Catharsis

Last Wednesday I poured out a great gush of emotional dirty dishwater. I got an outpouring of love and support in return, and I am deeply appreciative. Thank you, my lovelies. Something even more amazing happened, though, the next evening.

My mom picked up both seasons of "Dead Like Me", and we've been watching a couple of episodes every night. One episode had ended, and before I started the next one, she asked if we could talk. The next thing I knew, my mother and I were going in deep, much deeper than we've ever gone in my entire life. The last person I ever thought would be my sharing ears and ready shoulder, was on spot. We talked for about an hour or so, and it was absolutely fantastic.

I feel purged. I mean, I know I'm not "cured", because my issues are still there. But the act of sharing my fears and feelings with someone who cares has eased me more than I thought it could. Since last Thursday night, I have felt so much more relaxed. My emotions, while still high, are a slightly more manageable high instead of being so tumultuous that I feel like I'm drowning in them.

The whole experience was surreal. My mother is an old-fashioned repressed kind of woman, in that she doesn't go around saying "I love you" and giving hugs & kisses; she shows her love in the things that she does and the thoughtful gifts she gives to her friends and family. I know she loves me, even though I can't remember the last time she actually said the words.

I, on the other hand, am a toucher. I make her very uncomfortable with my constant attempts to hug her, give her smooches, and my near-daily statements of love for her. Yes, I try to do things to please her out of love and respect, but I believe that saying the words is important, so I try to do it just about every day.

Can you imagine the two of us sitting down and having that super-charged conversation? Talking about my miscarriage, and how sad, angry and helpless it makes me feel; how it makes me feel like any future pregnancy will be filled with fear; the fear that perhaps there won't be another pregnancy. Talking about my unemployment, and how much this continuing situation chips away daily at my sense of self-worth and confidence; it's like the feeling of being the last kid chosen in gym class, when you go out for dozens of jobs you're qualified for, but don't get any of them. Talking about how hard it's been NOT to use alcohol or cigarettes as a crutch, and how I struggle each and every day not to give in to the urge to smoke.

To be precise, I can't really say my mom and I talked. It was more like, she gave me an opening, and let me talk at her until I ran down. Oh sure, she inserted the right sounds when appropriate, but what she did was let me vent and rant, all in the safest of environments. It was absolutely perfect, and just what I needed.

Of course, I thought the timing a bit suspect, coming as it did the day after my post. I suspect that she either has found my blog, or that one of my RL friends gave her a call or shot her an email to tell her that I was cracking up. I don't know, but whatever it was, it was just right this time.