I have two adult kids in their early 30s, they are lovely interesting people and they love and stay in touch with us. But younger one, our son, is still IMO working through detaching himself from me psychologically. It’s nothing terrible, just that he was a sweet agreeable little kid and now he will make some critical comments to me that he probably was due to make in his teenage years but never did.
And for the first time ever, I find myself feeling vulnerable to this, like seventh grade nobody-would-sit-with-me at lunchtime vulnerable, and I respond sometimes with some version of your own, such as “I guess your dumb old mom just said something stupid again” and I want to clap my hand over my mouth as soon as the words ooze out. It doesn’t help that they never say Boo to their father, but in their defense he is just about perfect.
I’m working on it. I want to be the serene, self-assured, understanding, supportive but not encroaching mother and grandmother they will always welcome and remember fondly when I am gone.
“Violin cringe” would be a great name for a Substack, or book, or band. Stories like this make me have big feelings, because everything always relates to trans. If one has experienced a friend or relative dealing with a traumatic injury or debilitating disease, it makes you crazy to witness healthy young people abusing their bodies with drugs (hormones) or claiming a (fake) mental disability to run away from life. I just want to scream, “ Don’t you know how ___ would give ANYTHING to be able to go take a walk or get a job or go through a day without taking a pill or shot or go to college or go see friends…?!?!” And then I think about how many opportunities I’ve let go, or times I’ve skipped that day at the gym… and well, yeah. Violin cringe indeed.
You and Alissa both “in your heads” for different reasons and in different ways. The juxtaposition of you sorting yourself out while you walk the dog as Alissa struggles to walk brings it all home.
And fwiw, I'm not hypersensitive AND I still can end up right where you're writing about here with my own kids (my youngest is 22). Mostly—and largely thanks to some years of daily sitting practice, learning to observe myself in the moment—I've found the pause button that allows me to hold back my words of my hurt. But not always. And I do really hate being in that headspace of grappling with a mind-blowing, heart-breaking reality and the only people around are not on my wavelength and/or see it as unnecessary or obsessive to "dwell" on. Ugh.
Once again you have brought the hard details of life and relationships into clear and compelling focus. I love your voice.🙏🏻
Thank you as always Leah. 💝 I gotta confess though, formal sitting meditation has never stuck for me, not like writing has, or staring at nature. The pause is so important though. My pause 101 is not to respond immediately to texts that piss me off. Baby steps. In the moment in a conversation? That's master level shit.
A lot going on in this piece.... as usual. Lot to think about.
I got major distracted with the Marantz 2215. Now that is a classic. We're talking early 70's solid-state' technology here. I hope it is used lovingly and frequently to belt out that 15 watts.
I read something about boys needing to complete the adolescent task of seeing their mother as a woman (I think it said 'sex object' actually). This task makes most boys completely uncomfortable with their mothers and they basically shun them. This gave me a new frame to see my son and the beginning of side hugs. Letting go is the hardest part of parenting.
I have two adult kids in their early 30s, they are lovely interesting people and they love and stay in touch with us. But younger one, our son, is still IMO working through detaching himself from me psychologically. It’s nothing terrible, just that he was a sweet agreeable little kid and now he will make some critical comments to me that he probably was due to make in his teenage years but never did.
And for the first time ever, I find myself feeling vulnerable to this, like seventh grade nobody-would-sit-with-me at lunchtime vulnerable, and I respond sometimes with some version of your own, such as “I guess your dumb old mom just said something stupid again” and I want to clap my hand over my mouth as soon as the words ooze out. It doesn’t help that they never say Boo to their father, but in their defense he is just about perfect.
I’m working on it. I want to be the serene, self-assured, understanding, supportive but not encroaching mother and grandmother they will always welcome and remember fondly when I am gone.
Ack same about their memory of me. We are not alone!!
Omg I get this with my adult son who can be sweet alternately an asshole
Yesssss.
Hello from another one in his 50s who's struggling to do the growing up most people did decades ago:)
Hello friend!
“Violin cringe” would be a great name for a Substack, or book, or band. Stories like this make me have big feelings, because everything always relates to trans. If one has experienced a friend or relative dealing with a traumatic injury or debilitating disease, it makes you crazy to witness healthy young people abusing their bodies with drugs (hormones) or claiming a (fake) mental disability to run away from life. I just want to scream, “ Don’t you know how ___ would give ANYTHING to be able to go take a walk or get a job or go through a day without taking a pill or shot or go to college or go see friends…?!?!” And then I think about how many opportunities I’ve let go, or times I’ve skipped that day at the gym… and well, yeah. Violin cringe indeed.
You nailed it Jane!
What a beautiful piece.
You and Alissa both “in your heads” for different reasons and in different ways. The juxtaposition of you sorting yourself out while you walk the dog as Alissa struggles to walk brings it all home.
Thank you 🙏🏼
I'm going to download the app.
And fwiw, I'm not hypersensitive AND I still can end up right where you're writing about here with my own kids (my youngest is 22). Mostly—and largely thanks to some years of daily sitting practice, learning to observe myself in the moment—I've found the pause button that allows me to hold back my words of my hurt. But not always. And I do really hate being in that headspace of grappling with a mind-blowing, heart-breaking reality and the only people around are not on my wavelength and/or see it as unnecessary or obsessive to "dwell" on. Ugh.
Once again you have brought the hard details of life and relationships into clear and compelling focus. I love your voice.🙏🏻
Thank you as always Leah. 💝 I gotta confess though, formal sitting meditation has never stuck for me, not like writing has, or staring at nature. The pause is so important though. My pause 101 is not to respond immediately to texts that piss me off. Baby steps. In the moment in a conversation? That's master level shit.
Is there an app for your pause button? I need one too.
😂
Ha. I wish. There are meditation apps, though.😊
A lot going on in this piece.... as usual. Lot to think about.
I got major distracted with the Marantz 2215. Now that is a classic. We're talking early 70's solid-state' technology here. I hope it is used lovingly and frequently to belt out that 15 watts.
Ah thank you! My husband is a musician and picky about sound. Our friend Pete rescued and restored it.
Rather than grow up, just say you’re getting a head start on becoming a cranky old fart. I did it and I feel grateful!
It is true I prefer an elastic waistband nowadays... 🤔
...and you have an older son, of course you do.
I read something about boys needing to complete the adolescent task of seeing their mother as a woman (I think it said 'sex object' actually). This task makes most boys completely uncomfortable with their mothers and they basically shun them. This gave me a new frame to see my son and the beginning of side hugs. Letting go is the hardest part of parenting.
This is brilliant! Thank you.
This is beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you!
Very sad
One of the hardest things to do is define NORMAL. We think we know it when we see it but it’s so hard to describe.
Idk John. Normal is the norm. Tada!