The Girl Without A Face

I’ll be honest today was going to be a good day. A productive day. A day filled with time for me, filled with time to get things done but also for creativity. But as things sometimes do, they veered off my well meaning path. Into a darkness that consumed me. I’m still trying to make it past the thoughts it stirred up inside me.

My son volunteered at his dance studio to paint the younger kids faces. Last weekend I drove him to a friend’s house, where there was a party and all the kids practiced. I went to pick him up from there, and of course his phone had died. I had to ring the doorbell with no makeup on, the house in front of me much nicer than mine. I was welcomed inside and I was blown away by the new feeling of everything. “You have a beautiful house”, I said to the hosts mother. No doubt at least several years older than me. I’m used to this feeling, being out of place. The people my age could never relate, the parents of kids my sons age were out of my league. They are nice of course but somehow I’m never part of the parental gatherings. I wonder if one of them would feel bad if they knew my story. That not only did I not have any friends with kids my sons age, or close to it, that could relate, but I also don’t have any family support. At least none near me.

Anyways, my son’s communication skills are not the best. I went to drop him off at the studio ready for my few hours to myself. But as we were driving he casually mentioned, “Oh, I brought my house key in case I need a ride home and you’re grocery shopping.” “Why would that be? I thought it was a few hours,” I said. Come to find out there was some back and forth today that he had forgot to mention. I was immediately upset. I tried to keep my cool while he was still in the car. “Please let me know as soon as you find something like that out in the future. It impacts my day too.” I’m sure I said more. I’m also positive that he could tell I was upset, and when this happens he says nothing. Which makes me feel worse for feeling this way. I drop him off and try to salvage my plans for the day. I had gotten myself ready, more than I normally do. I was going to have a pleasant afternoon with myself, but now this had shifted my mood. As I was driving I felt disrespected, felt like I didn’t matter, always having to put myself on the back burner no matter the change in plans. I got home and still couldn’t shake the feeling. “Why am I so upset?” It doesn’t make sense. It was a simple mistake. My son forgot to mention it to me.

The thing is I’ve never had any help. More than that I didn’t have any support. It’s great my sister and I are talking now, but back when I really needed her she was nowhere to be found. No one wanted to hear about the struggles of a single mom. I’ve felt alone on an island for years. With no way out. His father has been able to do whatever he wants, his responsibilities are filled as long as he writes a check every month. Then I got to thinking about my mom. How when I was 12, 13, 14, etc. She would leave for long weekends to go visit her now husband. I was never her #1 priority, at least not in my teenage years. How can she get away with being so selfish? Why am I the only one that has to sacrifice?

I let myself get angry, while I was alone. Maybe it’s resentment I’m processing. Maybe that was the trigger. I badly want to find myself, but how can I when I cant find an afternoon without obligation? Maybe I still have to wait until my son says he no longer needs me. How can some parents just avoid the responsibility? Why does it fall on others solely? Maybe I’m grieving the fact that no one showed up for me when I needed it. Can someone come back from that? Something like that changes you. It’s not my son’s fault. He didn’t ask to be here.

So now he’s back at the studio. I’ve lost all motivation to do what I wanted today. I feel heavy, I feel sad, I feel behind in life’s race. I’ve been wondering what my life would be like with just one minor change. Just one supportive person. Just one helping hand. Maybe this is me being ungrateful for all that I have. Maybe this is me grieving for myself during these difficult adult years.