The boys left to go camping earlier this week, and this morning as I walked to work I felt so light – both without weight and without dark. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that I glowed. The week was replete with revelations.
I broke my silence about my depression and reached out to a few friends I knew shared an understanding of this state, and because they are all wonderful people, they listened and reflected what I said back, and I, in turn, began to speak without restraint, without filters. The trickle of truths grew into a stream.
Earlier this summer I visited Chicago and then Indiana to pick up my older son who was summering for a few weeks with my parents. The last 5-10 years, my trips to Indiana involve seeing family members, but few other people that I knew. This trip, however, I stayed overnight in Chicago so that I could see some friends from college. Then once I was down at my parents house, I arranged to have dinner with a friend from high school. In both cases, I alone spent time with my friends, and I laughed, and groaned over old memories, and discussed deeper meanings, and generally stepped into a self with whom I had lost touch. It was comforting and stimulating.
Two days later, I was in the airport in Chicago with my son waiting for our return flight to California, and I had the single strongest panic attack of my life. I could barely breathe. Quickly, I shoved an iPad and a headset at Eliot. I plugged my ears with meditational music at a volume so loud I couldn’t hear even the white noise of the terminal. And I sucked in deep breaths until we had to board the plane. In desperation and without considering the consequences fully, I had Eliot share a headset with me to watch the only movie I had on the iPad: Twilight. Yes, it was too mature for him. Yes, because he was sitting on the aisle holding the iPad, I received flabbergasted and questioning looks from people in the surrounding seats or walking to the back of the plane, questioning my parenting skills. Yes, he broke down sobbing at the climatic scary moment at the end and refused to watch the final cathartic minutes. Yes, my face was flushed with shame for putting my son in that position. So why? Why would I make such a poor parenting decision? Sure there was little else on the iPad, and that’s certainly how I tell the story now. But truthfully, I desperately sought refuge in fantasy and romance and attempted to steal any support I could from my son, who was entirely too young to be asked to do that.
[Thread aside: Fortunately, he and I did talk about it. I began to appreciate how the realism of the movie exceeded anything he’d consumed before. The next day I convinced him to watch the final moments of the movie so that he could relax about the characters’ fates. I’m more than a little mortified to share that he asked to watch the movie when his friends were over for a sleepover. The other mothers nixed it, of course.]
Days later I discussed with friends how difficult I found it to reconcile who I was then with who I am now. Originally, when I said this, my initial focus was on my younger self – how did that younger self survive growing up in such a considerably different place than the Berkeley that I generally rejoice in. Reconsidering now, after this week, I wonder if I really wondered what happened to me? Where did that Robin go? I kind of miss her rash, impetuous, and often highly selfish qualities.
Somehow, this week, with all of the boys gone, and spending time with friends without kids, I think that me came out for another peek. And maybe, that me wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.