, not perfection.

This weekend, the Boy called again and was hostile. 

And I was different. I was telling/asking him about plans for his graduation week, and he got pissy. I asked him why he was hostile. He continued to rant. 

"Why are you hostile?" I asked. 

To which he replied by hanging up the phone.**

I cried for ten minutes, thinking that I might be permanently estranged from my son. Once I felt my feelings of sorrow and talked about it, I felt better. I was able to settle down and then go to sleep without ruminating about it like I used to do.

Yay! Go me! Perhaps the weekend at the ocean helped prepare me to weather the storm.

The next morning, Pedro texted and meaningful and sincere apology. He called again last night to recover and repair.

Disaster recovered. 

Finally. 

He's a grown ass man. 

Treasures from the beach.

* The concept of switching his name within a sentence is perfectly appropriate. Sometimes my son is a boy, and other times as one of my dear friends would say, "He's a grown ass man." 

** To those born before cell phones were invented, "Hanging up the phone" is a phrase where you would take the phone handset and put it back in the cradle. The little button in the cradle would then disconnect the phone. Slamming the phone down was quite cathartic. Pushing the little red dot on the phone seems so much less so.