I'm so proud of my mom. And grateful. She's done so much for me and I owe her so much. Sometimes we can barely connect; I'm trying to stop the advice she's giving and she's trying to play battleship with what my problem is. But sometimes we do connect and she knows exactly what to say to make me recognize my worth as an individual and makes me feel like the impossible challenges in my life are very possible. She makes me feel less weird and more accepting of myself. When I'm crouched in the corner away from my family I lose this incredible benefit and I become this strange anomaly to myself. She reminds me of good things I've done, like she told me some things I said that I was like, "Really? I said that?" but also reminds me that I can be a jerk so I should do better. But it's not a shower of shame, it's a playful reminder. I can tell her just about anything and I probably have. She doesn't coddle me though. She softens the blows of my own self attacks, but she doesn't let me delude myself into believing that I'm a helpless victim. I don't talk to her as much as I should. Oh yeah I'm proud of her because she's doing good things for herself. When I was still living at home, I used to see how she sacrificed for us all the time to the point where she didn't take time to do the things she loved. I think she was depressed a lot. Now I kind of see how that happens. She's exercising and eating better and has a lot of energy. She is able to be present and just seems happy. And that makes me happy.
Viorica is my surrogate grandmother from Romania. She is my inspiration of faith and gentleness. She is so kind to me (as long as I don't refuse to eat!). Today I came over and saw her and we got to talk for awhile. I've never considered myself a real poet, but this is a poem I wrote about her about 2 years ago...
Bunica Mea (Feb 10, 2008)
Warm, sensuous meal;
An unsought perk with the light of eyes.
She deals me acres from her years.
I sit in silence; or grunt back feeble fumbling phrases
Glossing over wobbly points to finish half aware.
Her well worn smile moves with fragile faith.
Slows my blood, soothing as the summer sun.
These strange tastes become familiar friends
Sour, oily, delicious feast.
She is a world of wonder to me.
I laugh and shrug, we scale a wall to speak.
She refreshes my soft love for life.
And briefly today, I am her child.
It's a little bit easier to talk to her now and we laugh and can talk about serious stuff and I can almost understand it. Today I helped her fix her TV and showed her pictures of my kids and my sister on a mission and she fed me tomatoes, telemea (salty cheese) and a bologna sandwich and told me about a sacred experience she had in the temple in Frieberg, Germany. She described the spirit in a way that I hadn't heard before and she has vivid experiences and miracles that happen to her, because of her faith frequently. She often says in broken english, "Father in Heaven so good to me. Perfect Doctor." I remember feeling this intense gratitude to have her in my life. I honestly love this lady.
My bishop kept saying that one of our speakers canceled and I secretly wished he would have asked me to fill in. Some of my most salient experiences in life have been appreciating motherhood in some way. In Romania it was seeing what life was like for those without mothers. There is a whole world of emotional fragility and darkness that opens to these children and probably more so to those children who can understand it better.
At house of hope, I'm realizing how important mothers being present is. Most of the children I work with have not had their mothers consistently present. They have watched their mothers slowly come back into their lives and they crave them now. I don't know how much of this is a natural tendency, but it seems that having their mothers less present has created a love and attention hording behavior pattern. There has been some research on the subject, but I don't know how to really apply it to better my interactions with them or to comfort them. That is something that has been stripped from me in a way. I have been loaded with process information and instead of an instantaneous comforting reaction, there is a deer in the headlight analytical overload that occurs. And then I can come to the rescue. Maxwell said it like so...
A marriage counselor can become encrusted with a protective layer of clinical indifference brought on by the routine and incessant nature of his chores. If so, his techniques will never compensate for his lack of caring.
-Maxwell (Grounded, Rooted, Established, and Settled)
And I haven't even practiced or gone through grad school yet. Ergh.
I miss that reaction some, because more often than not, that is what is needed in the face of an emotional overload. Just a hug or a small touch. A kind word and a gentle tone. In trying to maximize the comfort I give, I offer none. In some ways my family (all of us do this) we've witnessed enough lashing out at attempts to comfort that we're afraid of it sometimes. We all have it in us though. We trust each other on individual levels, but there is still something withheld. I believe this sometimes, and many times it is proven wrong. When we see people have gone past the point of what we consider trivial. We're afraid of overdoing it. I'm working on it. I don't think moms get enough credit for this initial reaction to their own. The moms at house of hope struggle with this. There's no out in motherhood and this concept seems foreign to them. Or perhaps I see more into it than there really is. Like all of it.
I love my mom though.
Viorica is my surrogate grandmother from Romania. She is my inspiration of faith and gentleness. She is so kind to me (as long as I don't refuse to eat!). Today I came over and saw her and we got to talk for awhile. I've never considered myself a real poet, but this is a poem I wrote about her about 2 years ago...
Bunica Mea (Feb 10, 2008)
Warm, sensuous meal;
An unsought perk with the light of eyes.
She deals me acres from her years.
I sit in silence; or grunt back feeble fumbling phrases
Glossing over wobbly points to finish half aware.
Her well worn smile moves with fragile faith.
Slows my blood, soothing as the summer sun.
These strange tastes become familiar friends
Sour, oily, delicious feast.
She is a world of wonder to me.
I laugh and shrug, we scale a wall to speak.
She refreshes my soft love for life.
And briefly today, I am her child.
It's a little bit easier to talk to her now and we laugh and can talk about serious stuff and I can almost understand it. Today I helped her fix her TV and showed her pictures of my kids and my sister on a mission and she fed me tomatoes, telemea (salty cheese) and a bologna sandwich and told me about a sacred experience she had in the temple in Frieberg, Germany. She described the spirit in a way that I hadn't heard before and she has vivid experiences and miracles that happen to her, because of her faith frequently. She often says in broken english, "Father in Heaven so good to me. Perfect Doctor." I remember feeling this intense gratitude to have her in my life. I honestly love this lady.
My bishop kept saying that one of our speakers canceled and I secretly wished he would have asked me to fill in. Some of my most salient experiences in life have been appreciating motherhood in some way. In Romania it was seeing what life was like for those without mothers. There is a whole world of emotional fragility and darkness that opens to these children and probably more so to those children who can understand it better.
At house of hope, I'm realizing how important mothers being present is. Most of the children I work with have not had their mothers consistently present. They have watched their mothers slowly come back into their lives and they crave them now. I don't know how much of this is a natural tendency, but it seems that having their mothers less present has created a love and attention hording behavior pattern. There has been some research on the subject, but I don't know how to really apply it to better my interactions with them or to comfort them. That is something that has been stripped from me in a way. I have been loaded with process information and instead of an instantaneous comforting reaction, there is a deer in the headlight analytical overload that occurs. And then I can come to the rescue. Maxwell said it like so...
A marriage counselor can become encrusted with a protective layer of clinical indifference brought on by the routine and incessant nature of his chores. If so, his techniques will never compensate for his lack of caring.
-Maxwell (Grounded, Rooted, Established, and Settled)
And I haven't even practiced or gone through grad school yet. Ergh.
I miss that reaction some, because more often than not, that is what is needed in the face of an emotional overload. Just a hug or a small touch. A kind word and a gentle tone. In trying to maximize the comfort I give, I offer none. In some ways my family (all of us do this) we've witnessed enough lashing out at attempts to comfort that we're afraid of it sometimes. We all have it in us though. We trust each other on individual levels, but there is still something withheld. I believe this sometimes, and many times it is proven wrong. When we see people have gone past the point of what we consider trivial. We're afraid of overdoing it. I'm working on it. I don't think moms get enough credit for this initial reaction to their own. The moms at house of hope struggle with this. There's no out in motherhood and this concept seems foreign to them. Or perhaps I see more into it than there really is. Like all of it.
I love my mom though.
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