Realization in baby steps

Mom’s version of acknowledging that I’m upset was offering to make me a grilled cheese sandwich.  No hug, no “honey what is it?  Talk to me.”  Just “Do you want me to make you a grilled cheese sandwich?”  In her mind, that’s what she felt was giving me support and acknowledging that I am upset.  I wanted the talking.  I wanted the hug and the invitation to talk, to tell her why I’m hurting.  That’s what I felt would have been acknowledging.  Even in my hurt and frustration right now, I can really find it fascinating that she did what she thought, what she felt in her own way, was the best way of showing her love for me.  Offering food.  People really do speak different love languages because this didn’t seem like much at the time but just now, when she plopped the sandwich down on the desk at me, she said “This WAS me acknowledging you were upset.”  She had come in a few minutes ago and even though I was sitting here at the computer, head in hands crying, she merely put something on the desk and walked back out.  I yelled, quite loudly, “Don’t bother acknowledging that I’m falling apart here.  Don’t bother acknowledging that I’m upset!  Just ignore me!”  When she brought the sandwich in and explained, now feeling unappreciated, that this, the food, was what she thought was adequate acknowledgement, I finally understood.  I wanted communication.  I wanted talk.  I wanted to share the wildly flailing thoughts in my head and get them out of my head into her head for her to understand what I’m feeling.  She wanted to feed me.  She does love me.  She doesn't want me to hurt.  She just shows it differently.  What do I do with that?

In the meantime, I need to find some joy to get me out of this funk because I have a whole rest of the day to survive.  So, I will now post a picture that makes me smile.

Still breathing,
Tiff