There’s an activity I do with the children in my office that helps them to paint the picture of their emotions. I give them a palette in the hopes that they will create a rainbow of feeling words. I tell them that there are 6 core emotions that each person on this earth feels, happiness, anger, fear, disgust, and surprise. But one word is rarely enough to describe the intricacies of the human experience. How does one compare the simple pleasure a sip of good coffee can bring to the all encompassing elation one feels when finding out they are expecting a child. Our feelings vary in their duration and intensity. They can be mixed together or experienced alone in their extremes. At times you may feel so much that to choose one single emotion feels like a fools errand. So on a stark white piece of paper I instruct my children, with the aid of a thesauras, to color their pages with as many emotions as they can find. Someday, they will need that vocabulary. Being able to communicate how we feel allows us to calm ourselves, to seek comfort, and find answers when life throws challenges our way.
This weekend has been one full of emotions easy and hard. My darling is out of state for a few days visiting community friends, and though it was me who pushed him to make such a move in the first place, I can’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy. It’s hard for me to be alone. Always has been. But since nearly losing him three years ago, in the midst of his absence I feel a trembling in my chest. I feel the discomfort of being alone, worry for his safety, and the haunting memories of harder times that only seem to bother me when he’s not here.
I am so proud of him for taking this step and expressing his needs. In the twelve years that I have known him, he has transformed from a quiet and socially awkward teen whose tongue turned to lead at the mention of deeper topics, to a still socially awkward but more confident man that reaches out to make new friends and confides in others the joys and sorrows of his life.
Two years ago I couldn’t imagine being where we are now. Happy, content, and seeking out new social opportunities with a fervor. He’s becoming more outgoing than me and it is a joyous shock. Change didn’t happen over night. It took years of grueling work. Each step in a new direction felt terrifying with its uncertainty. But step after step, we made it here. He doesn’t see it this way, but his strength has always inspired me. With a body that holds more innate stress than anyone I have ever met, and a family that would rather close doors than open arms, he made it. I’m not sure I could have done the same in his position. If I think about it too long, a cool bitterness towards his family bubbles up in my chest. I cannot understand seeing a child struggling in pain and turning the other way. Even now, sitting at their dinner table at a predetermined 2 hours a month, the emotional sterility grates at me. They look at their son less like a unique being with dreams, hurts, and interests, and more like a cracked trophy. Left on a shelf to admire, but never to touch, lest their interference worsen the cracks that are clear as day.
This weekend has been full of complicated feelings, but I am bursting with pride none-theless. I hope our friends tickled the shit out of him. He deserves every moment of laughter and smiles that he can find.
This weekend has been one full of emotions easy and hard. My darling is out of state for a few days visiting community friends, and though it was me who pushed him to make such a move in the first place, I can’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy. It’s hard for me to be alone. Always has been. But since nearly losing him three years ago, in the midst of his absence I feel a trembling in my chest. I feel the discomfort of being alone, worry for his safety, and the haunting memories of harder times that only seem to bother me when he’s not here.
I am so proud of him for taking this step and expressing his needs. In the twelve years that I have known him, he has transformed from a quiet and socially awkward teen whose tongue turned to lead at the mention of deeper topics, to a still socially awkward but more confident man that reaches out to make new friends and confides in others the joys and sorrows of his life.
Two years ago I couldn’t imagine being where we are now. Happy, content, and seeking out new social opportunities with a fervor. He’s becoming more outgoing than me and it is a joyous shock. Change didn’t happen over night. It took years of grueling work. Each step in a new direction felt terrifying with its uncertainty. But step after step, we made it here. He doesn’t see it this way, but his strength has always inspired me. With a body that holds more innate stress than anyone I have ever met, and a family that would rather close doors than open arms, he made it. I’m not sure I could have done the same in his position. If I think about it too long, a cool bitterness towards his family bubbles up in my chest. I cannot understand seeing a child struggling in pain and turning the other way. Even now, sitting at their dinner table at a predetermined 2 hours a month, the emotional sterility grates at me. They look at their son less like a unique being with dreams, hurts, and interests, and more like a cracked trophy. Left on a shelf to admire, but never to touch, lest their interference worsen the cracks that are clear as day.
This weekend has been full of complicated feelings, but I am bursting with pride none-theless. I hope our friends tickled the shit out of him. He deserves every moment of laughter and smiles that he can find.
