accountability

a while ago, a friend of mine posted the Orange Rhino challenge on facebook. i saw it and started weeping: i need to do that, NOW. i can't tell you how many times i've cringed at myself, how many times i've had almost out of body experiences watching myself yell at my precious children, whom i love beyond words.

so i determined to do it. and for about two weeks, i did a darn good job. i came close a couple of times, and there definitely was yelling into the closet, bathroom, wardrobe. but then, somehow, it all fell apart. i got tired. i got overwhelmed. i got super, super frustrated with my oldest: having him is like having a mirror held up to my face all the time, for all of those qualities that i have hated in myself, have been mocked and despised by others, the ones that have made me an outcast so many countless times. and how i am supposed to teach him lessons that i barely know? i ask myself. oh, it's hard!
and somehow, i haven't been able to get back on that train. in fact, The Yell-Free House train is barely in sight for me anymore.


the Orange Rhino mama counsels: find your triggers. know what is upsetting you. when i look at my oldest (and i'll be honest: it's mostly him. i do much much better at controlling myself with my younger son), when i look at him and see my reflection in so many ways (obviously he is his own person and not just a male copy of me), it's me. it's me that i am yelling at, it's my failures and shame and all of the things i hate so much about myself. yes, hate. and when i yell, it is me saying: don't be yourself, son, if you are like that, because everyone will reject you for it. trust me. i know.


being melancholic-choleric is the most difficult temperament. that's not me seeking for pity, or indulging the hate. it's what a very, very wise priest says in Nervousness, Temperament, and the Soul. and it isn't just hard to for other people to deal with. it's hard to BE that. to feel everything so intensely; to get so focused and intent on something that it loses all perspective; to let go of control; to heal. throw a nervous, neurotic streak on top of that, and you've got something that it's really hard for people to accept, to deal with, to love. i have a long history of rejection. some of it is imagined and exaggerated, i have no doubt. but a lot of it is real, concrete, objective, nameable, whatever. i am terrified of friendships; i still find myself shying away from vulnerability, even in the most trustworthy relationships. still the pit of my stomach twists: you know what's going to happen if you say that, if you share that. so i don't.


healing can only come from one place, y'all. well i know that, because i've sought for it in other places and always it's failed. there is only One Healer. and He is gentle, but relentless.


it is fear i have for my son, as well as the frustration of the mirror. fear that life is going to deal him those blows that have the potential to shatter his beautiful soul. but it is my job to provide the haven for him, to be the shelter when others who see only the bother of his self and not his beauty choose to reject him. but if i reject him already, because i cannot accept myself, then truly he will have no place to go, and he will be crushed.
how can we give what we do not have? only through grace. only one day at a time. only one moment at a time, when i have the choice to choose to love his beautiful self--and mine, too.


surely my God, who takes so much trouble over the passing beauty of flowers, knew what He was doing when He made our souls. And they are precious in His sight.