Compassion

It's warm and summery, and I am getting over a virus (not swine flu, thankfully) and severe back spasms. A hot rock massage and heavy duty Rx muscle relaxants have helped. But I haven't been good for much, dragging myself to appointments and meetings, and fights with G, a short fun visit with M who popped up for a short few days, and work on trying to create a new consulting business for myself, without enough energy or mental focus left to blog, so my apologies, I am sorry.

G is still not fully moved out, I had to pack her socks and underwear and clear out her closet to keep her from coming over every other day for 3 socks at a time. She was also finding a way of still doing her laundry here. Actually she would start a wash and leave for hours ("I'll be right back") expecting me to wash and fold her clothes and pack them neatly for her pick up. Old habits die hard (I admit I was washing, folding, and neatly bagging), and finally she did come back after 9 hours to find her clothes still wet in the washer. We agreed that she would wash and dry her clothes at her own house share. Her new place is quite nice and larger than this tiny house, so I feel less accommodating when she complains about how little space she has (which is why she hasn't moved all her things).

G did have an outburst in the last mediation/therapy session we had, and it became clear to me (with the help of the gay boy therapist) that her anger is ancient and deep and she can't always tell the difference between the present (where she is reasonable and friendly) and the past (where she is traumatized, vicious, angry, miserable, and cruel). In a perhaps inappropriate professional moment, after G stormed out accusing both gay boy and me of calling her crazy, I looked at him in a familiar and utter bewilderment, and he said levelly "It's okay, it's not you." I know I bear a lot of responsibility for what failed in the relationship but it was reassuring to know that some things really are not rooted in what seemed to be the reality I shared with G. I realized that she has, and has had, her out of control moments when we were alone, never when there was a third party (except for this first time with gay boy present), and I have felt bizarrely disoriented, alone, and stressed during many of our most intense interactions. I understand that G's mother treated her with a drunken cruelty, torture, viciousness, abuse, and sneering neglect, but it's a truth I am still unable to imagine in its full scope. And it breaks my heart.

I am learning to dial back, now, not to try to fix something I cannot, and find my own pleasure and joy in the experience of human consistency with M. I hope life sends G the peace and joy she deserves. I won't expect her to be fair to me, or even be in the present with me when we must interact, she'll just do the best she can, and perhaps in the end this all we can ever expect of each other - from each according to our ability, to each according to our need...perhaps everything ends up balancing out, not with each other, but with the universe of human beings we find in the totality of our lives. Perhaps this falls into life's lessons about love, compassion, and acceptance.