SO NOW, THIS

Admittedly, I've made errors that will echo and reverberate for generations to come and the realizations, regrets and insights that I've acquired since making those mistakes have come way too late; but still I must move forward, and in doing so I hope to set a positive example for my now grown children.

My first step in moving forward has been honesty. I have expressed my regrets to each of my children. I admitted to dropping the ball as a parent. I fell short of my own parenting goals and allowed their father's dysfunctions and mine to directly and adversely affect the well-being of my children. We failed to lay a solid foundation within each of them upon which they could've built their adult lives. Being honest about our failures was the first step toward salvaging.

The second step was recognizing, that because of my inadequacies as a parent, I am now obligated to pick up the pieces and I can do that by helping them complete the task of preparing for adult life, even though they are all of legal age. In practical terms, it means continuing to provide a place to live - rent free - for a few of them as they finish their education, decide what they want to do with the rest of their lives, and reach a higher level of emotional maturity. It means that when my kids need my help, I do my best to provide it, looking not so much at their age, but at their developmental, social, emotional, and psychological maturity. I must finish the task, even if they are beyond legal age.

Concurrent with those first few steps that I've taken, I am continuing my own education in an effort to become self-sufficient. In doing so, I hope prove to my children that it is never too late. As I continue to pursue my vocational goals, even at my stage of life, I hope that my children will benefit from my determination and persistence.

In six months, I will begin working on my master's degree in community counseling with the goal of becoming a licensed mental health counselor. If I can dedicate even just eight or ten years of my life to a vocational endeavor, to financial independence, and living life as a self-sufficient adult, I will have accomplished much.

I recall when I was younger, I used to insist I could, in fact, have it all - just not all at once. I believed in the concept of sequencing my life. In my thirties, my focus was childrearing. In my forties, my focus was furthering my education in preparation for a professional life. And then in my fifties, my focus would be on being productive in my chosen field. Looking back, I am amazed that I accomplished as much as I did, considering the level of dysfunction at play in my life during my younger years: marital discord, immaturity, poverty, substance abuse, and mental illness. Today, I am no longer with my childrens father, I am much more mature, living more comfortably, but still economically dependent, no longer dealing with substance use/abuse, and although I still struggle with anxiety, I continue to pursue a life as if the anxiety was not there.

So yes, the wisdom that comes with maturity comes way too late to prevent any of the mistakes that come with youth. But the insights I have gained will help me help others and will prevent me from continuing in dysfunction. "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone."

THE RECLUSIVE LIFE

I like people. I really do. I believe most people are good and have discovered that every life is interesting. Yet, I crave my solitude, welcome isolation, and am admittedly self-absorbed.

If I did not have to leave the house periodically, I could remain at home for days and weeks on end without ever feeling bored, lonely, confined, or trapped. There is always something to do: read a book, clean the house, go on the Internet, work on hobbies, or start a project. But is that really living?? I often worry that when I become bed-ridden with age, I will look back and wish I had visited with family more often, socialized with friends periodically, or even just ventured out into the world from time to time.

Still, I remind myself that my current life of seclusion is temporary. In August, I will be back in school as I start working on my master's degree in community counseling. I will once again be among people on a regular basis and perhaps then I will become more social.

I have often wondered when I became this way. As a child, I was quite able to entertain myself and could play solitarily. But, when friends would come looking for me, I was willing to put my imaginative world aside to be with others.

As a young mom, I craved socialization and went out of my way to find other young, stay-at-home moms. And, when I wasn't at workshops, mother's groups, or other mom-based gatherings, I was on the phone for endless hours with other mom-friends. Then, as I grew older, and my kids got older, I noticed that my circle of friends diminished. Phone calls became intrusive and I began to prefer solitude.

Still, on the rare occasions that I would visit with one of my few remaining close friends, I would find myself feeling so alive and I would revel in the sense of companionship and wonder why I avoided socialization to such a degree.

I like people. And, people generally like me. I can easily and comfortably get into engaging conversations with just about anybody. Most people who know me would never guess that I possess such deep preference for solitude. In fact, that preference is so deep and so profound that it has generated an anxious response to social commitments. I have become socially phobic to some degree.

I remember one incident that most poignantly illustrates my tendency to sequester myself. A few years ago, my 30th high school reunion was coming up, along with an informal reunion picnic for not just my classmates, but for the residents of the town where I grew up. I was so excited to hear about this because I had lost contact with school friends after dropping out of high school. I knew right a way however that while the high school reunion sounded like fun, I knew that my anxiety would keep me from going. I decided to attend the community reunion picnic - since most of my former classmates would be there too - and skip the class reunion all together.

I was really eager and excited about the picnic. The night before, I picked out the clothes I wanted to wear to the picnic and imagined how awesome it would be to see people that I hadn't seen since my teen years. I miss my hometown, am very nostalgic, and cherish my childhood memories.

The next morning, I got up, got in the shower, and got dressed. I looked good and felt good. But then the anxiety hit. I started to feel hesitant. I began to feel unsure about how much I would enjoy the reunion. I started to feel dread and anxiety. And I began to rationalize why I probably shouldn't go: I didn't really hang out with a whole crowd when I was a kid, but had a few close friends here and there, so what's the point of going. The people I'd like to see probably won't be there any way. Besides, look at how much weight I've gained; I don't want people to see me like this. And really, what have I accomplished with my life? I'll have nothing of value to share or talk about. Nah, the reunion picnic thing is really stupid. I'm gonna just stay home. And that's exactly what I did.


A day or two later, I saw pictures posted on Facebook of the picnic and heard everyone talking about how much fun they had - and I was sick with regret. WHY DIDN'T I GO???


Yeah, I like my reclusive, solitary life, but am glad that it has an end in sight. I really do love people, and so I need to spend more time outside these four walls, among other human beings. I cannot allow myself to have just a virtual life; I want a real, authentic life, but it is up to me to walk out that front door and create one.