Ho Ha
Hubs and I shared a long distance panic attack Saturday evening. Not much new there. Sharing everything is what lovers do, isn't it? At least in romantic theory. Theory behaves so well on paper. . . Why does reality keep vomiting all over my meticulously presented, well researched, clinically tested theories? The world is a much bigger laboratory.
The panic attack hit when our phone chat reached our longest running Tit-for-Tat classic. Ho Ho Ha. 'Tis the season. During our first go-round in 1979. Hubs was just a cute university senior, intrigued by the sounds and smells which filtered through my door as he passed between the building door and his own apartment door. I was in my second year of pre-engineering and pregnant by a man I had no intention of marrying. The complex yaddahs of the blahs attached to that pregnancy were triggering some of the gnarliest psychotic breaks of my cPTSD herstory. In 1979, the cPTSD psych theories were still bubbling out of the "Shell Shock" and "Domestic Abuse" psychopots. The brave counsellors at the Community College who were focused on holding me steady through my "At Risk" college experience quoted theories and studies which I am often unable to find reference to on the internet. Am I remembering right or is my damaged memory gaslighting me once again?
In Saturday's panic attack, I felt Hubs was using Christmas to lure me back into the Urban Homestead and its traditions of my parenting middle aged children while he keeps his remote controls handy in the corporate halls. My hyper-vigilant flight instinct had me back in the River Region before I hung up on him. Leaving the summary of his side as his to write, I believe he was attempting to build on the magical Christmas he and GS wove together last year. I donae believe the two of them could have woven that magic if I had been there to fill my traditional family role. How long can the passions of love volley the tits of those tats? If my strictly personal observation has merits, long past the closing bang of a divorce judge's gavel, even when there are no descendants unable to choose their own parents.
The "new" of this go-round was the simple acceptance on both sides that even smart people say and do stupid things under the influence of panic. We started the next conversation with discussion of that acceptance and the gory details of the fears and confusions which fed the panic, respecting just how different our individual sets of fears and confusions are. It was a rambly series of phone calls. Fast forwarding now. . .
Hubs is going to bring all the material goodies he can find from the magic weaving of last year's Christmas when he returns from the Urban Homestead this week. We are going to decorate the Honey Barn.
Replies
I am really glad and in awe of you that you can have arguments and then come back together. My illness has made me so wary of conflict because I feel so flawed that I stay removed in a way.
I don't know what set you off or you both off but I can hear you thinking about trying to prepare yourself or understand what the patterns are play so that you could have prevented it.
My parents argue sometimes and it can get really intense. At a moment of privacy with my Dad I have asked him if
he is "Ok?" - His response was "it's real life."
I hope the decorating goes well!! I decorated my place yesterday... holly jolly!
Wow and Wow again...reframe breaks are Very Very Hard to do, especially around the 'family traditions'...for me are a Flood of Insanity...that I'd love to be able ""to relive" choked up at just the thought of all together. Even though the eggshells were plentiful, the love was at the base covering the floor of my Mother's house...My Mom brought us all together from DC, Alexandria, and Maine...plus my Grammy Molly, having no family, Molly became "Grammy Molly" to for John and a spiritual, loving, accepting mentor for me) at the time Molly was a life long friend...I'd known her since I was 5, Alcohol made all "merry", still again, the love under the egg shells held everyone's sanity together, with breaks outside, in the kitchen to manage the frayed nerves, to do emergency anxiety bursts...we all managed. Although one year, dinner was Way Too Late, cocktails starting at 5pm, were beyond by 8:30...as each year went by, the Mother Step father insanity increased...he pissed her off and she waived a Knife at him...that was the last time my brother attended at Christmas...his wife was scared...she never attended for many years going back to CA and her family..my brothers Christmas trip too, he would come to Thanksgiving, with ""prearranged behavioral expectations"" of Mother and Stepfather. After dinner, my Aunt and I would clean up the kitchen...the booze continued to cordials and scotch and milk for my dear Uncle...and very late night talks between us were so very special...just the two of us.. Missing him and everyone else so very much...
"Reframe breaks" is an interesting and apropos name for ^it^. By whatever name, ^it^ is, indeed, hard to do and even harder to "reframe" into a new set of habits. The most recent name Hubs and I have for ^it^ is, "Learning new steps to the dance." Toes will get stepped on in the course of learning new steps. The mistakes are part of the learning process.
Big hug for you sweetie..... It's so miserable when people we love are so out of sorts and things are not within our control...… Another hug while you work it out....xo