"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men [women] are afraid of the light." Plato
It's a dark and dreary day mimicking my mood. The mist is shielding the landscape as if a cloak of muted light has fallen upon us all. In the background, Larry has the game on the television, and can I just say it feels like there is always a game going on in the background of my life? That statement is oozing with unadulterated truth, and although it will only make it worse, let's just pick at that as if a scab for a moment.
All I hear are the endless spewing of speculation sprinkled with shrewd commentary on every damn play, and then there are these intense moments when the game suddenly changes, and the announcers go into this intense, non-stop chatter. The vibration in the room escalates into a crescendo as the goal is breached, and it's as if an invisible force demands a response from the spectators.
It's family gatherings on steroids. Right?
It's not the background I would choose when writing. I prefer silence, but as you know, there's a lot of compromise in relationships, especially ones that have survived several decades without leaving behind any permanent damage.
To situate you in the genesis of my current mood, let me fill you in on recent events. My psoriasis is out of control, which makes sense because it thrives in a stressful environment. The medication only seems to exasperate the sores, which create these hideous scabs that are impossible not to itch. And by the way, I'm not getting any closer to the truth (a solution).
A few nights ago, at 4:30 am, I felt the small finger of my granddaughter poking me in the middle of a deep sleep. She needed to go to the bathroom and didn't want to go alone. She's little. I get it. Sometimes, I don't want to walk through the darkness alone.
I left the lights off, stood by the door until she was done with her business, and prayed she'd fall back asleep. She did, along with her two sisters, who were all sleeping in the same king bed, snuggled in an oversized pink comforter.
As my granddaughters are aging up, I decided to morph the mermaid room into an elegant Parisian suite, including an adorable Eiffel Tower table lamp, pink florals, and a dress-up trunk bursting with scarfs, gloves, fake fur wraps, and fancy dresses. There's even a pink swivel chair upholstered in a deep blush fabric that anchors the room.
We had our final family dinner last night. It was challenging as we decided to play one of those murder mystery games. Inside the box, you are given the situation, clues, and online access to interviews and additional information about the victim and the suspects. It's complicated, to say the least. We munched on smoked turkey sandwiches and sipped red wine as we constructed a timeline for the murder, listing all the suspects with notes about their motives, access, and possible weapons.
Around ten o'clock, we gave up. The grandkids were already sleeping in the Paris suite, so we left them there, and the rest of my kids returned to our rooms, their home across the street, and our deep-seated need for a nice winter's rest.
It's been an exhausting week. Lots of family celebrations, socializing, extraordinary meals, and late nights. Belonging to a large family can be a bit chaotic when it comes to celebrating the holidays. We all come together with our own expectations, hopes, and beliefs I suppose. As the matriarch of my family, I feel the weight of this burden, or more succinctly, the weight I have assumed is mine to carry. This means I spend an enormous amount of time overthinking what I believe will assage everyone's needs.
Of course, this is impossible.
As we know, what I am really doing is assuaging my own need to provide everyone with an unattainable experience. Christmas is the exchange of love, which cannot be wrapped or ever fully realized. Although many of us stress over the expression of this exchange, it's really quite simple.
I should be wrapping my people in a love that is warm, generous, and forgiving.
I do realize I'm insane. It's true because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting a different result. How many times will I try to illuminate the darkness with twinkle lights? I made a silent vow to myself that next year will be different. Don't hold your breath, but know I take my vows seriously.
So Larry and I scooted up to the lake the next day after delivering our grandkids back to their parents, Kelley to the airport, and Dante went back to work.
And here again, I encountered a conflict of expectations.
I want to relax, but more than that, I want the space to make my own choices. When you're hosting family events, I feel as if I'm constantly responding to the needs of others, whether intended or not. I actually love this time with my family, but when it's over, I need to restore my own sense of self, my own little light, if you will.
During the lull between Christmas and New Year's Eve, I don't want to accommodate, fuss, or cater to anyone, including Larry, which never goes well. Is that the epitome of selfishness?
No, it is not, and of course, I'll explain.
Last night, it was late, but I wanted to watch another episode of Bosch because his daughter was trapped in a box buried in the desert. I didn't want to go to bed not knowing how they found her.
Larry had a different opinion, but we watched another episode regardless, and he was not happy about it. And when Larry's not happy…
This means when we finally went to bed, there was tension, and Cheryl doesn't do well with conflict. I rolled around in restless frustration for half the night. Then I had a coughing attack because I'm losing the battle with a cold I've been fighting all week. I had to get up and walk through the dark living room alone so that I could dig through my purse for a cough drop.
Maybe I should have tapped Larry on the shoulder in the middle of the night and asked him to accompany me in the darkness.
Owning my own story is hard for me, but this is not as difficult as running from it or avoiding it because I'm afraid of exploring my own darkness. It takes a lot of courage to figure out why I do the things I do and make the needed adjustments when I find myself going down the familiar path instead of the one that will get me where I want to go.
Having the courage to ask someone to walk with us through life, knowing, at times, we will have to stand on the sidelines waiting for them to finish their business, is really at the core of all our lives.
As Brene Brown says, "Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our own light."
As we head into the New Year, I wanted to take a minute to thank you all for continuing to read Living in the Gap, for responding and for sharing your thoughts in the comments. I love that we are a lively and interactive community, and I am ever so grateful for your support of my work and for shining your light on my endless musings. Here's to a fabulous New Year and a bright 2024!
A new review from Gail Ward Olmsted, author of Miranda Writes:
A five-star review! Grow Damnit! is a collection of essays from the author Cheryl Oreglia's blog. I found them to be refreshingly honest with a positive spin and lots of humor. Oreglia's voice is so authentic; you feel as if you are talking to a friend- a witty, wise and articulate friend, that is. Set during the dark days of Covid, the author reflects on her various roles as wife, mother, sister and friend. Midlife woes, health issues, adult children and the loss of parents- all insightful and beautifully written. Highly recommended!!
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