Another birthday? So soon? But didn't I just turn thirty-five like two years ago? My ninety-two-year-old mother has often commented, "The older I get, the faster time passes." Now I understand what she means.
How vivid are the memories of my children as babies and toddlers! Wasn't it just yesterday? Now they have nearly-grown children of their own. When did that happen? I thought I was living in the present, making the most of each moment, cherishing every loved one and embracing all of life's wonders, but suddenly I blinked and the greater part of my life was in the past.
Another of my mother's famous sayings is, "You dwell on things too much." This frequently repeated comment was specifically directed at me, her second child. Until a certain age, I believed her. I took special care not to say anything that might upset her fantasy-world or mine. Later, as I began the work of recovery from damaged emotions, I resented her for keeping me stuck in denial. This resentment created a temporary rift between us.
Eventually, I began to understand that denial serves as a necessary protection. It is the armor we wear to keep from feeling unpleasant emotions. It stops the pain of reality. I realized that denial was my mother's way of protecting herself from facing truths that were too hard for her to acknowledge. But it had taken a tremendous amount of courage for me to face the truth of why I often felt anger, helplessness and shame. I thought my mother needed to acknowledge my truth, as well. Erroneously, I thought I needed to "fix" her in order to achieve my own healing. But nobody can be fixed without their permission, and it is not my responsibility to change anyone but myself. What a tough lesson that has been!
I'm grateful to finally have the time and the courage to reflect--to dwell--on things . . . to live life consciously. The irony about denial is that the very thing we use to protect us is that which harms us most. But, like a band-aid, if we rip it off too suddenly or too soon, the wound can take longer to heal.
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