I'm Whole.

Did I Just Win Therapy?

I am whole. I knew it, but I didn’t realize it, not until recently. See, I’ve been in therapy since I decided to have a child on my own. I’ve done plant medicine ceremonies. I’ve searched all corners of myself, and that Taylor Swift song really resonated with me.

Hi, It’s me, I’m the problem, it’s me.

I went to therapy to make the right choice in having a kid on my own. To do my best for my future child to feel whole without a dad. But I learned that I can’t control how my kid will feel. He is his own person, but I can create boundaries for him and make sure I show up for him the best way I know how. He loves to tell me that if he were my parent, he’d allow me to have all the chocolate in the world.

Before becoming a middle-aged mom, I got stuck in the past, looking at all the ways my life would have been better if my parents did this or that. And then one day all that noise stopped.

They no longer determine my life. They don’t pay my bills (except my son’s private school, thanks Ma!) I can make most choices that affect my son and my life. I learned that’s called individuating, the moment your parents stop being the authors of your life. I was a little stunted, but I made it through, mostly.

Because with one parent, I’ve individuated, and with the other, I can’t seem to. And being a person who dives deep into myself, for a very long time I felt like it was me. Something about me is unlovable, uninteresting, not whole. For a while, I tried to fix it and then finally stopped. I started to see the patterns in that person’s life. Other family members were feeling the same way, stepping away, and I came to a point where I no longer wanted his behavior to affect me, not anymore.

So I turned to my therapist, and she reminded me that I am whole. I do the work. And he doesn’t get the right to tell me otherwise. Like, does that mean I’ve won therapy?

Unfortunately, no, because even though I’m whole, I don’t always see it. Mostly because I’m not perfect and the world around me knocks me off balance.

I can always work on my reactions, patience, kindness, boundaries, etc. But wholeness is fundamentally there; I just need to protect it. And in that moment I needed that reminder. Because this parent had me believing there’s something not right with me, and there isn’t.

And our disconnect is that I’m open to moving forward and, for some reason, he is always dredging up the past. Reminding me why the teenage version of me, almost thirty years ago, made our relationship difficult. I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve invited him to know me as this woman. One who is whole but not perfect. Who is kind, funny, and with an abundance of love for the people around me. Who is willing to forgive his imperfections if he is willing to admit that he has some.

This experience has me thinking about all the ways I can forget that I’m whole because accepting help is where it gets tricky. It happens in every area of my life. Perhaps my parent is practice. Some people you look to for help end up knocking you down, pushing you off balance, making you doubt your own wholeness, and feeding on that to gain power and money.

It’s kind of the norm in this country. I’d say society, but I can’t speak for other cultures, just the high-key capitalism I live in. We’re trained to see what’s wrong, find the hole, and monetize it. It’s the noise of Instagram telling us we’re incomplete.

The assignment is to retrain ourselves to see what’s working, what’s nice, what makes our bodies sing. To be clear, I’m not preaching that Pollyanna; everything is flowers and smells good. I live in Brooklyn; the tree-lined streets are beautiful, but it smells like garbage. I could choose to be tortured by the smell on a hot summer day, or I can enjoy what’s on offer and let the stuff I can’t control fall to the side.

I’ve noticed people do this to different degrees and that our tolerance for negative stuff has a lot to do with how much sleep, food, and peace we have in our lives. So if goodness feels distant, almost like clogged gutters, that’s a clue you might need help. Help can be a massage to reduce tension; it can be a sitter to take some me time; it can be letting someone else wake up with your kid. For the first time in 4.5 years, we slept at my mom’s beach rental, and she took him in the morning to let me sleep. I slept past 8 am, and I had so much energy I thought someone might have slipped me something. That’s real help. Not opportunity disguised as help.

I’ve been taking inventory of clues that I need help. I especially see it with my child. He’s still young, and his behavior can trigger. This morning, while getting him ready for camp, I asked him to brush his teeth about ten times. I went to my bathroom to brush my teeth, and he ran in. No toothbrush. He has something important to tell me. When I’m stressed, or off balance in any way, all I can see is defiance.

When I’m not, I see his excitement and let him tell me that he discovered how to get his battery train to go around the tracks without falling. He discovered something he wanted to share with me. If I wasn’t taking care of my inner life, I wouldn’t have received that goodness, and that can damage our connection. The connection that I hope he chooses to keep once he individuates from me.

So, if my son knows his wholeness, he will individuate and still choose our connection.