A lot of breakthroughs lately. Here's one.
Zoe is in London. She's staying with friends, checking out the underground dance and music scenes before she heads to Barcelona to work on some organic farms for the next five months. It's a trip she's planned for several years. I've been planning a trip to Europe myself, provided some financial things fall into place such as the rental of our house and staying on course with the repayment of some debt. Zoe's being there motivates me to make it all happen.
The deal is this: Joe and I have different goals for work and travel. He wants to work less and have more spaciousness in his life to paint, which means he does not have travel in his budget. Last year I challenged him on this position: "What about New York? Or going to Europe in 2012 to meet Zoe?" He was firm: No. To work so hard just to travel a few weeks a year is not his aim. He is content living within his means and traveling locally.
So a few nights ago I decided to research tickets to meet Zoe this summer, as planned. Joe got bummed. I reminded him of our talk last year. He got really bummed. The whole situation triggered bad things for both of us. For me, it was feeling guilt for leaving my family of origin behind, both literally and figuratively. Flashbacks of when I was 9 or 10, trying to give my Dad my entire savings ($350?) to help his financial woes. He laughed at me, not meanly, but told me it wouldn't help. Remembering this the other night pushed me over into a dark hole. It reminded me that once upon a time I was a good saver, and perhaps why to this day it is so hard for me to save.
Next to me in the hole, Joe was swirling around in bitter resentment, globalizing my plans to go visit our daughter into the demise of our relationship. He even said, "What is the point of trying so hard to be close to someone?" It was kind of shocking. We were both messes, groping around in a dark cave, blaming each other for some major hurts.
Luckily we have been in our own private relationship "re-boot camp," and knew to stay focused on what was happening. By now we were on the bed, mad at each other but staying calm. Joe realized something incredibly obvious when he said, "My Mom got on a plane to Chicago and never came back." She died when Joe was 10: she left "on a trip," and died months later in a cancer hospital. No one ever told him or his brothers she was dying. After months of her mysterious absence, they flew to Chicago and saw her for a few minutes at her bedside, still not knowing she was dying, and that was it. She died the next morning. No good bye, nothing.
When I heard that, I really lost it. I felt so bad for ten-year-old Joe, and my own pain was subsumed into his. I was apologizing as if I had been his mom and I abandoned him. It felt like it had in fact been me. But somehow, through this, Joe felt recognized. "You are not my Mom," he said tenderly.
For years, I wanted to be Joe's Mom. Not in a weird or infantile way (usually). But he wanted me, and I wanted, to make up for that terrible loss. But the truth in those simple words, "You are not my Mom," broke something open. He let go of the unreality of that fact, that I am not and never will heal that wound. It's something he has to do on his own. And he's working on it.
I have my own shit to deal with.
Meanwhile, I'm visualizing meeting up with Zoe in Europe. This breakthrough means Joe is 100% supportive of my going. Sure, he'll feel triggered at various times if I go by myself, and I'll be triggered, too. But we'll deal with it.
And an even bigger breakthrough: this breakthrough is helping Joe feel empowered to potentially work enough to buy his own ticket to meet us in London for a week. I won't hold my breath on that, or not move forward myself on my plans, but I still feel the deep satisfaction of having figured out a major hurdle that has plagued us over the last 26 years whenever I have gone away.
Zoe is in London. She's staying with friends, checking out the underground dance and music scenes before she heads to Barcelona to work on some organic farms for the next five months. It's a trip she's planned for several years. I've been planning a trip to Europe myself, provided some financial things fall into place such as the rental of our house and staying on course with the repayment of some debt. Zoe's being there motivates me to make it all happen.
The deal is this: Joe and I have different goals for work and travel. He wants to work less and have more spaciousness in his life to paint, which means he does not have travel in his budget. Last year I challenged him on this position: "What about New York? Or going to Europe in 2012 to meet Zoe?" He was firm: No. To work so hard just to travel a few weeks a year is not his aim. He is content living within his means and traveling locally.
So a few nights ago I decided to research tickets to meet Zoe this summer, as planned. Joe got bummed. I reminded him of our talk last year. He got really bummed. The whole situation triggered bad things for both of us. For me, it was feeling guilt for leaving my family of origin behind, both literally and figuratively. Flashbacks of when I was 9 or 10, trying to give my Dad my entire savings ($350?) to help his financial woes. He laughed at me, not meanly, but told me it wouldn't help. Remembering this the other night pushed me over into a dark hole. It reminded me that once upon a time I was a good saver, and perhaps why to this day it is so hard for me to save.
Next to me in the hole, Joe was swirling around in bitter resentment, globalizing my plans to go visit our daughter into the demise of our relationship. He even said, "What is the point of trying so hard to be close to someone?" It was kind of shocking. We were both messes, groping around in a dark cave, blaming each other for some major hurts.
Luckily we have been in our own private relationship "re-boot camp," and knew to stay focused on what was happening. By now we were on the bed, mad at each other but staying calm. Joe realized something incredibly obvious when he said, "My Mom got on a plane to Chicago and never came back." She died when Joe was 10: she left "on a trip," and died months later in a cancer hospital. No one ever told him or his brothers she was dying. After months of her mysterious absence, they flew to Chicago and saw her for a few minutes at her bedside, still not knowing she was dying, and that was it. She died the next morning. No good bye, nothing.
When I heard that, I really lost it. I felt so bad for ten-year-old Joe, and my own pain was subsumed into his. I was apologizing as if I had been his mom and I abandoned him. It felt like it had in fact been me. But somehow, through this, Joe felt recognized. "You are not my Mom," he said tenderly.
For years, I wanted to be Joe's Mom. Not in a weird or infantile way (usually). But he wanted me, and I wanted, to make up for that terrible loss. But the truth in those simple words, "You are not my Mom," broke something open. He let go of the unreality of that fact, that I am not and never will heal that wound. It's something he has to do on his own. And he's working on it.
I have my own shit to deal with.
Meanwhile, I'm visualizing meeting up with Zoe in Europe. This breakthrough means Joe is 100% supportive of my going. Sure, he'll feel triggered at various times if I go by myself, and I'll be triggered, too. But we'll deal with it.
And an even bigger breakthrough: this breakthrough is helping Joe feel empowered to potentially work enough to buy his own ticket to meet us in London for a week. I won't hold my breath on that, or not move forward myself on my plans, but I still feel the deep satisfaction of having figured out a major hurdle that has plagued us over the last 26 years whenever I have gone away.
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