As a parent, when do you get to step back? When does your heart stop racing when your child is in pain? Does it ever get easier?
No.
At least not for me. Maybe I care too much. Maybe I’m a helicopter parent to an almost 40 year old. Maybe, just maybe, you never stop needing your mommy.
And I’m Mom…
I’ve been throwing myself into work, into mopping floors, cleaning anything I can, escaping into books, anything not to think. Not to feel the what ifs. But the more I try to drown out the voices in my head, the more agitated , the more snappy I become. I took a few days off. I met with a counselor. I walk my little dog. I swallow the bitterness over and over again. But I know it’s not good enough.
I blame my hormones. Damn menopause.
I can’t breathe.
Time. Time is so precious.
I reach for a glass of white wine. I swirl the amber liquid around the bowl of my long stem glass. For months I’ve avoided drinking. But today, drowning in anxiety, I crack open a beautiful California white. It’s not even ten in the morning.
This is not about me. My heart squeezes tight. I repeat – this is not about me. I’m angry. I want to shout. I want to break things. Instead I swallow the amber liquid. I breathe. Deeply. I lean heavily into the couch cushions.
How long? What next?
I smell the chili on the stove. My stomach grumbles. I push my glass away. My little dog snoozes next to me.
“It’s ok,” I whisper, “it’s ok.”
❤️