Am I emotionally available? What does that mean?
Maybe. I dunno. Kinda. WhatEVER!
I can’t really decide whether “emotionally available” is just a new catch phrase or if it truly is a question I should be exploring. Probably the latter.
Because my mother would have been in the “unavailable” category. And we don’t fall far from the tree, do we? I’ve found that until I examine myself closely, I don’t change much from the type of loving I got to the type of loving I give.
So here goes.
1. My Mother was totally self-absorbed. She told me once that she knew that she was limited in how much she could love. Interestingly enough, I have a copy of a letter to my mother from my oldest sister saying much the same thing. That she was sorry, she loved Mom as much as she could, but that she just found herself lacking in that way.
How can I judge how deeply I love? This is something so firmly ensconced in my being that I can’t bring it out in juxtaposition to other people and say, “Hmm, I think you are a little more loving than I am here, but I make up for it there.”
I do know that I am self-absorbed. I live in my own head to the exclusion of life going on about me an undue amount of the time. I only realized that I’ve been on an inward journey when I re-join the present and know that I have missed the gist of the conversation, the surroundings, or the passing moments. I must remind myself to ask others about their lives. I’m pretty much sure they are interested in mine. My story is intriguing after all.
2. My Father was always picking up the phone to call his 70+ descendants. He kept track of birthdays and anniversaries, illnesses and celebrations. He told me that when he couldn’t sleep, he would pray for everyone by name. It was like counting sheep. He had trouble with soulful connections, tho. He was a preacher, a teacher and bible scholar. And he loved to expound on his knowledge. When my children were young and we visited, it was his wife who talked with them. My father talked at them. He just admittedly loved the sound of his own voice.
I’m afraid that I take after him. I’m a student (as you can tell by my blog name and my menu options) of everything spiritual and philosophical. I take my analysis to the paralysis level and happy to share the results with anyone who will listen (or read).
Since my children aren’t really available to talk to a lot, I write. And write. And I remind myself to call them or see them, because I have gotten a lot of my ya-yas out in my writing. After all, didn’t I write to them? And about them?
This is going to take a lot more thought. I can see that clearly!