Caretaking

It seems there is a short respite between rearing children and caretaking of parents. Long, exhausting days days of endless demands and disciplining turn into longer days of reasoning and monitoring ailing and melancholic

elders. What happened to my new-found quiet, my newly-acquired personal space, my (relative) peace of mind, that I so longed for, that I deserve?

Here it is. The circle of life running, that inevitable loop, that has been in motion unbeknownst to most of us since birth. Having been a child that was beyond mature for her age, caretaking was rather easy for me earlier in life. As a young mother and wife, I cared for my grandmother, my grand uncle, and my uncle. I willingly and readily neglected myself for whatever the cause was at the moment. It was worth it, right? Well, it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? It set me aside from others my age (from childhood to middle age), but I was compassionate and resilient, I could handle it. I could handle it all, somehow.

"Trauma" doesn't necessarily mean the consequence of some horrific act of violence but can be something so seemingly innocuous as being seen as

"a good girl". That label carries with it an overbearing expectation of perfection in a child. As a adult who is healing herself and realizing that such early maturity was merely a trauma response, a survival mechanism, I question whether I can handle things at this stage of my life with the same resolve and endurance. I can choose the same path I have chosen all my life, to put my needs aside, or choose a different path, to see myself as profoundly human instead, with needs and idiosyncrasies. There is a way to take care of my mind, body, and soul to be able to show up for my loved ones. And yet, what a time to pivot, just when they need you the most.

My children are now adults forging their own paths and I am grateful they want me nearby, impressed by their maturity, albeit of a different kind (I hope). I ask how much trauma I have caused them without the slightest intention. Will they get to the place I am now in their 50s, struggling with relentless intermittent bouts of resentment, anger, distrust, and the best of all, guilt? How will my chains weigh them down?

Healing is UGLY. It hurts like hell. But I know it is part of the bigger picture, if we choose to see it. It is also inevitable for those of us who know that it isn't all about the self and that it is all about the self.