Sometimes I pull an emotional thread and my sense of well being, my sense of self, threatens to come unraveled. It happened to me just a few days ago. It started when I wrote my last post. I was writing about my relationship with my son and typed three simple little words: I have regrets.
I began to recount my many failings as a parent: the ways that I neglected and abandoned him. I was distracted by these thoughts on a trip to visit my mother in law. I found myself sobbing in her guestroom long after the others were asleep. It was there that I discovered the dark place where the shame resides. It must have been 3 in the morning when I began to see how much the relationship between me and my son has been shaped by that shame.
It is the shame that makes me want to protect him, rescue him, make him comfortable and safe even though this is no longer in his best interest. I am trying to make amends in all the wrong ways. It is as if we are locked in this dance of shame and repentance, unsure how to stop or what to do next. I need forgiveness.
I sometimes wish that I subscribed to a religion where absolution is handed out like communion wafers. I don't. Making amends, for me, is much messier. I have to face my son and admit my shortcomings. Will he forgive me? Can I forgive myself?
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