I spent the better part of a week sorting through my head and having mini-epiphanies. The gist of all of them, though, was that I have decades of 1. not saying what I want, so as not to draw disapproval for wanting the wrong things and 2. I wasn’t surprised by Ma’s behaviors.
I moved through a mourning process as the idealized mother I carried in my head had passed — but I did it quickly. I don’t do anything quickly. I agonize, analyze, consider options, think things through, ask advice, and then start over with the advice.
Which means that I already knew all of this, and was ready to change my behaviors and how I relate to my mother.
In a strange (for me) surge of pro-active behavior, I made an appointment with Lexi to get my brains strained. I figured that there would be, after three decades or more, a million million tiny behaviors and interactions and hidden relationships and strains and traumas and hidden finance charges that I could spend years looking for, or I could go to Lexi. I decided that the whole dramatizing metaphor/magic/headtrip/energy clearing route was the more sensible; I have things to do that are better to spend time on than fiddling in my own misery when I already know the answers and the outcomes.
So, off to Lexi.
…
Apparently I had done a damned fine job of cleaning up on my own. There were things, but they weren’t horrid or difficult or even involved. We’d set an agenda before we started, though, and while Ma headed the list, there was plenty of other good stuff to do, so we did that. I have cleared my energies, give or take, which was one of those things I didn’t have an opinion on beforehand … and seems to have done me a world of good, and continues to.
Uhm. And there are some indications that this sort of business (the psychic journeys, the energy work, and all that good fuzzy-headed stuff) is going to be on my agenda for a bit. There appears to be something there for me, although I can’t tell you just what that might be, nor could I have mentioned it with a straight face a year ago.
I wish I could dispense with the level of self-awareness that recalls that I didn’t always feel as I do today, and feels vaguely ridiculous about the philosophical variance.