I seem to exist in this box. It’s just so comfortable in here. It’s safe. It’s reliable…it’s always here and it rarely changes. I know who I am when I’m inside. Outside? Go out there? Where I’m not sure who I am in relation to anyone else? Un-uh. Ain’t gonna do it.
Until it starts getting just a little bit uncomfortable in here. A little cramped. Can’t quite stretch out as I’d like to without bumping my head on the lid. Then, maybe I can just peak out the top for a minute or two. Oooo. Looks kind of interesting out there. Light and airy. Sniff…fresh air. Maybe I’ll just pop my head out for a bit. Oh, now I remember being out here once before. It was nice. Relaxing. Freeing. Energizing. Happy. How did I end up back in that box again?
I have always struggled with my “must be seen as” boxes. There are several. All different shapes and sizes. One for all occasions. Some are even multi-functional. Like changing an outfit, I can change my boxes to suit the circumstances. And, it’s all unconscious. And, it becomes exhausting.
I have a new box now. It’s my “good diabetic mom” box. I popped right into this box on May 13th, the moment I heard the words “T-Bear has diabetes”. Snap. I’m in the box, and the lid’s slammed down shut. Just like that. I’m on a mission, to be a great diabetes mom. I’m going to take care of T-Bear. I’m going to be sure he stays healthy. Whether he likes it or not. And, my box is constantly reinforced and padded and fluffed up by writing down those numbers four times a day. Look, his BS is right where it’s supposed to be! I’m a good diabetic mom! And, I even have the added reinforcement of faxing those numbers to the doctor so someone else, someone who knows all about diabetes, can look ‘em over and call me up and tell me how great his numbers look. Pats on my back, and another nail in the lid of that box.
The problem is, from inside my box, T-Bear takes on the distinct appearance of a “project”, rather than a little boy. My little boy. Who needs and wants his mommy to be with him, not just to handle him. My box squeezes the joy out of our relationship, and steals away our time together. Really together. Just him and me, and no project to distract us from one another.
So, how do I get out of this box? This box that helps me keep my son healthy?