Holy revelation, Batman!
9.25.08
Okay, maybe I was really wrong about not having anything else to write about. Get a load of this tome!
Last night on the treadmill I finally returned to reading Letting Go. If you haven’t been following along about that, it’s a great book by Karen Levin Coburn and Madge Lawrence Treeger that lots of formerly grieving moms recommended to me as the best book to read about this stage that I’m going through. Now I recommend it very highly, too.
Anyway, back before Sean left for school, I had gotten as far as the chapter about what happens during the freshman year — what we can expect about ourselves and our children in terms of changes. I had really patted myself on the back for having gotten that far in the book, given how emotional it was for me to read it, and I figured I’d give myself a break for a while. I thought I’d try living the experience for a time, rather than just reading about it. But, I also promised myself that I’d return to it once I’d gotten back in the saddle — and it seemed to me that the time had come.
So back I went. What I read was how the freshman year can come with so many unexpected and heart-wrenching moments of all stripes. Oh, great… I get this far, and I have more fun and games to look forward to? What fresh hell is this?
The reason — besides all of the very legitimate tragedies and traumas that can befall them — is that often kids don’t come back home until Thanksgiving, and by then, their parents notice that they’ve changed a lot. Or they don’t seem to have changed a lot in the parents’ eyes, but the kids feel so different inside and are irate that their family members aren’t noticing. Or the kids observe that their family has changed a lot.
Add to that dynamic the newfound independence that the kid is feeling after having truly been his own boss all that time… and the high hopes that the parents have for this wonderful, idyllic homecoming with intimate conversations in front of the fireplace… and the kid’s desire to just freakin’ get some sleep and see his old high school pals… and you have yourself a recipe for disaster.
Or not. Maybe this is where we’re very lucky that Sean is here on campus. Maybe we see him often enough that, even though he’s changing and we’re changing, we can all adapt more easily — go with the flow — rather than be bombarded by the conceivably enormous changes that could overwhelm us if we weren’t going to see him until Thanksgiving.
There was also something about what I was reading in Letting Go that hit me as one of those revelation-type moments. Here goes:
Ever since I was in grade school — even early grade school — I’ve been one of those driven, over-achiever types. By the time I reached high school, I had my father honestly worried that I’d have a nervous breakdown. (Personally, I think that the anxiety lay more within him than with me giving him genuine cause to be worried, but that’s the dynamic that went on in my house.)
I even remember once, in 1977, when I was working on what turned out to be something like a 56-page term paper for my Advanced Composition class — the hardest class I ever took in high school, bar none, as a junior, in the fall semester, when the giant majority of the other students were seniors — my parents had the meanest fight I’d ever witnessed between them. The topic was me: my dad was so worried that I was working way too hard, and giving the authority to govern me to my teacher, rather than to him and what he wanted (which was for me to get some sleep); and my mom was trying to defend me and let me do what I felt I needed to do. You can imagine that this shouting match going on over my head as I sat working in the dining room was not what I needed right then, in the eleventh hour of writing my term paper.
So that’s me. I’ve always been this way, and I’ve always wanted to be otherwise. I’ve always wanted to get more sleep and be more balanced. Or so I tell myself. Maybe I don’t, really, or else I would make it more of a priority. It must be that other things, rightly or wrongly, occupy the top rung of my psychological ladder.
But last week something snapped. I’d had a really crappy week on a lot of levels, and there was something about the aggregate of it all that made me snap. I’ve been waiting for that snap — on some levels, wishing for that snap — for just about as long as I can remember.
The revelation was that — DUH! — I had to take better care of myself. Of course, Alex tells me this all the time. Claire tells me this all the time. Anyone who knows me at all well tells me this all the time, but I don’t do anything about it. I just keep on working, always putting work before play. But something about last week made me decide that I must make it a new priority — a new challenge, almost a new “game” — to see if I can get to bed earlier and earlier. And so far, so good. Maybe all it took was a little snap!
But the interesting thing was how this notion meshed with what I was reading in Letting Go. Was it not, in fact, my lousy week that had made all the difference? Was it actually something like a giant psychological release — a “letting go”! — that I was allowing myself, finally, to have? I began to wonder whether I’m thinking — subconsciously, of course — that now that Sean is gone, I can allow myself to let down my parenting guard, to be gentle with myself, to give myself a break now and then. Eureka!
Claire, of course, is still with us, but I feel so fortunate that she’s a great kid who — for now, at least — doesn’t give us any grief. She’s been busy being in a play for the last few months — which has caused a whole lot of extra driving for me during the last few weeks — but it’s also given me a chance to chat with her more than usual while we’ve been in the car, and I think we’ve created a new “buddyship” that wasn’t there before. I’m exceedingly grateful for that and hope it will continue — until she leaves for college in three years, breaking my heart all over again.
One other thing I read while I was on the treadmill was an article that a fellow empty-nest sufferer sent to me about this empty-nest phenomenon, and what caught my eye the most was the fact that there’s such an entity as the Empty Nest Syndrome Support Services (emptynestsupport.com), founded five years ago by a woman named Natalie Caine. I think I need to check this out.
Last night on the treadmill I finally returned to reading Letting Go. If you haven’t been following along about that, it’s a great book by Karen Levin Coburn and Madge Lawrence Treeger that lots of formerly grieving moms recommended to me as the best book to read about this stage that I’m going through. Now I recommend it very highly, too.
Anyway, back before Sean left for school, I had gotten as far as the chapter about what happens during the freshman year — what we can expect about ourselves and our children in terms of changes. I had really patted myself on the back for having gotten that far in the book, given how emotional it was for me to read it, and I figured I’d give myself a break for a while. I thought I’d try living the experience for a time, rather than just reading about it. But, I also promised myself that I’d return to it once I’d gotten back in the saddle — and it seemed to me that the time had come.
So back I went. What I read was how the freshman year can come with so many unexpected and heart-wrenching moments of all stripes. Oh, great… I get this far, and I have more fun and games to look forward to? What fresh hell is this?
The reason — besides all of the very legitimate tragedies and traumas that can befall them — is that often kids don’t come back home until Thanksgiving, and by then, their parents notice that they’ve changed a lot. Or they don’t seem to have changed a lot in the parents’ eyes, but the kids feel so different inside and are irate that their family members aren’t noticing. Or the kids observe that their family has changed a lot.
Add to that dynamic the newfound independence that the kid is feeling after having truly been his own boss all that time… and the high hopes that the parents have for this wonderful, idyllic homecoming with intimate conversations in front of the fireplace… and the kid’s desire to just freakin’ get some sleep and see his old high school pals… and you have yourself a recipe for disaster.
Or not. Maybe this is where we’re very lucky that Sean is here on campus. Maybe we see him often enough that, even though he’s changing and we’re changing, we can all adapt more easily — go with the flow — rather than be bombarded by the conceivably enormous changes that could overwhelm us if we weren’t going to see him until Thanksgiving.
There was also something about what I was reading in Letting Go that hit me as one of those revelation-type moments. Here goes:
Ever since I was in grade school — even early grade school — I’ve been one of those driven, over-achiever types. By the time I reached high school, I had my father honestly worried that I’d have a nervous breakdown. (Personally, I think that the anxiety lay more within him than with me giving him genuine cause to be worried, but that’s the dynamic that went on in my house.)
I even remember once, in 1977, when I was working on what turned out to be something like a 56-page term paper for my Advanced Composition class — the hardest class I ever took in high school, bar none, as a junior, in the fall semester, when the giant majority of the other students were seniors — my parents had the meanest fight I’d ever witnessed between them. The topic was me: my dad was so worried that I was working way too hard, and giving the authority to govern me to my teacher, rather than to him and what he wanted (which was for me to get some sleep); and my mom was trying to defend me and let me do what I felt I needed to do. You can imagine that this shouting match going on over my head as I sat working in the dining room was not what I needed right then, in the eleventh hour of writing my term paper.
So that’s me. I’ve always been this way, and I’ve always wanted to be otherwise. I’ve always wanted to get more sleep and be more balanced. Or so I tell myself. Maybe I don’t, really, or else I would make it more of a priority. It must be that other things, rightly or wrongly, occupy the top rung of my psychological ladder.
But last week something snapped. I’d had a really crappy week on a lot of levels, and there was something about the aggregate of it all that made me snap. I’ve been waiting for that snap — on some levels, wishing for that snap — for just about as long as I can remember.
The revelation was that — DUH! — I had to take better care of myself. Of course, Alex tells me this all the time. Claire tells me this all the time. Anyone who knows me at all well tells me this all the time, but I don’t do anything about it. I just keep on working, always putting work before play. But something about last week made me decide that I must make it a new priority — a new challenge, almost a new “game” — to see if I can get to bed earlier and earlier. And so far, so good. Maybe all it took was a little snap!
But the interesting thing was how this notion meshed with what I was reading in Letting Go. Was it not, in fact, my lousy week that had made all the difference? Was it actually something like a giant psychological release — a “letting go”! — that I was allowing myself, finally, to have? I began to wonder whether I’m thinking — subconsciously, of course — that now that Sean is gone, I can allow myself to let down my parenting guard, to be gentle with myself, to give myself a break now and then. Eureka!
Claire, of course, is still with us, but I feel so fortunate that she’s a great kid who — for now, at least — doesn’t give us any grief. She’s been busy being in a play for the last few months — which has caused a whole lot of extra driving for me during the last few weeks — but it’s also given me a chance to chat with her more than usual while we’ve been in the car, and I think we’ve created a new “buddyship” that wasn’t there before. I’m exceedingly grateful for that and hope it will continue — until she leaves for college in three years, breaking my heart all over again.
One other thing I read while I was on the treadmill was an article that a fellow empty-nest sufferer sent to me about this empty-nest phenomenon, and what caught my eye the most was the fact that there’s such an entity as the Empty Nest Syndrome Support Services (emptynestsupport.com), founded five years ago by a woman named Natalie Caine. I think I need to check this out.
