I was on the hunt for a red candle today, which landed me in my favorite of local shops (Natural Elements Shoppe, for all of my local peeps) and as luck would have it, it also landed me in an awesome two hour long conversation with one of the greatest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. So on this, day TWENTY (I say with the excitement and pride of someone committed AF) of #gratitudeproject2023, I am grateful for David.
Now a lot of people know David, as he is a prominent member of the Pagan community around here, and he also does incredible work for the community at large. He is a giver and a helper, something we have in common (though his is on a much grander scale). He is also an agent of chaos, so being in the presence of someone who sees me as I am, can relate to it, and makes loving space for me to exist, is one of the many reasons I am grateful for him.
He also knows a lot about my home life, and the struggles that come with it. You can't tell most people that you have stepsons with Reactive Attachment Disorder and hope for them to have even the slightest idea what you're talking about, let alone know the nitty gritty details AND protocols, thanks to their own experiences in life. But David knows all about it, which is a comfort I never knew I needed. It can be a lonely life, having to raise children in a way that looks so very different from the average household. The sideways glances from parents who immediately assume you are too strict or too harsh, meanwhile having no idea that just the other day, you had to stop your son from throwing a metal baseball bat at another child, and you're simply trying to keep their children safe from a similar outburst, is one of the single most isolating feelings on the planet. Being a step parent can feel isolating enough, but not being able to pull up a seat to the "normal parent" table, yet not being a "childless adult" either...gives you a feeling of limbo that's really hard to put into words.
But anyway, back to David. Having a soul who can take the feelings right out of your mind and frame them in a way that makes you feel understood, and simply human, is a gift. To see the struggles, to understand the limited spoons, to know the amount of mental energy it takes to simply get up and go at it another day, is the greatest gift you could give a person in my position, and he gave it so lovingly.
I'm not looking for sympathy. My life choices are my own. But some days, the restlessness still hits me and the desire to flee feels so strong, and to have someone who understands that very human urge (and the ability to suppress the urge and keep fighting) is something I will forever be grateful for.
But we press on. We stay the course. We fight the battles and celebrate the victories. We embrace the fact that we are a different type of family, and cry about it when the need strikes. But no matter what may come, just knowing there is someone out there who gets it, as well as someone who understands my need for chaotic impulsivity, is the biggest gift.
Oh, and I found a way cooler red candle than I was expecting.
And a rock or two, obviously.
Find a space where it's okay to be human.
-Dominique
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