Page 152 of Breathe Again

“Logically, I know I shouldn’t want to appease her all the time, but it’s an automatic, built-in reaction. I’m challenging it, but it’s difficult, and it’s going to take time. I want for her to acknowledge that it’s not my responsibility to cater to her and let me off the hook. That’s not going to happen, so I need to make the change myself. Nomatter that it’s uncomfortable. Like Erin pointed out, making new neurological pathways is uncomfortable.”

“I’m here for you in any way you need me to be.”

“What’s she been saying?”

“Mostly the same old stuff, she’s abandoned, neglected, I’m keeping you away from her, she takes no responsibility for her part in situations.”

“Did she ask how I’m doing?”

“No, baby, I’m sorry, she didn’t. It doesn't mean she doesn’t care; it just means she didn’t ask.”

“Okay,” she said, processing his answer.

“How do you want to proceed?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I think I’ll allow texting with her. So long as she keeps things positive, I’ll stay connected. If she becomes demanding, insulting, or manipulative, I’ll take a break. She’ll be angry, but that’s what I’m willing to give for now.”

“Sounds good to me. You need help getting the apps back up on your tech?”

“I think I’ve got it. I’ll let you know when I make contact with the alien being.”

He chuckled. “You do that.”

They went to The Works by the lake in downtown Bayview Village, then took a long walk along the boardwalk before going to pick up Olivia from Willa’s.

Zale enjoyed her good mood, and the progress they’d made so far, but he worried that getting back in touch with Bea would set her back. His jaw ticked at the thought. Treating Bea with civility would be difficult with his new understanding of the damage she’d done to Mara. However, he needed to concentrate on his role, bolstering her up, learning her triggers and dealing with them, forging his own new neurological pathways to move in instead of away when she spiraled, and keep his primary focus on where it needed to be, his wife.

A Safe Place

Mara

Saturday morning, I woke up early, earlier than Zale even. I slipped from our bed and quietly made myself a coffee. The sun shone brightly through the sunroom windows, evidence that spring was easing toward summer. I pulled my cardigan over my pajamas and stepped out into the yard in my bare feet, the grass cool and wet with the morning dew, the sun still low in the sky.

At the back of our garden, nestled amongst my scattered flower beds, my bench beckoned me to sit awhile. I settled in with my coffee and surveyed the flower beds that I’d allowed to be taken over by weeds. I’d neglected my gardens this year.

My diagnosis shocked me to my core, and I’d been overwhelmed. This past week Olivia and I had gotten our hands back into the dirt, getting the flower beds closest to the house in order, but back here there was still much to do.

I rested my empty mug on the seat beside me and dropped to my knees beside the closest bed. I prodded, twisted, and pulled at the weeds, yanking them out and making space for the emerging flowers to breathe.

The ground, hard and forgiving, not yet having been properly turned, resisted my efforts, yet, the tender new sprouts had prevailed, pushing up through the dust, defying the weeds that threatened to choke the life out of them. They persevered, bringing forth beauty from the hard packed earth.

I forced my hands further into the dirt, digging my fingers under that tough top layer, uncovering the hidden earth beneath, the richer soil that provided a foundation for the roots and nurtured the growth.

I thought about the past year, my mother’s increasing criticism as Olivia started to spread her wings, making our schedule too busy to visit as much as she wanted. I thought about Olivia, craving greater independence, and the behavioral changes that came with the influx of hormones. I thought about Zale’s emotional distance, his long work hours, and the pain of his rejections in bed. I thought of my increasing anger, the intolerable suffering fueled by my doubt and my fear, and the ways I’d lashed out at him, as well as the ways I’dhurt myself. I thought about my mother’s rejection of my needs, and then, of me.

My tears fell, splattering the earth under my hands. I pushed and pulled at the earth, making space for the beauty that dared to emerge even so. With my hands in the dirt, I always felt an affinity with God, in partnership with Him, and I willed Him to create something of beauty in me, to overturn the dry, cracked earth of my fear, heal my broken heart, and give me wisdom to choose well what to believe.

To produce something beautiful in me, I would need to do the work, creating space for myself to breathe, thinning that which threatened to choke me. A new growth, hope, propelled her way forward. I could do the work to heal, and that healing would make me strong, and strong is beautiful. The tears I had shed over the past year had softened the earth, and hope led me to believe that I could be good for Zale and Olivia, and that we could move forward, together, without guilt.

I smiled even as I vowed to be patient with myself. As Cinderella’s fairy godmother said, ‘Even miracles take a little time’.

“Baby? You okay?” Zale stood a few feet away, legs braced, hands hitched on his lean hips, watching me with concern. I turned a watery smile in his direction.

“I can be a safe place for you.”

His eyes darted to the side, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I can make space for myself to breathe, to heal. I can get better, get the borderline stuff under control so it’s not a burden and I can be an emotionally safe place for you. I can get stronger, be a comfort to you instead of a stress, just as you have been a comfort to me.”

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