Something inside gave out. I think it was the carburetor. I simply no longer had the capacity to get the mixture of fuel and air right, and was ‘running rich’ day after day; that is, flooding, letting off too much smoke, bogging down and wasting a lot of fuel. Eventually, I ran out of fuel completely, depleted and without capacity for revival.
I called my Mom - yes, she would come. I booked my retreat. If you were to look up the word retreat in the dictionary, you would be both encouraged by your decision to vacate, and afraid by the connotation. (Retreat: the act of withdrawing, as into safety or privacy; retirement; seclusion; OR an asylum, as for the insane) Thankfully, with an empty tank, I didn’t look up the meaning, and simply withdrew. But it does beg the question why, as mothers, we often relinquish our due vacation time, and simply carry on – is it to ‘save face’ lest we be perceived as weak, or (gulp) insane?
For me, I felt a strong pull to get away. Even my children had been trying to tell me something. After losing my patience and yelling at Faven one day, I heard Laurèn go over to her and whisper, “Don’t worry Faven, Mom just needs a vacation.” Not a week later, when I once again lost my temper with Faven, I came storming out of her bedroom and Yohannes gently took my hand and said, “Come on Mom, I think meditation will help calm you.”
The emotional intensity of parenting a grief stricken, pre-pubescent, adopted, ‘transplanted’ child simply produced in me, an over-reactive, unkind, frustrated and emotional (peri-menopausal) being. Day after day, I attempted to armor myself in kindness and love, and day after day, I crumbled into battle – feeling remorse, shame and sadness. I needed to get back to the trenches, and so I left, providing only the promise that the Reserves were coming; Grama would turn up in a few days to help out.
I landed on the beach a few days later to the warm, shining sun – and miles of barren, soft, sand willing to be explored. When I first set foot on the beach, it was dusk and there were numerous black blobs floating out in the water. As I attempted to figure out what (sea creature) they were, one jumped up and surfed in with a cresting wave. It was phenomenal, breath-taking. I had never seen surfers live before. They wait, they watch, they listen and then they gracefully erect themselves upon their boards and glide on a track felt only by them, and with a direction meant only for them. They are magnificent to behold. And then they pitch backwards over the crest of the wave and simply re-join the sea, or are swallowed up by the bubbling froth as it slithers towards the shore.
I was drawn back to the beach to watch the surfing every day. It became a growing metaphor for my daily living. Surfing appears to be the ultimate lesson in patience - waiting for the right moment to join the swell and glide effortlessly towards shore, in contrast to catching the wave at the wrong time, and getting tossed and tumbled like clothes in a washing machine. My life, over several months had been exactly like that. Many times I rode the wave effortlessly, and was a mother with patience, love and words to reassure. But I was also regularly being caught and tumbled in some of the bigger and more repetitive waves. I realized that I was simply being battered by the waves without realization that I could step out, watch, wait and listen – and rise above. Moreover, as I watched the surfers, there were prolonged periods at points in the day, where the waves subsided and they simply rested. For me, at home, I wasn’t pausing to rest and reflect – I was pausing, but it was to try and figure out what I had done wrong, and how I could do better. It was my mind, my thoughts that were creating wave after wave: frustration, disappointment, anger, self-reproach, sadness, and judgment. No chance to ride the wave while spending so much time and energy swimming into the crashing waves.
The beach break created so much space in my life; I was at first restless and unsure. Nobody asked me to do anything; the silence was deafening. But the coming and going of the tide was cathartic; its steady, rhythmic beat gave me a focal point. It was relaxing and peaceful while being energizing and reassuring. It created just the right environment to do some intentional internal work: to pause and reflect, to do yoga and meditate, to sit and write, to read, to challenge (my thoughts) and shift (my gaze), and to forgive myself the parenting infractions and misdemeanors.
I came home feeling so much lighter. All of my relationships were improved by my absence – and the relationships between those who depend on me were strengthened without me here. Truth be told, my husband (though supportive and understanding) was not very pleased with my decision to leave so suddenly. It was an extremely busy time at work, and I did not even stop to check in with him – I simply planned, and fled, to preserve myself. But, in the end, with intention, it created a bridge for open and honest communication, something that we had abandoned for the higher good, of being attentive, caring and supportive parents.
Moving forward, I will continue to honor my need to take time to myself (maybe before the carburetor conks out). It is a rare opportunity to sit in quiet with my thoughts, dreams, and plans and to really celebrate all that I am, with the coming and going of the waves to remind me that nothing is permanent.
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