I stumble. I stumble really well. As a trained classical ballet dancer/teacher I tell friends I can dance - I just cannot walk well. I continue to stumble.
Estrangements within families are particularly troubling and seem to carry the message that we are somehow lacking in our own spirits. When this involves our children, we can be devastated.
For me, it is as though I have failed my higher spirit, my self, and my desires to be the good mother. I am not good enough for dog food. I am trash. I am helpless in my obsessions, the thoughts that go around and around in a spiral, always downward.
Death no longer feels like a cold stranger. Depression inexorably slides into place like an unexpected eclipse.
When this happens I try to find deep inside - a "Grandmother Place" of love, warmth, and enduring hope for myself and all others. Not having had a grandmother, my concept is easy to imagine filled with sparkling good-faerie love and peace.
I meditate and pray for the hard feelings to be removed. Realizing my love for myself must come first, in my own mind I am able to transfer that love to my children and others, no matter the estrangement.
In truth, as long as they are healthy and well, my being a part of their lives is secondary. It is okay. They are growing and finding their way. Perhaps it is well that I step aside for awhile.
Once I truly incorporate this acceptance into my being, the estrangement is over, somehow. The depression lightens and there is hope that we can return ever so gently to our loving nest.
We have no control over other people and, I believe, limited control over ourselves. It is well with my soul.
A Moodscope member.