Stepping out, if just for a bit

For the past three years or so I have been in a bit of a panic mode. First, it was no picnic to discover myself pregnant by my ex-husband. My mother and I were in joint therapy at the time and informing her that I was carrying the child of my ex-husband effectively ended any further efforts at therapeutic efforts. By the time Devon was born it was pretty much over between Matt and me. Sure we loved each other but if you aren’t at all anxious to merge households, even if it is with your legally divorced spouse person, when you are both having a child then it might be an indication that all is not well on the home front. Then when Devon was diagnosed with a heart defect I went in to full on panic mode. It got slightly better just before my father died, but then it all went to hell upon his passing. I won’t delve into losing my father because I can’t, I just can’t open that scab these days. But my point is this: long term panic leads to doors ajar and souls a-bruised. It is really no wonder I am a mess much of the time. Nevertheless, lately I find myself to be a somewhat more orderly mess.
Tonight I went out with a longtime friend who really helped me put things into perspective. She has a son who has severe autism and cerebral palsy. As a mother of a child who had multiple surgeries before the age of five and who has been seeking treatments/care for him for the past 20 or so years so as not to put him in a group home she had some sage advice to offer me. She told me it was no wonder Devon has issues. His chest was whacked open at the age of 9 weeks, his mother was a huge mess for the first two years of his life, he lost his beloved grandfather and stopped living with his own father all in one night and then lived in a house of grief. She took care of Devon a number of times in the weeks following my dad’s death and told me of Devon’s own grief and cuddling with her; her own son is non-verbal and she is amazing at reading body and soul language. She told me how Devon snuggled up to her and cried until he fell asleep on the afternoon of my father’s funeral. My friend has been through so much more than I have and is still standing after all this time. She has endured her own grief and has packaged it efficiently enough to saddle it up and ride a mean ass horse through life, all the while using her pain ass a platform to motivate her tight ass. Her first son is severely impaired, her second son is an intellectual oddity and her ex-husband an alcoholic mess. And yet she stands, she walks and kicks ass. Yes, she is often tired but she never gives up. She still believes in love and hopes to live out her life with a good, strong man by her side.
I haven’t had such a deep discussion with my friend in years. In fact it was only because she was recently having lunch with my mother when she said she thought of me and how it might be slightly limiting to live with my mom and raise my children in the house where I grew up. She realized I likely had not a huge social agenda and no sleepovers involving male partners. We talked about the freedom to take lovers and how handy split custody is for such a thing. It was so liberating to talk with another mom who is in a limiting situation and who understands the desire to live freely while living a life where that is not entirely possible. I walked away feeling better than I had in a long time.